That morning, when I dropped her off at the bus stop, she stormed out of the car, shouting tearfully, “I hate my life, and you just don’t understand! I’m not coming home after school!”

It had been like that for weeks. All of a sudden, my considerate and high-achieving daughter was talking back to my husband, Kenny, and me. Being dishonest. Telling me she hated her life and thought I was a terrible mom.

The changes started after Christmas break, when volleyball season was over and she fell in with a new group of friends. Seemingly overnight, my 14 years of hard work as a parent went out the window. I prayed. Doubled down on rules. Begged Kennedi to tell me what was going on.

“You don’t understand anything about me!” she shouted during one of our many confrontations.

She was right about that.

I had worked so hard to be a perfect parent. Even before Kennedi was born, I was reading parenting books and thinking ahead. Rocking her to sleep one evening when she was a baby, I had felt her little back arch as she yawned and stretched out her arm toward me.

“I love you, my sweet girl,” I’d said, kissing her forehead. I wanted the best for my daughter, whatever it took.

I’d felt the same love three years later, when Kennedi’s little sister, Kassadi, was born. Kenny and I were intentional about everything. What our family ate. How much sleep and exercise the girls got.

We took them to church, read stories from their children’s Bible and taught them how to pray. We took the book of Proverbs seriously: “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”

By the time Kennedi was in middle school, I thought we were a model family. Our girls earned good grades, won medals at track meets and were growing in their faith.

Granted, I did a lot of nagging and fussing behind closed doors. But there was nothing wrong with having high standards and presenting your best self to the world. I took the same approach in my corporate career.

The summer before high school, Kennedi had suffered a serious running injury and had to quit track. She was depressed, but I thought she’d bounced back after joining the school volleyball team in the fall.

Obviously, I was wrong. I didn’t know where to turn. When I was growing up, mental health and behavioral issues simply weren’t talked about. They were considered a sign of weakness and swept under the rug.

I had no intention of taking Kennedi to see a therapist. I didn’t need everyone knowing about my family’s problems. Besides, weren’t prayer and adherence to discipline enough?

“God, I need a solution,” I whispered at the bus stop.

Kennedi came home that day, looking as miserable as ever. She didn’t say a word to me on the drive home.

It was the same thing every day. My anxiety was going through the roof. And Kennedi wasn’t the only one stressing me out.

Nearly a year earlier, before Kennedi’s track injury and any hint of trouble, Kenny and I had offered to help some acquaintances who’d adopted a child named Naomi from Ethiopia. Naomi, who was now 13, had endured a difficult upbringing and was having trouble acclimating to life in the United States.

Kenny and I had said Naomi could live with our family until she felt ready to return to her adoptive parents. We thought being in a stable, church-going African American family might help her bridge the gap with her new environment.

It didn’t take long for me to realize how unprepared I was for the ramifications of our altruistic gesture. Naomi had serious mental health issues. She was being helped by a social worker, a therapist and a psychiatrist. Before she even arrived at our house, we’d received a thick file with her mental health records, including a list of medications and all sorts of other things to coordinate.

Naomi moved in just a few weeks after Kennedi started acting out. I had to find a therapist and psychiatrist for Naomi; we lived two hours from her previous providers. A therapist who attended our church gave me recommendations.

One, an art therapist, bonded with Naomi right away. I was amazed at how quickly this woman was able to draw Naomi out of her shell with art projects and gentle, compassionate conversation.

After more research, I also made an appointment with a psychiatrist at a children’s hospital in Philadelphia. I was nervous the day of the appointment as Naomi and I stepped from the elevator and approached the behavioral health unit. I envisioned a chaotic place full of uncontrollable children.

We stepped into a quiet, pleasant waiting room with magazines on a table and parents and teens checking their phones or reading. I felt guilty about my expectations. Typical mental health stereotypes. What other misconceptions did I have?

As with the art therapist, I was floored by the psychiatrist’s ability to get Naomi talking. She probed deeper in a half hour than Naomi had gone the entire time I’d known her.

I didn’t always sit in on Naomi’s appointments, so I didn’t know everything her providers said. Still, Naomi invariably emerged from her sessions a little calmer and more grounded. I wished I could have the same effect on Kennedi.

A month after Naomi arrived, I got a phone call from Kennedi’s school. She had violated the school’s code of conduct. She was suspended, and I had to come pick her up.

Kennedi holed up in her room. I sat with my head in my hands, at a loss for what to do. Kenny was away at a game with the high school basketball team he coaches. I was on my own.

Should I storm in and read Kennedi the riot act? Ground her? Try to unlock the dark feelings behind her behavior?

I thought about Naomi’s therapists. What would they recommend? And why hadn’t I sought help like that for Kennedi already? I realized my prejudices against therapy were totally unfounded. Naomi’s providers were no different from the doctors who had treated Kennedi’s running injury.

I knew what I had to do.

After talking everything through with Kenny, I took out the list of therapists I’d assembled for Naomi, found one that accepted our insurance and made an appointment.

Kenny, Kennedi and I attended that first appointment together. Just as with Naomi, the therapist seemed to know exactly how to talk to Kennedi. Within a few minutes, deep emotions were pouring out of our daughter.

“I feel depressed, Mom and Dad.”

“You’re so strict.”“

You make it seem like I have to be perfect all the time.”

“I have no freedom compared to everyone else.”

More came out. Kennedi was still devastated about her running injury. Sports had been a huge part of her identity. The injury was still affecting her when she joined the volleyball team, so she got no playing time that first season. She’d fallen for a boy, but the relationship—her first time dating—had ended abruptly.

“Sometimes I don’t even want to live,” she said. She confessed she’d cut herself a few times.

Kenny and I sat there in the therapist’s office in shock. Our daughter had been struggling, and I’d been too blinded by my perfectionism to offer genuine help. I was transported back to those evenings when I’d rocked Kennedi to sleep as a baby. All I wanted to do was gather her in my arms and say, “I love you, my sweet girl.”

The therapist gave us some tips for having more productive conversations at home and said she would see us the following week.

It took time, but things improved. I made a serious effort to stop preaching to my daughter and worked on cultivating my own fruits of the spirit, especially patience and self-control.

I learned that when Kennedi seemed moody or standoffish, the right question was “How are you feeling?” Not “Why are you talking to me like that?”

I paid attention to my daughter’s steps forward and commended her for working hard. I didn’t focus on her shortcomings and stopped obsessing over what people would think about our family.

For a while, our schedule seemed to be one therapy appointment after another. Following the death of my brother from Covid, we even found a therapist for Kassadi. She had been close to him, and grief had hit her hard.

Naomi’s mental health gradually improved until, three years after arriving at our house, she felt ready to return to her adoptive parents.

It was hard to say goodbye. I reassured myself that she was only two hours away and we could visit often. Her mother texted regularly with updates. Naomi joined her new school’s cross-country team, earned good grades and found a circle of friends.

Each time a photo of Naomi’s smiling face arrived on my phone, I responded with my own smile and a whispered “Thank you.”

Naomi’s arrival sure hadn’t felt like an answer to my desperate prayers. God, of course, knew better.

Turns out, we all had a lot to learn, me especially. I know now that caring for a child’s mental health is an important part of “training her up in the way she should go.”

Kennedi graduated high school with honors and now studies public health in college. She’s a mental health advocate. She shares her experiences and encourages others to seek help when they need it. I do the same with parents I meet. I hope I can spare others the shame and helplessness I felt.

Kennedi, Kassadi and Naomi continue to meet with therapists regularly to stay on top of their mental health. It’s not quite how I envisioned things all those years ago when I planned out a perfect future for my girls.

Yet I want the best for them, and that means seeking help when needed, whether from pastors, doctors or therapists. And God, of course. Like all parents, I don’t always know what’s best for my daughters. But God does. The more I trust him, the more I become the mom I always wanted to be.

For more inspiring stories, subscribe to Guideposts magazine.

The post Therapy Brings Healing and an Answered Prayer appeared first on Guideposts.

Me. Rick Hamlin. The guy who knows next to nothing about baseball or sports in general. The one whose most fervent prayers as a boy came when he was stuck out in right field during P.E., entreating God, “Please, please, please don’t let the ball come to me.” It would have taken a minor miracle for me to catch the thing, and even then, I’d never be able throw it into the infield.

And yet I later happened to become the father of two boys, eight-year-old Will and five-year-old Tim, both of whom were interested in the sport. Saturday mornings, I’d take Will out to the playground and we’d play ball with a few other boys and their dads. I was so glad those fathers could coach and pitch and knew the rules of the game.

I’d play catch with Will, and thanks to my weak arm, the ball would drop at his feet before he could get in position to catch it. After a few too many misses one day, he sank to the ground and said, “How am I ever going to make the major leagues?”

I wanted to tell him, “You got the wrong dad, kid.” I mean, when I’d gone to the sporting goods store, I bought him a mitt for the wrong hand. Who knew that a right-handed kid should get a mitt for his left hand? That’s how clueless I was.

Still, I wanted to find some way of giving our kids confidence on the field, a confidence I’d never had. There was an official Little League in our area, but it was super-competitive and catered to older boys. What if we had something a little more low-key, something that welcomed both boys and girls, with T-ball and softball for the younger ones?

I happened to share the idea with a couple neighbors on the playground. “That would be great!” they said, their eyes lighting up. Me and my big mouth. Now who could organize such a thing? Not me. I tried to put the idea aside, but it wouldn’t leave me.

Like Moses, I felt I was being called to do something way out of my league (no pun intended). Remember how Moses struggled to speak, exclaiming, “for I am of slow speech and of a slow tongue” (Exodus 4:10), and yet God called him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt?

Okay, Rick, I told myself. You had this big idea. Now you’ve got to do something about it. One thing I could do was make a few phone calls and get information. I had to do that often enough at work as a writer and editor at Guideposts.

So I started calling the city’s parks and recreation department, explaining that there were some families uptown who wanted to start a baseball league in our neighborhood. Were there any fields we could sign up for? We’d need two ballfields, ideally down by the river, for several hours every spring weekend.

The parks and rec department bounced me around. Finally I spoke to the official who could help us. I made our request for the fields, and he asked me to call him back in a few days. I half-wondered if I was supposed to slip him an envelope of cash. No, that would never do. Not for the Hudson Cliffs Baseball League.

Now that was the sort of thing I knew how to do: Come up with names for things, like putting a title to a story I wrote. Hudson Cliffs came from the name of the neighborhood’s elementary-middle school, P.S. 187.The scariest phone call I ever made was calling that official back. What if he said no? What would I tell my boys then? I think I prayed even harder than I used to when I was out there in right field as a kid.

“Yes, we’ve got something for you,” the man said. Two verdant ballfields for four hours every Sunday morning, from early April to mid-June. That will mean missing Sunday school, I thought. Then again, we could still make the Sunday evening service.

“Wonderful,” I said to the man. “Thank you so much.”

Hudson Cliffs was launched. What a joy it was to sit on the benches behind home plate, watching Will and Tim hit the ball, run the bases…and make clutch catches in the outfield. Wow. How grateful I was for the other parents who did the coaching and refereeing. They did the hard work. As for me, I was christened “Commish” by a friend. The most unlikely baseball commissioner ever.

After several years of play, Will and Tim aged out of Hudson Cliffs. Amazingly enough, the league still goes on, these days run by the Hebrew Y.

Our now-grown sons sometimes tease me, arguing with each other about who is going to retell the Hudson Cliffs origin story at my funeral. That’s not going to happen for a long time, I hope.

Meanwhile, both Will and Tim are new dads, each with a boy of his own, and I can’t wait to see what they’ll have to do. I know better than anyone: Parenthood—like the Lord—can call you to do the most unlikely things, things you never knew you could do until you try.

For more inspiring stories, subscribe to Guideposts magazine.

The post An Unlikely Baseball MVP (Most Valuable Parent) appeared first on Guideposts.

Be Present with Your Child

Give your child your undivided attention when you’re together. It can be difficult to focus when there are so many things to think and do, but it is important to try to give our children the focus they deserve. When we focus on them, we’re sending the message that they are important and that we value our time together. In today’s world—with all of the technology and distractions available—it is more important than ever to be present with our children. It’s easy to lose focus. However, if we make an effort to be present with our children, we can help them feel valued and loved.

Respond to Their Emotions

Even if they’re crying for no reason, try to understand why they’re feeling that way. It can be overwhelming when your baby starts crying for no apparent reason. You may feel like you’re doing something wrong, or that you’re not good enough. However, it’s important to remember that children are highly emotional creatures, and they don’t always have the ability to express themselves. If you can take a step back and try to understand why they’re feeling that way, it will go a long way towards helping them feel better. For example, if they’re crying because they’re tired, try rocking them or singing them a lullaby. If they’re hungry, offer them a bottle or some food. And if they just need comfort, hold them close and let them know everything is going to be alright. By responding to their emotions, you’ll be helping them learn how to cope with their feelings and fostering a strong bond between the two of you.

Encourage Them to Explore and Learn About the World Around Them

There are many simple things you can do to help encourage your child’s natural curiosity, whether it’s by taking them for walks in the park or letting them play in the backyard. You can also talk to them about what they’re seeing and experiencing, and answer any questions they may have. Additionally, you can expose them to new experiences and ideas by reading books together, listening to music, or watching educational videos. By taking these simple steps, you will not only help your child develop a love for learning, but also create memories that will last a lifetime.

Respect Their Independence

One of the hardest things for new parents to do is to respect their child’s independence. It can be so tempting to want to protect them and make all the decisions for them. However, it’s important to remember that children are resilient and capable of a lot more than we give them credit for. When we let them make decisions and figure things out on their own, we’re teaching them an incredibly valuable life skill; we’re showing them they’re capable of taking care of themselves, and that they can handle whatever comes their way. In the long run, this will help them to become happier, more confident adults. So next time your child wants to try something new, resist the urge to hover and let them go for it. You’ll be grateful you did!

Accept Your Child for Who They Are

Being a parent is one of the most wonderful, challenging experiences a person can have. As your child grows and develops, it can be tempting to compare them to other children—and even to yourself—but it’s important to remember that every child is unique. Accepting your child for who they are is one of the best things you can do for them. Yes, it’s normal for children to make mistakes and behave in ways that are less than perfect. What’s important is that you provide the guidance and support they need, without being too critical or judgmental. By doing so, you’ll help your child develop a strong sense of self-esteem and a positive outlook on life.

Spend Time with Them Doing Activities You Both Enjoy

As any parent knows, quality time with your kids is essential. But finding activities that everyone enjoys can be a challenge. If you’re stuck in a rut, try thinking outside the box. Instead of just going to the park, why not go for a walk or ride bikes together? You could even turn it into a game and see who can find the most different kinds of bugs. If your kids are looking for more of a challenge, you could try hiking or camping. The important thing is to spend time together doing something that everyone enjoys. This will help you create lasting memories and bond as a family.

The post Building a Positive Relationship with Your Child appeared first on Guideposts.

Here are 5 spiritual reasons to help you make exercise a habit.

Exercise is a great way to relieve stress and tension.

Being a new parent is stressful. There’s no denying it. You’re constantly worried about your child and whether or not you’re doing a good job. However, new research suggests that exercise can help to relieve some of the stress and tension associated with parenting. In one study, new mothers who exercised three times a week for eight weeks reported feeling calmer and more collected than those who didn’t exercise. Additionally, they felt more capable of dealing with the challenges of motherhood. So, if you’re feeling stressed out, why not try going for a run? It just might help you feel more like yourself again.

Regular exercise can help improve your mood and energy level.

As any new parent knows, having a baby can be a joyous but exhausting experience. Diapers need to be changed, feedings need to be given, and there is always laundry to be done. It can be easy to forget to take care of yourself when you are so busy taking care of your new little one. However, exercising can help improve your mood and energy level, making it easier to handle the demands of motherhood. Even a simple walk around the block can help clear your head and give you some much-needed fresh air. So if you are feeling overwhelmed, don’t forget to take some time for yourself and go for a walk – it might help you feel better.

As a new parent, it’s important to find time for yourself.

Time management is a godsend for new parents. If you can find even just an hour or two to yourself every day, you’ll be amazed at how much it helps your outlook and your energy levels. Of course, it’s not always easy to find time when you have a baby to take care of. However, there are some things you can do to make it happen. First, try to get your partner involved in childcare as much as possible. Even if they’re not able to take on the majority of the responsibilities, every little bit helps. Second, take advantage of your free time, even if it’s just 10 minutes here or there. Use that time to do something for yourself, whether it’s reading a book, taking a bath, or going for a walk. And finally, don’t forget the importance of spiritual self-care. Dedicating even just a few minutes each day to prayer or meditation can help you feel more centered and at peace.

You don’t need to go to the gym. Plenty of exercises can be done at home.

Finding time to go to the gym can be challenging for new parents. However, plenty of exercises can be done at home without special equipment. You can stay fit and healthy with just a few minutes of exercise each day – no gym membership required.

Stick with it, even when you’re feeling tired or stressed out.

Being a parent is one of the most rewarding experiences a person can have. But it can also be one of the most challenging. There will be times when you’re feeling tired or stressed out, and all you want to do is take a break. But it’s important to stick with it. Remember that every phase is temporary; eventually, things will get easier. And in the meantime, you can take comfort in knowing that you’re doing your best to provide your child with everything they need. So hang in there, and don’t give up. You’ve got this.

The post Why New Parents Should Make Exercise a Habit appeared first on Guideposts.

Being a new parent is a blessed time. To make the most of these beautiful moments, start a morning gratitude habit. Try these tips to help you stay upbeat and positive.

Wake up a few minutes earlier than you usually do and spend those few minutes writing down five things you’re grateful for.

As any new parent knows, a good night’s sleep is a blessing. So when the alarm goes off in the morning, it can be tempting to hit the snooze button and enjoy a few extra minutes of shut-eye. However, researchers have found that taking a few moments to express gratitude can improve your mood and help you face the day with a positive attitude.

For example, one study found that participants who wrote down five things they were grateful for each day were more likely to report higher levels of satisfaction with their lives. So if you’re looking for a way to start your day on a positive note, try setting aside a few minutes to reflect on the things you’re thankful for. You may find that those few minutes make all the difference.

Say one of these things out loud to start your day with a positive mindset.

Starting your day with a positive mindset can make all the difference in how your day goes. One simple way to do this is to say something positive out loud when you first wake up. It can be as simple as “I’m grateful for my health” or “I’m looking forward to a great day.”

Saying these words out loud will help to program your mind for positivity and set the tone for the rest of your day. Also, starting your day with gratitude will help you focus on the good in your life, making challenges more manageable. So if you’re looking for a way to start your day off right, try saying something positive out loud. It might make all the difference.

Keep a notepad by your bed so you can write down any thoughts or ideas that come to mind.

As a new parent, you might feel that there are not enough hours in the day. Between feedings, changings, and naps, it can be challenging to find time to think, let alone write down any thoughts or ideas that come to mind. However, keeping a notepad by your bed can help you capture those fleeting moments of inspiration.

Whether it’s a new way to soothe your baby or a brilliant new business idea, jotting down your thoughts can help you remember them later. And who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll look back on your notepad and see the beginnings of something truly great.

Notice the good in your life, even on days when it feels like everything is going wrong.

Everyone has days when it feels like everything is going wrong. The baby won’t stop crying, the dog makes a mess on the rug, and your boss is breathing down your neck at work. It can be easy to get caught up in the negative and forget all the good things in your life. However, taking a step back and focusing on the positive, even on tough days is important.

Maybe your baby finally fell asleep after a long afternoon of crying. Or you had a chance to bond with your dog over a game of fetch. Perhaps you landed that big client you’ve been working hard to impress. Whatever the case, there’s always something good to find, even on the most challenging days. So next time you’re feeling down, take a moment to notice the good in your life—it makes all the difference.

Find someone who can be a support system as you work on developing this habit.

Developing a new habit can be tough, especially for new parents trying to juggle everything at once. It’s important to find someone who can support you during this time. Having someone to lean on will make developing a new habit much easier. Plus, it’s always nice to have someone to talk to about your progress (or lack thereof). So if you’re looking to develop a new habit, make sure to find someone who can be a supportive presence in your life.

The post Tips for New Parents to Start a Morning Gratitude Habit appeared first on Guideposts.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, and maybe even a little scared, when you find out you’re expecting. How will you be as a parent? What changes should you expect?

The important thing is to keep faith that everything will turn out well, that you’ll have a village to support you along the way, and most importantly, that it’s a journey worth taking.

How Your Life Changes Forever

Having a child is a life-changing event. From the moment parents find out they are expecting, their lives are filled with new worries and concerns. They worry about the health of their baby, whether or not they will be able to afford all the necessary supplies, and how life will change once the baby is born. For some parents, pregnancy also brings about a newfound sense of spirituality. They begin to see their unborn child as a miracle from God, and they start to think more carefully about the choices they make in life. No matter what happens during pregnancy, one thing is for sure: it is a time of great change for every parent who experiences it.

You Suddenly Have a Tiny Human Depending on You

As any new parent knows, the arrival of a child is both an exhilarating and overwhelming experience; you suddenly have someone completely dependent on you for everything from food and shelter to love and care. It can be a lot to take in, and faith in God can sometimes be the only thing that gets you through.

With His help, you will find the strength you need to meet the demands of parenting. You will also discover a new level of love and joy that you never knew existed. So if you are feeling lost or alone, just remember that you are not alone; God is with you every step of the way.

It’s Easy to Feel Overwhelmed and Scared

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed and scared during the first few months after birth, but it’s important to stay positive and remember that God is watching over you and your child. While things may be tough now, God has a plan for you and your family. Have faith that everything will work out in the end, and lean into your spirituality to help you through this difficult time. You’ll get through it, just take it one day at a time.

Find Your Parenting Village

There are plenty of people willing to help you along the way, especially your loved ones and close friends. Create and seek a community that’s vast and supportive; many even have experienced a lot of the concerns and fears you’re currently going through. In addition, many churches and faiths offer support groups for new parents. Whatever your situation, know that you are not alone in this journey. There are plenty of people who want to help you succeed.

Take Time for Yourself and Enjoy the Journey

They say that time flies when you’re having fun, but it seems to fly even faster when you’re a parent. One day your child is taking their first steps, the next they’re off to college. In the blink of an eye, they’re grown up and starting a family of their own. That’s why it’s so important to take some time for yourself and enjoy the journey. It’s easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, but taking a few minutes to relax can make all the difference. So go ahead and take that break—you deserve it.

When Baby Arrives, How Everything Changes

Having a baby is a miracle. It’s also when you feel incredibly close to God. Most parents experience feeling a deep sense of gratitude for His grace. Everything changes when you become a parent. It’s a beautiful thing, and it’s worth all the blessings it brings.

The post Finding Faith and Hope as a New Parent appeared first on Guideposts.

The important thing is to find the joy—and here are six simple ways to discover it as a new parent.

1.    Get Out and Explore with Your Baby

As a new parent, it can be hard to find time to get out and explore, but it’s important to step out and experience the world with your baby. Not only is it good for your mental health, but it’s also good for your baby’s development. Seeing new places and meeting new people can help your baby learn about the world and develop new skills. Plus, it’s just plain fun!

2.    Take Time for Yourself Every Day

Focus daily on taking and creating time for yourself. This will give you the strength to carry on when things get tough. It can be easy to forget your own needs when you’re caring for others, but it’s important to remember that you can’t pour from an empty cup. Make sure to schedule time each day to do something you enjoy, even if it’s just for a few minutes. This can be reading, taking a walk, listening to music, or anything else that brings you joy. Nurturing your faith is also important. When you take care of yourself, you’re better equipped to focus on your relationship with God, and handle whatever life throws your way.

3.    Connect with Other Parents

New parents often find themselves feeling isolated and alone. The demands of caring for a baby can make it difficult to find time to connect with others, especially loved ones and close friends. There are, however, a number of ways to meet other parents and build supportive relationships. Joining an online mom group is a great way to find others who are going through the same challenges and joys of parenting. If you’re looking for a more spiritual connection, there are also many faith-based groups that offer support and community for families. Whatever your needs, there is sure to be a group of parents—whether locally or online—who can provide friendship and understanding.

4.    Laugh More and Often

A parent’s job is never done, but that doesn’t mean they can’t find humor in the everyday tasks; in between all the chaos, there are plenty of opportunities to laugh. Whether it’s watching their baby take their first steps or hearing their toddler say something hilarious, every moment is a chance to enjoy the simple joys of life. And as any parent knows, laughter is the best medicine. It’s a great way to relieve stress and bond with your children. So next time you’re feeling frazzled, take a step back and find something to laugh about. It just might be the best thing for you and your family.

5.    Accept Help from Others

As a new parent, it can be difficult to ask for help. You may feel like you should be able to do everything on your own, or that you are failing if you need support; but that couldn’t be further from the truth.  There is no shame in admitting you need help, and doing so can actually help to build a stronger network of support. There are many organizations and programs available to help new parents, and seeking out their assistance can be an incredibly worthwhile—and joyful—experience. If you find yourself struggling, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. It could make all the difference in your parenting journey.

The post 6 Surprising Ways to Find Joy as a New Parent appeared first on Guideposts.

She hung up, leaving me in suspense. She would be home from college in a week for Thanksgiving break—but that suddenly seemed so far away. Willow and I were close. What was so bad that she had to tell me in person? Was she dropping out of school? Was she in some kind of trouble?

Her dad and I picked her up two days before the holiday. My bubbly daughter was quiet on the four-hour drive home. I sent up a quick prayer. God, help her feel comfortable talking to me, and help me accept whatever it is.

The next morning, I made Willow’s favorite breakfast: scrambled eggs with cheese and bacon. She just pushed the food around her plate. Oh boy, I thought. This must be serious. I hoped that our grocery shopping trip that afternoon would give us a chance to talk.

Every year, Willow and I had a ball shopping and preparing the holiday meal. I got out a pen and paper and started our list. We had to hurry. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. Good thing we always made the same traditional dishes. Family favorites. Some of the recipes had been passed down for generations.

I handed her the list. “Make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.” Willow looked at the paper for a while.

Finally she spoke. “Mom, the thing I’ve been wanting to tell you is, I’m vegan now.” She hesitated. “I can’t eat any of this.”

My mind reeled. This hadn’t been one of the scenarios I’d imagined. We were a meat-and-potatoes kind of family. In fact, since the time she could talk, Willow ordered steak every single time we ate out. Is she questioning our values? Food was at the center of so many of our family traditions. Would we ever again enjoy holiday meals together?

I gave her another piece of paper. “Okay, write down what you need,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “At least we can still share some dishes, like our green bean casserole.”

“No, Mom, I can’t,” Willow said gently. “That casserole has dairy products in it.”

This was going to be harder than I thought. We checked our small-town supermarket. They didn’t have a fraction of the strange ingredients on Willow’s list. We would have to go to a health food store in a larger town. We drove in silence. Maybe it’s just a phase, I told myself. But glancing over at Willow softened me. She looked miserable.

“Tell me why you decided to become a vegan,” I said.

Willow told me that although she’d loved the foods she had grown up with, she had come to feel strongly about the ethics of animal products. Maybe it wasn’t that unexpected. Her father had run an animal sanctuary when she was growing up, and she had helped care for a variety of creatures.

I was surprised to learn that she had actually been practicing veganism since the summer, before heading to college. I hadn’t even noticed! My annoyance turned into pride. My daughter was standing up for something she believed in.

At the health food store, Willow and I split up to save time. As I set off in search of things like nutritional yeast and smoked paprika, a new worry surfaced: It was going to be expensive making two of everything. As I rounded the corner, I saw Willow in the frozen foods section.

She picked up an item from the freezer, read the back of the package, then put it back. She repeated the process with a different item, this time putting it in her basket. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice me walk up to her. Then I heard it. My daughter was humming. If being vegan makes her this happy, I need to try and make the best of it.

My resolve to play nice quickly faded on Thanksgiving morning as Willow and I jostled for oven space, bowls and mixing spoons. In our small kitchen, we bumped into each other every time we turned around. Instead of talking and laughing the way we normally did, we were quiet.

I was grieving our holiday traditions. Every year we’d take a picture of Willow triumphantly holding up a giant turkey leg; it was her favorite part of the bird, and she always claimed it. No more, I thought.

When Willow and I did speak, it was mainly to exchange accusing questions. “Are you really taking up all the burners?” I asked. “When can you turn down the oven temperature for our turkey?” “What do you mean you need your own cutting board?”

“Did you just put butter in the potatoes before I could take out any for myself?” Willow fired back. “Mom, why did you buy this thing with casein in it? That’s a milk product.”

By the time we got dinner on the table for our group of seven, both Willow and I were cranky and exhausted. And actually there were two tables: I put the vegan dishes—six in total—on a side table. I didn’t want anyone to confuse them with the real dishes.

People piled food on their plates. Everyone gamely tried some of the vegan options. With all the eating and chatting, it began to feel like a normal Thanksgiving. When I went to get seconds, I was shocked to see that some of our old favorites had barely been touched. A few of Willow’s dishes were almost gone.

“This mushroom gravy—it’s so delicious,” her dad said, pouring the last of it over his turkey. “This is vegan?” Then there were the two green bean casseroles. Mine, an old family recipe made with creamy canned soup, had always been a crowd-pleaser. The consensus on Willow’s casserole, made with almond milk and vegan butter, was that it tasted almost identical to mine. Truthfully, I thought hers was a tad better.

The rest of the family left the dining table between dinner and dessert. Willow looked at me and said, “Thank you, Mom.”

I thought about the impatience I had shown while shopping and cooking. “For what?”

Willow gestured to the food and the pile of plates in the sink. “For all of this,” she said.

Indeed. Thank you, God, for all of this, I prayed silently.

What I had hoped was a phase has become a lifestyle for Willow. I am proud of her, and I’m proud of myself too. These days, she and I have our routine down. What was once an awkward process has become our own special dance as we work around each other gracefully in the kitchen.

Letting go of the “perfect” traditional holiday has opened me up to new experiences. Some of our family’s favorite food traditions are now vegan. I’ve become an expert at reading food labels and shopping economically, and I’m always excited for Willow to come home so I can surprise her with a new vegan ingredient I’ve discovered.

This year, as our family waits for the vegan razzleberry pie to bake—the one we all love—I will thank God for the traditions, old and new, that have come together to make the holidays our own.

Try Willow’s Vegan Green Bean Casserole at home!

The post Her Newly Vegan Daughter Helped Her Embrace New Thanksgiving Traditions appeared first on Guideposts.

In the sanctuary, the school’s headmistress addressed us parents: “This is only the beginning. Parenting is really just a series of goodbyes.” Come on! This was hard enough.

Now I am about to drop off Prentiss at college. I know she’ll be fine, partly because she went to nine schools growing up. As she says, she has the new-girl thing down to a science.

What the headmistress left out is that each goodbye offers an opportunity for both child and parent to grow. Each rite of passage is a chance for your faith to deepen as the world and God embrace you and your child. On Prentiss’s first day at her last high school, a young lady walked up to her and said, “I’ve heard so many nice things about you, and I am really looking forward to getting to know you.”

That schoolmate of my daughter’s reminded me that as our children walk through each first-day door, they become more and more themselves, welcomed into a world of possibilities that God has in store for them.

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Anniversary trips were a tradition nearly as old as our marriage. Each year, we took turns planning a secret trip for the other. We’d stayed in a historic train car in Livingston, the Ghost Rails Inn in Alberton, Montana, and Chena Hot Springs in Fairbanks, Alaska. But this anniversary required someplace special. Somewhere completely unexpected. After 15 years, could we still surprise each other?

The pressure was on—and I found the perfect spot: The Shire of Montana. It was a J.R.R. Tolkien–inspired guest home, a “hobbit house” built into a hillside near the small town of Trout Creek, a seven-hour drive from our place in Roundup. Jim and I had often talked about how fun it would be to build a hobbit house, so I knew he’d be impressed. And our six-year-old daughter, Aurora, would love it.

Whimsical structures dotted the grounds—a troll mine, a wishing well, houses for elves and dwarves and fairies. What child wouldn’t be fascinated by a village made for child-size hobbits? This is going to be the best trip yet, I thought as I clicked on the website to make our reservation.

Jim inadvertently started our surprise trip tradition with a getaway for our first anniversary. When I asked where we were going, he playfully refused to tell me. “It’s within a day’s drive of Roundup,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying for now. But make sure you pack something nice for dinner.”

Our destination? The landmark Grand Union Hotel in Fort Benton. I was blown away. The surprise made it even more fun. I called dibs on Year No. 2 and planned a trip to Valier’s Stone School Inn. After Aurora was born, she came on our adventures too.

She might love The Shire even more than we do, I thought, glancing at our daughter, her little blonde head bowed over her latest painting-in-progress.

I was about to book our reservation when I saw a note on The Shire’s website: No kids allowed.

That ruins everything! We couldn’t leave Aurora behind, and I had no Plan B. A year without an anniversary adventure was unthinkable.

There was an email address on the site. Dare I ask if an exception might be possible? It couldn’t hurt.

A reply wasn’t long in coming. “The rule exists because previous children destroyed large parts of the Elven Village,” wrote Mr. Michaels, the owner. “But if you give me your word that your daughter is responsible and will not touch, she can come.” I gulped, glancing again at Aurora. She was a good kid. Thoughtful. Well-behaved. This would be okay. Right?

I wrote back, pledging nonstop close supervision, and filled out the reservation form.

Over the next couple weeks, I received several emails from Mr. Michaels about our upcoming visit, each one addressed to “Erin, Jim and the well-behaved six-year-old.” Mr. Michaels wasn’t missing a single chance to remind me of my promise. Each time, I felt a prickle of concern. Aurora was so young. What if she made an innocent mistake?

What if it was me who’d made the mistake? Our annual trip was supposed to be a fun adventure. How much fun would we have if I was hovering over Aurora, scolding her if she put a foot—or hand, in this case—wrong? The last word I wanted to associate with an anniversary trip was no.

The day finally arrived. We piled into the car for the drive to western Montana. I couldn’t help but be excited, imagining Jim and Aurora’s reactions. Still, turning onto Hobbit Lane, I felt a pang of anxiety.

God, please let this be a good experience for Aurora. For all of us.

We passed a hand-carved wooden sign that read, “the adventure begins….” Jim looked at me curiously.

“You’ll see.” I pulled into The Shire, tucked into a grassy hillside surrounded by tall ponderosa pines. Jim’s and Aurora’s jaws dropped.

Now came the hard part. As soon as we got out of the car, I pulled Aurora aside. “Children aren’t usually allowed here,” I said. “So you have to be very, very careful. You can look at everything, but don’t touch.” I explained the reason for the rule and how terrible it would be to damage anything.

Aurora’s eyes widened at my no-nonsense tone. “I promise, Mama,” she said solemnly. I tried not to wince. Had I just destroyed any illusion of wonderland? Nothing could kill joy faster than a stern “Don’t touch!”

We pushed open Bag End’s front door and walked in. The interior did not disappoint. Every detail had been carefully thought out. From the cozy fire crackling in the wood stove and the furry extra-large hobbit slippers (hobbits have big hairy feet) to the character-specific hats, Shire-themed lampshades and hobbit-height peephole in the door. There was even a golden ring on a delicate chain—just like the one in the novels—hanging from a rustic railing near the ceiling.

Aurora took everything in, keeping her hands pressed to her sides.

Outside brought more wonders. Murals depicted the rest of the village. A massive tree stump out front served as a troll house. There was a hobbit honeymoon suite with a large round door, and even a hobbit firehouse, with a real bell, red door and fire extinguisher.

“Remember, no touching,” I reminded Aurora, feeling like a scold.

She nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

Had I scared Aurora so much about touching that she couldn’t think about anything else? What fun is that? I thought.

As darkness fell, one by one, little colored lights winked on, scattered throughout the woods. We stepped onto the wooden footbridge that spanned the stream gurgling down the hill. Aurora walked beside us, hands clasped behind her back.

“It wouldn’t take long for a careless kid to wreak havoc here,” Jim whispered to me.

“I think Aurora understands,” I whispered back. “Everything is so carefully made. It’s beautiful but fragile.”

Halfway across the bridge, a whizzing sound overhead almost made us duck. Were those fairies zooming by? Aurora stopped, looking skyward. “Where’d they go?” she wondered out loud.

I took a second look with her, clasping my hands behind my back too. Flying fairies no longer seemed impossible.

We spent several days at the Shire. Aurora delighted in each discovery but never disturbed a thing, not even the miniature bicycle and fairy clothes in the Fern Grotto that begged to be played with. She took her responsibility to protect Mr. Michaels’s work seriously. Respecting boundaries didn’t take away the beauty and wonder; it allowed The Shire to remain beautiful and wonderful into the future.

Not so different from a marriage, I thought. Now I understood why God had brought us to this place to celebrate our fifteenth anniversary. Jim and I moved through life side by side as a couple, but we’d learned to accept each other’s individuality and boundaries as well. Marriage was full of surprises, challenges and adventure. The key to making it work was respecting each other.

Like The Shire of Montana, our marriage was a labor of love. One worth protecting. If we treated it with care, it would last a lifetime.

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Morrie got me thinking about the big questions: Why am I here? What’s really important? What does God want from me? I’ve written five more inspirational best sellers since then; they all tackle these questions. Along the way, I’ve started a few charities in Detroit, and I now spend a big chunk of my time in Haiti, where I run an orphanage.

What do I now know for sure? The orphanage is the most important thing in my life, hands down. It’s the core of my existence. Here’s what else I’ve learned about being the person God wants you to be:

Things happen in God’s time, not ours.

With my most recent book, The Stranger in the Lifeboat, I wanted to write a parable about the idea that God will answer our prayers in his own way and in his own time. When we ask God for something, we tend to think of it as if we’re ordering a sandwich: Okay, this is what I want, how I expect it to look and when it’s supposed to be here. If it doesn’t come this way, we get upset.

In the book, 10 people are adrift in a lifeboat in the ocean after the yacht they were on sank. Then they pick up someone else in the waves who claims to be the Lord. Here’s the question the book asks: Can we learn to change our perspective and accept God’s help even when it doesn’t come the way we wanted it?

For years, my wife and I prayed for children. It didn’t happen. Then—boom!—we ended up taking over an orphanage. Next, we adopted a five-year-old girl named Chika from there. She had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor. For the next couple years, we traveled around the world looking for a cure.

Suddenly, during our late fifties, there we were with a little girl crawling into our bed, playing silly games and demanding that I make her eggs every morning. She was loud and bossy and funny. One day, it hit me: Almost 20 years after we got married, the child that we’d prayed for finally showed up. God came through—in his own time. We had only two years with Chika before she died. For a while, I was so angry. But then I realized our time with her was an incredible gift from God.

Live each day as if it’s your last.

In The Stranger in the Lifeboat, there’s a line: “We all know we are going to die, but deep down, we don’t believe it.”

Morrie had said that to me some 25 years ago, when he was dying. What a blessing it was to be told that at age 37—and to really hear it. Although I don’t always succeed, I try very, very hard to use this philosophy to steer each day.

I started volunteering at the orphanage right after the 2010 earthquake that devastated Haiti. Then the guy who was running it ran out of money. So I stepped in. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was terrified. Yet I had a feeling it was a chance to do something more meaningful than anything I’d done before. If one day you wake up and it’s your time to go, it’s too late to start bargaining for more time. Don’t die with too many regrets. Do what you want to do now.

What you carry defines you.

When Chika came to live with us, I was stunned by how deeply you can come to care about somebody who hadn’t even been in your life before. Chika didn’t go to school because she was sick, so she was with my wife and me every minute of every day.

One time while she and I were coloring at the kitchen table, I realized I was late for a radio program. Chika didn’t want me to go. I said, “Chika, this is my job. I have to work.” She made a sourpuss face and said, “No, it isn’t. Your job is to carry me.” What a brilliant, God-inspired line! Of course, that was my job—and it’s the best job I’ll ever have in my life.

What you carry defines you. For many years, my arms were full of books. And my work, my reputation, my accomplishments. Then I had to drop all that to carry a little girl around. There’s no comparison. Your arms are meant for carrying other people when they need you, for carrying the children of the world who are forgotten and abandoned the way Chika was—not the other stuff.

Possessions don’t matter.

I’ve made more money than I could have ever imagined. But I live in the same house in Detroit that I lived in before Tuesdays With Morrie; I drive a 2009 car. My wife and I don’t have fancy jewelry or fancy furniture.

When I’m at the orphanage, I sleep on a little four-inch mattress; it’s uncomfortable and usually hotter than heck. But I sleep so well there—better than I do at home in Detroit. I guess that’s because I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Sometimes the kids at the orphanage say, “When I grow up, I’m going to be really successful like Mr. Mitch.” We have college scholarships lined up for every single kid; it’s part of the plan at Have Faith Haiti Mission. But I always tell them, “I don’t care how much money you make. I only care about your heart.”

God is with us forever.

I have written books about heaven, but I’m not an expert on it. Still, I firmly believe that we’re going to be loved and taken care of after this world. This is what I’ve learned from the pastors, priests and rabbis who have talked to me.

In The Stranger in the Lifeboat, there’s a part where the God character says, “Why is that when somebody dies everyone asks, ‘Why did God take them?’ A better question would be: ‘Why did God give them to us? What did we do to deserve their love, their sweetness, these wonderful moments?’” Loving Chika showed me that those moments are a gift but that losing them is not a punishment.

The God character also says, “I know you cry when people you love leave this earth, but I can assure you they’re not crying.” I lost Chika and both of my parents in the past six years. I’m crying because I miss them, but they’re not crying. They’re happy because they’re with God now. To me, that means everything.

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“The baby is fine, Tiera,” he said. I could barely hear him over the bedlam. “Everything is going to be fine.”

No, it wasn’t. Nothing was going right. I’d been struggling ever since we’d come home from the hospital three weeks earlier. My every attempt to get things under control only seemed to make things worse. Like giving in to MJ’s repeated requests to hold his baby brother on his own. Seconds later, the baby had slipped from his grasp, landing hard on the bed. Hence the uproar.

I slowed the rocker, seeking the right rhythm to soothe Micah. Why is this so hard for me? People had told me during my pregnancy that raising an infant and a toddler would be the hardest job in the world, but I’d shrugged it off. My day job was figuring out how to send astronauts to Mars. That’s right—rocket science. Plus, I was working on my master’s degree in engineering management. Raising two young children? No problem.

Somehow my calculations had been way off. I was barely sleeping. The house was a mess. I choked back tears, not wanting Myron to think I was losing it. I can do all things, I told myself, a prayer I’d turned to for strength all my life. Now the words seemed to mock me. Micah’s cries grew louder. Between sobs, MJ said he was sorry.

It scared me, this feeling of losing control. I thrived on order, on finding not merely answers to problems but perfect solutions. Excelling. God had blessed me with a mind that loved complexity, challenges, computations. That drive had been key to all I’d accomplished in my 27 years. Such as graduating from MIT with a degree in aerospace engineering. Going immediately to work on NASA’s Moon to Mars mission rocket team, where I’d met Myron.

We’d founded an outreach effort to encourage kids across the world to achieve their dreams in science and engineering. I’d coauthored my first published book, Wonder Women of Science. I’d taught MJ to walk while working full-time and taking grad school classes—all over Zoom due to Covid. Myron and I mentored high school students.

I never took the easy route. A Black woman in engineering is still a rarity, and I didn’t want anyone thinking I’d received special treatment. I wasn’t afraid to be tested. But being a mom of two was something else entirely. Micah clearly needed more than I could give him. What did it matter if I could solve the physics of a rocket launch if I failed at motherhood?

“Let me take the baby,” Myron said, louder. “You need a break.”

I knew Myron could handle the baby. He was wonderful with both boys. But in that moment, it felt as if I would be surrendering something important. “No, I can do this,” I insisted. “He needs his mother.” I looked down at my beautiful baby, hoping for some sign of affirmation. The insistent cry that came from his tiny lips was not a vote in my favor.

The problems had begun in my ninth month of pregnancy. We’d gone for a routine checkup, only to learn my fluids were too low. “We’ll need to induce labor,” my doctor said. Everything had happened in a rush, spiraling out of control from there.

The hospital sent us home after only 24 hours. Myron’s dad was on hand. My parents had come to help too, but they had to spend the first week quarantining upstairs because of Covid.

That first night home with our new baby, I cooked dinner for five adults and MJ. Myron offered to cook, but it seemed easier to do it myself. After dinner, I caught up on email. The semester had just begun that day, and there’d been no time to let colleagues and my fellow students know I’d be out and missing classes. Most of them didn’t know I was pregnant. I didn’t want anyone thinking I needed a slower pace.

The next few weeks, I woke up at all hours to nurse. I held Micah as much as possible, knowing that mother-newborn bonding was so important. MJ felt threatened and confused. He loved his baby brother…but not all the attention I was giving him. MJ wanted me to hold him all the time too. He wanted to snuggle close too. When I’d finally get a minute to lie down and rest, MJ would check on me, making me his personal climbing wall. Then there was the begging to hold Micah. I couldn’t take it. I’d finally given in.

And here was the result. It wasn’t just Micah I’d failed. I’d failed MJ by not giving him enough attention. I’d failed Myron by being a nervous wreck. The house was in disarray. I hadn’t cooked a healthy meal in days. I was behind on my schoolwork. How was I possibly going to manage when I went back to work after my maternity leave? I can do all things, I tried again. If only.

Myron put his hand on my shoulder. “Let me take care of the boys,” he said. “You go and spend some time with Jesus. It’ll do you good.”

“I’ve been reminding myself I can do all things,” I said. “But lately it seems like I can’t do anything!”

Myron looked at me curiously. “That’s not the whole verse, you realize?” he said, smiling. “You’re leaving out the most important part.”

I can do all things… How many times had I told myself that lately without finishing the verse? …Through Christ who strengthens me. I’d fallen into a kind of shorthand version, one that didn’t fully acknowledge the source of my strength, of all my blessings.

“Wow,” I said to my husband. “You’re right.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” I added, something else I’d forgotten to say in the tumult of the past few weeks. I didn’t have to burn myself out trying to be the perfect mother, wife, scientist and grad student. God loved me just as I was, and he was there, along with Myron, to help me do all things.

I looked down at Micah. He was sleeping peacefully in my arms. MJ had quieted too, giving his baby brother a watery smile. I nodded at MJ and said, “See? Everything’s fine.”

Still, I handed Micah to his father. My Bible was calling me.

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