One of my wife’s favorite old programs is “The Golden Girls.” She made me buy a few seasons of it on DVD. Although it’s a comedy, there are a few notable lines I’ve learned from it. Here’s one of them: “It’s difficult being the parent of a child with their own free will.” I didn’t start to realize that until my kids got older.

I’ve taken my kids to church their whole lives, prayed with them at home, and send them to Catholic schools now. But there’s no guarantee they’ll continue their faith into young adulthood. And I can’t make them.

Nowhere is free will more evident than in a theology classroom. Often I enter into discussions with my students about their faith lives, or lack thereof. And often I’m reminded that each one of them has the God-given gift to love God back … or not. The same could be said with my own kids. The older they get, the more I find myself missing their younger years. Gone are the days when I can expect long sprints into open arms upon my return from work. Now, they’re scandalized if I hug them even once in public.

At times it used to bother me. But then I started realizing: they love me in their own way; in the way that teens and preteens do — not 6-year-olds. That I miss the old days is more on me than them. That I appreciate it when they express their gratitude without being prompted is a testament to their free will. I wonder if this doesn’t give us a glimpse into what it’s like to be God. Freedom is a tricky business with a two-sided propensity: pain and joy. I hope I’ve caused God more of the latter, but I’m sure the former has reared its head more than once.

Years ago, I responded to a police call when a teenage boy destroyed the apartment where he lived with his sister and mother. Amidst her tears, his mother explained that this was a regular occurrence with him, and that he’d learned it from his absent father. Through our police department’s mentoring program, I tried to reach out to him, taking him to lunch a few times a month, and a movie once. One day he expressed to me, in no uncertain terms: “I’m an atheist. What do you have to say about that?” I didn’t know what to say, so I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t blame you. I would be too.” I caught myself off guard, wondering: ‘Did I just give him the green light to continue not believing?’ He asked me: “So, what are you going to do about it?” I said: “I guess I’ll see you next week so we can have lunch again.”

I’m not the wisest person in the world. I have no psychology degree. But my former career was enough of a tutor into human nature — and hopefully God’s nature — to teach me that our love of God is not a prerequisite for Him to love us back. And we all won’t love God in the same way.

We can’t force our kids to love us. I can’t force my theology students to believe. I have no idea whether or not my daughters will drag themselves out of bed on a Sunday morning when they’re off at college. I guess the good news is we parents don’t have to go it alone. Nowhere was that more evident than at the Cathedral of the Most Blessed Sacrament recently, at the Catholic Schools Week Mass.

Seeing so many faithful people gathered together for one cause reminded me there is a village; that we don’t have to go it alone. Who was I to think I was the only one who could give my kids their faith? Who was I to doubt that that village could be so strong? Perhaps I’ve let fear influence me far too often.

Years after I met this young man from the police call, his mother got back on her feet, earned her degree and met someone who treated her the way she deserved to be treated. She did it with the help of lots of people in that village. She later became Catholic and I was blessed to be her sponsor. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve lost track of her and her son. But I’m convinced the heavens rejoice whenever our “village” reaffirms its commitment to God and unfurls its faith on those who struggle to find theirs.

I’m sure fear will tap me on the shoulder again. I just need to remember God’s in control. Please, somebody remind me of that in a few years, when I send my kids off to college.

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