If you met my daughter today on the street or in a mall of the large city where she lives, you would see a dark-haired, five-foot-ten, attractive, 25-year-old with an open spirit and a ready self-confidence. She lives independently, serves in her church, and mentors inner-city girls in her spare time
Nothing would tell you that when she was their age, starting in the middle grades and running straight through high school, she was furious at the world. Somewhere around sixth grade, she decided to buck the norms: She would dress in a “punk” style (this was the early ’80s), argue with her parents nonstop, raise shocking questions in Sunday school, quit doing homework, and in time, experiment with marijuana
At one point I was so distraught about what the congregation must be thinking that I offered to resign. “I know the biblical qualifications for an elder include the ability to manage one’s household well,” I said to the board. “I’m not sure I qualify any longer for this position.
“My father was a pastor,” the first man said. “My sister caused a tremendous amount of turmoil at home. I think I understand your pain.
Another picked up the thread. “Pastor, the fact that you are dealing with your daughter’s problem is evidence you are managing your household.” The board concluded I should stay on
The day finally came when my daughter turned 18, graduated from high school, and struck out on her own. In the years since, counseling has helped her drain the anger inside, feel better about herself, and come to terms with God. She has become friends once again with her mother and dad. When we talk on the phone, or she visits our home for holidays, it is a time of joy and warmth
What did my wife and I learn along the way
It’s all right to air your pain with trustworthy confidants.
While at first we were guarded about letting our problem show, we eventually couldn’t hold out. And the perspectives we gained were invaluable
Counselors played a beneficial role in helping us. Additionally, I finally took a layman to lunch who had seen three of his children go through drug rehabilitation. “George,” I said with much nervousness, “I hope you won’t disrespect me for this, but I have a problem with my daughter. . . .” He didn’t gasp; he listened and gave wise advice
When I shared my pain with fellow pastors, they were uniformly gracious and gentle. It was humbling for me, but in the end I benefited
Don’t stoop to the child’s level.
While adolescents are often self-absorbed and think only of their own feelings, adults should take a wider view. One day I realized that the biggest adolescent in our household wasn’t my daughter; it was I. I had abandoned the role of parent and become another teenager. I wanted so much to control the situation that I had forgotten my primary role as nurturer and guide
If I didn’t get back to treating her with respect, no matter what she did or said, the downward spiral would never end
Don’t force conformity.
One Sunday my daughter got into an argument with the teacher right in the middle of junior high Sunday school. She came home saying, “That’s it! I’m not going to church anymore. Nobody’s for real there; it’s all phony.
We shuddered. But an older pastor recommended letting her stay home. Maintaining our image as a pastoral family was not worth enlarging her misery and resentment. Our daughter now says this endeared us to her rather than pushing us further away
Change the scenery if possible.
One Thanksgiving, during a blizzard, I took her along to drop off a load of clothing and food at a small urban church that served mainly minorities and single parents. This seemed to strike a chord in her soul. She liked being around people who didn’t care what you looked like. Jeans and T-shirts were fine for Sunday worship there. She felt safe and accepted, so much that she returned to see the inner-city pastor, his wife, and the church more than once
Never doubt that God understands.
In one of my lowest moments, I heard a sermon by a friend who told about the time his daughter almost died in a car accident. As I listened, I realized how little I cared whether my daughter lived or died. “Forgive me, God,” I prayed, “for my self-absorption. You created her, and you’re not surprised by anything she’s doing. Help me to love her again the way you do.
Not long afterward, Colossians 1:27 took on special meaning for me. It speaks about the mystery “which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” If Christ really was living inside of me during those dark days, he was the hope I needed that one day all this confusion and sorrow would end, and glory would return
Take one day-or even one hour-at a time.
This won’t sound like much, but when you’re struggling to keep going, you’re grateful for small blessings. We learned to give thanks whenever there was a single day without eruption
Sometimes we even broke it down into smaller chunks. If breakfast went peacefully, we rejoiced! Lunch or dinner might still be torturous, but at least we’d gotten through one meal of the day in fair shape
Today my wife and I are grateful that the turmoil of that era is behind us, and single meals without conflict have stretched into whole months and years of goodwill. Not long ago my daughter presented me with a copy of Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf’s autobiography, It Doesn’t Take a Hero. In the front she had written, “It doesn’t take a hero to be a father; it does take a hero to be a great father. You’re a hero to me. I love you.
Sometimes I still look back with sadness at the loss of a more normal, happy adolescence for my daughter. But recently she told me her perspective: “Everything happens for a reason. God brought us both to a place of compassion we didn’t have before. I care more about people because of what I’ve been through. I wouldn’t trade my past for the world. In fact, I’m proud of myself for working through all this and turning it into something good.
You know, this strong-willed daughter of mine has a point
Reporting by Bob Moeller and Dean Merrill
1997 by Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.
