One of the many things I’ve learned in my life is that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never have it “completely together.” In fact, the more I discover God, the more I realize how little I can do without Him. Even still, I try. Sometimes that bravado, that “I’ve got this” attitude, takes over — until I come to my senses and realize I don’t “have this” at all; I need God. You’d think I’d know that by now. After all, I teach kids all day long to rely on God, yet there are still times in my own life when I forget that.

One of those areas in which I struggle is in parenting. I never grew up with sisters — only a brother. Now I have two teenage daughters in the peak of their teen years and I’ve realized something: they speak a different language. They need things they never used to, and seem to need me less. It helps to talk to other dads who’ve been through this. “You’ll survive,” they promise. Wait, isn’t that something I’m supposed to be saying to my daughters?

As an adult, I’ve been through a thing or two in my life. I like to imagine myself as having the wisdom to help my own kids navigate past their road mines. I remind them about what types of boys they should like, what level of work they should do in school, and how to put their phones down and smile when someone talks to them. All good things for a parent to say.

Where I falter, though, is when I try to be their social engineer: to push too hard, to try and solve their social problems at school, or to try to keep them from feeling any pain. Usually my wife steps in when I do that: “Paul, I’ll handle it. This is girl stuff.” Who’d have known I’d be so inept?

Men fix. It’s what we do. These things get easier, though, when we realize it’s not our job to fix everything as a dad, even though we want to. Sure, I can give them advice on how to handle the pains of a teenage social life. But what I can’t do is go though it for them. I can’t walk them to class every day, or follow them off to college. I can’t do their homework for them, or run interference like Superman to block all their pain. Instead, I’m called to do perhaps the most difficult thing for a parent: let them make some mistakes. Not the big ones. But maybe the small ones. Maybe those mistakes will fortify their ability to discern in a way I can’t. A big thank-you to St. Catherine’s for helping them do that.

I try to teach my students that if they want to see some “together” people, look at the saints. And I try to teach my students that if they want to see some faulted people, look at the saints. Having a strong faith is as much about struggle as it is success. Maybe it’s the same with parenting.

One of my favorite saints is Augustine. His greatest statement is one that could be appropriate for anyone on a faith journey: “Lord, make me pure. But not yet.” If Augustine were writing a prayer for me, it might say, “Lord, make my kids grow up. But not yet.”

In parenting, I think we get a small glimpse of what it’s like to be God. Maybe there’s wisdom in how patiently God waits on us to “right” our ships. I’m not that patient. The first sign of a bad grade, I’m on it with my daughter. The first sign she’s too quiet on a car ride home, I’ve convinced myself there’s a deeper problem and it has nothing to do with the fact she’s a teenage girl. Being a bit “vigilant” isn’t a bad thing. Being vigilant without trusting that “God’s got this” might be.



Maybe my faith in them is too weak, and my weakness is my lack of faith in a God who loves them more than I do. I don’t have the answers. There’s no crystal ball. But in the words of a very good friend of mind: “God loves our kids more than we do. He’ll give them the grace to forge past their pains.” I just pray He gives me the wisdom to let that happen from time to time.

Paul Stuligross is director of campus ministry at Orchard Lake St. Mary’s Preparatory and is a former police officer.