I have been blessed with many sisters, some blood, some not. One of these wise women unwittingly wrote a provocative statement in a family message. Elvira was relating a conversation she had with her father, the grandfather of her now adult children. He expressed his concern about the lifestyle of certain family members. She told him his role was to pray, love and be quiet.

Elvira is the second oldest of the original nine children in a Mennonite family from small-town Manitoba. She is a big woman with big wisdom. In my life, Elvira stands among the women I admire.

Her message feels like good advice to me and for all parents and grandparents of adult children. I struggle to wrap my mind around the complexities of this advice.

Pray

I was very religious and innocent when I was a small child. Apparently, I walked to church some eight blocks away by myself in the early morning. This was done before my family had risen. I wanted to talk to God.

The word pray is a tough one for me. Not that I don’t pray, I do, but not in the traditional religious sense. I get tense when I hear the word pray because it brings up my contentious religious history. The word pray sticks in my throat, I can’t swallow it and I can’t spit it out.

There were many reasons why I left the church when I was in my mid-20s, but mostly it was because I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I needed to find my own form of prayer.

Oh, I still have my off days when (apparently) I have said, “praying for someone else is a fucking waste of my time.”

If I can focus on the wonder of my own life instead of what could be wrong with the lives of my children or future grandchildren, I can truly love with no strings attached.

Love

I am so full of love that sometimes I wonder if it is love and not possessiveness or addiction or weakness. The older I get the better I understand what love could be.

Abraham-Hicks tells me I cannot love and worry about someone at the same time – these two energies are conflicting and cannot exist together. They go on to say that as a parent, you can’t make choices on behalf of your children without disempowering them.

If I am connected to my wisdom, I can love others without requiring something in return – without expecting them to change in order for me to feel better.

On my good days, I regularly acknowledge to my now adult children what they are doing right. I tell them I noticed how kind they were to someone, how well they did something, how glad I am that they are in my life. I aspire to release preconceived notion of who my children are because I only know part of them.

And so, I love.

Be Quiet

I don’t want to be quiet. I have lots to say. I have wisdom and experience.

And I want to protect my kids from anything that might hurt them physically, spiritually and or emotionally. I want to say “oh sweetheart, don’t do that because this could happen.”

I don’t want to live in fear of the future and I don’t want to put that onto my children whether young or old.

I forget that my active parenting is done. It is time to stop and realize that my adult children have already learned significant life lessons from me, both good and bad.

I remind myself regularly that if I am asked to share my perspective, it is just that, my perspective. Amid the desperate quest to always be the perfect parent I have come across this gem from Abraham-Hicks.

If you guide through anything other than your own example, it crosses over into the category of control. If you say, “This is what I’ve found that works for me, try it if you like.” That’s guidance.  (Abraham-Hicks link)

I aspire to absorb the magnitude and wisdom of these few little words: Pray, Love and be Quiet. This means a whole lot of listening before I open my mouth.