The temperature broke 80 degrees by 7am, and I was anxious to get some use out of our season passes to the water park. If you’ve ever lived in Texas in the summertime, you understand the necessity of a recreational water source. I gathered swim towels and sunscreen, threw some Lunchables in the insulated lunch box, and headed down the interstate with my daughters in the back seat. They were 7 and 5 at the time, and over the course of our thirty minute drive, I recited all of the safety rules. 

We discussed why running on concrete is dangerous.  Why you should never wander off. Why you should always stay on your inner tube in the lazy river. Why you shouldn’t go with a stranger. Why you shouldn’t go into the restrooms unless Mommy is with you. 

I’ve always been a “safety first” kind of mom. Mostly because I’m a control freak and also probably because I watched Unsolved Mysteries as a kid.

The girls dutifully nodded as we drove along. Eventually we pulled into the parking lot, slathered on sunscreen, and made our way to the entrance. They were at an ideal age where they could ride most slides and weren’t scared of the water. But they also got tired by noon, so I didn’t have to spend more than three hours encased in a wet swimsuit while walking around barefoot where thousands of other bare feet have walked.

We headed past the wave pool (you know…that oversized petri dish that collects used bandaids and the occasional wayward swim diaper) and made our way to what the girls affectionately called the “Big Slides” –  four intertwining plastic tubes with water rushing through them. In order to ride, you were required to carry a large inner tube while climbing an ungodly number of stairs to the top.

My oldest daughter was small for her age. She carried that innertube up 7 flights of stairs looking a lot like an ant carrying an apple fritter. Luckily the lines weren’t long, and when her turn arrived, she eagerly positioned the tube at the top of the slide.

I reminded her to wait for me at the bottom and not to wander off. The rule about looking for a lifeguard if you’re in trouble also ran through my head, but I decided I had barked enough orders for one day.

She positioned her little bottom in the center of the tube and tightly gripped the handles with both hands, one on either side. Her tiny legs jutted straight out, and she leaned her head back to look at me, upside down, with a huge grin on her face. The light turned green and she scooted herself forward, catching the momentum of the rushing water.

In a matter of seconds, she rounded the first curve in the slide and I instantly knew there was a problem.

When she turned the corner, her tube became wedged near the middle of the slide where the plastic was dry, and the water rushed freely just inches below her innertube.

She leaned her head back to look at me again, but this time instead of a grin, she looked at me with terror. My wide eyes met hers, and I stood there completely frozen with panic. 

My daughter began to sob and beg for help. She was terrified, precariously wedged on a slide that was a good 40 feet above the ground. She screamed “Mama! Mama!” over and over again. My eyes welled with helpless tears and I called back saying, “just hold on tight!”

I darted across the platform to tell the lifeguard what had happened. She grabbed an inner tube and told me that she was going to bump my daughter’s tube forward in order to dislodge it and get her down the slide. I shouted more safety instructions above the roar of the water. Again, I told her to hold onto the handles as tightly as she could.

The lifeguard jumped into her tube and pushed herself into the rushing water. It didn’t take more than 2 seconds for the two of them to make contact.

I can still picture Lauryn’s entire body flying up in the air in response to the impact. Mercifully, she was holding onto the handles with every ounce of strength she had and managed to stay on her inner tube.

I put Allie in my lap and together we flew down the slide to the bottom and reunited with Lauryn. It was the longest 45 seconds of my life. She was standing in the return pool, alone, and still clinging to her tube by the handle, just like I told her to.

She was crying as I scooped her up, and I joined in, shedding tears of thankfulness to God for protecting her when I couldn’t. 

It was one of those moments that changed my perspective of parenting, and simultaneously burst my naive bubble about life in general. I realized that I can plan, plot, organize, schedule, list, and formulate all day long. But ultimately, I have no control over what happens. Despite all of my safety lectures, I still couldn’t control what happened to my daughter on that slide. 

It was a brutal revelation, and you’d think that such a lesson would have stuck permanently. That all these years later, I would be more relaxed and carefree, more aware of my limited power and ability to control all outcomes. But you would be wrong.

And if you’re the mom of nearly-grown teens, maybe you can relate. Because for so long I was under the illusion that I was the controller of all the things. I believed it was solely up to me to manage and determine my kids’ safety and happiness in life. After all, I was in control of meal time, bed time, play time, bath time, which clothes they wore, and which friends they invited over. 

“Nope, you have to take three more bites before you can get dessert.” “When the timer goes off, you can get out of bed.” “You have to wear a coat if you’re going outside.” Virtually every aspect of their life was under my control. Or so I thought.

But then I remember all those other times. The time when some mean girls teased them on the playground and I couldn’t do a thing about it. The time when 4th grade math homework nearly sent all of us to therapy. The time my daughter got strep throat and had to miss her much-anticipated Open House at school. Even though I regularly used essential oils and made sure everyone ate their vegetables, she still got sick.

That desire to control outcomes hasn’t left me. And the stakes feel so much higher now that they’re nearly grown. But the truth is, I can’t control what the future holds for my girls. I won’t have the ability to control who they will spend their time with, all the decisions they will have to make, or whether or not the people driving around them on the highway focus on the road instead of their phone.

It continues to be a daily struggle for me. I mean DAILY. Grasping for control has become a perpetual thorn in my flesh that must be constantly treated and slathered with the ointment of Truth. 

I can plan. I can over-prepare. I can bark reminders. I can recite safety rules and create structure for every minute of the day. But none of this ensures that I will have ultimate control. Even now, in this season of raising older teenagers and letting them have more and more freedom in their actions and choices, I deeply feel that loss of control every single day. I can’t prevent the unforeseen, unexpected, and unwanted events of this life from happening.

And it doesn’t just stop where my kids are concerned.

If I pull back the curtain even further, you know what else I can’t control? A global pandemic. Gas prices. Empty grocery shelves. Politicians. People who insist on putting up their Christmas trees on November 1st. And also, people in general.

This is all such a painful concept for a certified control freak. But it reveals so much about who I am as a human. I convince myself that if I could just keep juggling all the balls in the air, I can somehow determine when and how each one will land. Unfortunately, at times, they’re bowling balls and I’m crushed by the weight of them. 

But here’s what I can control: Turning to Truth in scripture in times of fear and uncertainty instead of trying to manipulate circumstances and situations on my own. Reflecting on all the ways God has been faithful to us in the past. Allowing my stubborn desire and longing for control to dissolve and trust in the One who holds all things together for our good.

“Furthermore, because we are united with Christ, we have received an inheritance from God, for he chose us in advance, and he makes everything work out according to his plan.” (Ephesians 1:11) NLT

Raising teens has been my favorite stage of parenting, but also the most terrifying. I’m grateful for a God who knows and sees my weakness, and offers daily comfort and encouragement to help me practice letting go of fear and anxiety. No matter what happens, I know I can trust Him with all outcomes, and that His word and His promises remind me that He is in control. All I have to do is hold on tight.