He is of Age, Ask Him

Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don’t remember growing older,
When did they?


Words parents hum periodically as they watch their children ricochet into adulthood—some ages evoking fonder sentiments than others. Our son, Spencer, turned 18 in March. Sam and I wondered what impact that number would have on our relationship and authority with him as the previous year had been trying. If “Boundary Testing” had been an Olympic event, I feel confident Spencer could have medalled.

Lately, when I meet new people in our small town, I’m greeted like this: “So you’re Spencer’s mother.” I wait a second or two before answering, during which time I read body language, looking for clues as to whether this will be a proud moment, or a not-so-proud one.

Most parents know what to say in the proud moments. We twist the toe of our shoe into the dirt and mutter words like “Aw, shucks, thank you,” or “It’s by the grace of God,” or, if our mother-in-law is standing at our side, we might say, “It’s because of the firm yet gentle guidance of his father.” Sam and I have experienced such moments as Spencer loves the Lord and his hands have mowed, and chopped, and moved for those who were unable.

But what do you say to the friend who heard your son was suspended by duct-tape to the back of the abandoned Safeway store off Main Street? What answer is appropriate to the acquaintance who witnessed your offspring guzzling (and trying to keep down) a gallon of homogenized liquid during a “Milk Challenge?” Parental loyalty is put to the test, and though tempted, I’ve never answered, “Spencer? Spencer Who?”

Then last week, Sam taught from John 9 and my earthly burdens suddenly felt lighter. The purpose of this lesson was to note the blind man’s faith and how it grew in the span of a single day after Jesus healed him. I followed along as Sam read. At verse 20, I became ridiculously alert—the Pharisees have called the parents into account for their son. We know he is our son,” they answer, “and we know he was born blind. But how he can see now, or who opened his eyes, we don’t know. Ask him! He is of age! He will speak for himself!” (exclamation points mine)

Ask him! He is of age! He will speak for himself!


Those words! Such a comfort! You think Spencer’s hair is too long and greasy? Ask him. He is of age! You saw him jumping from the dam into the North Fork? Ask him. He is of age! Eighteen is not going to be difficult as I thought it would be.

Days later, while still riding the “He is of age” coaster, God tapped me on the shoulder and whispered a sobering thought: “You are of age. I will ask you.”

He will ask me about behavior of which I had knowledge. Sins I’ve committed in spite of having known better. I will be shown opportunities I missed in His service. I won’t be able to shift responsibility with words such as, “But, my parents said . . .”

“When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things.” (1 Corinthians 13:11)

Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years

With sorrow, the account will come into the light.

Overwhelming thankfulness for a gracious Savior fills me. A Savior who will dry every tear.

I observe Spencer willingly give up fun to make it to a Bible study.

In him, I am well pleased, flits through a mother’s heart.

Lord, give us wisdom and perseverance to train our children in all your ways and when in your eyes they have come of age, give us peace as we transfer them into your waiting hands. Amen.

(Lyrics from Sunrise Sunset)