Raising Strong Kids by Showing Our Weakness

“Would you please, please come with me? I really want you to be there. All the other moms are going.”

My kindergartener’s words echoed in my heart long after I gently said no. Her request was simple, innocent, and full of hope and I had to let her down. Not because I didn’t want to be there, but because my disability made it impossible to navigate an outdoor school event on my own. She didn’t protest; she nodded with the quiet understanding of a child used to hearing “maybe next time.” But inside, I grieved. I longed to walk the school field with her, to be like all the other mothers, to simply say “yes.”

Before having children, my physical limitations were largely personal I had learned to structure my life around what I could manage. But motherhood doesn’t cater to limitations. It stretches and tests every fiber of our being. And for me, it forced an agonizing awareness of how much I couldn’t do. I saw the missed moments, the unmet needs, and I carried the silent burden of guilt.

Many parents feel this weight. Whether it’s physical disability, financial hardship, emotional scars, or overwhelming schedules, we look at our children and fear we’re not giving them enough. According to the Pew Research Center, 59% of U.S. parents say they sometimes feel they’re not spending enough time with their kids. Add personal limitations to that equation, and the self-doubt multiplies.

But here’s what God began to show me: He chose me with all my weaknesses to be their mother.

The Hidden Strength of Dependence

In my weakness, I found a strength I had never known before. It wasn’t mine it was His. As Paul writes, “The weakness of God is stronger than men” (1 Corinthians 1:25). When I couldn’t do what other moms did, I was driven to ask God for help, for wisdom, for grace. And He answered faithfully, abundantly.

This shift changed my parenting. Where once I might have relied on my own ability to respond to a request, now I paused to pray. Where I once gave answers quickly, I now asked God what was best. In those pauses, I discovered wisdom that wasn’t mine and provision I couldn’t have manufactured.

The Israelites once made a tragic mistake because they didn’t seek God's counsel (Joshua 9:14). Their decision seemed so obvious that they didn’t even think to pray. I’ve done the same, especially in moments that felt manageable. But the truth is, weakness forces us to our knees and that’s exactly where we find God’s strength.

The Parenting Lessons Weakness Teaches

If it weren’t for my limitations, I would have missed seeing how directly God works in parenting. I’ve seen my prayers answered with uncanny precision. I’ve felt strength return in moments of physical pain. I’ve seen impossible days transformed by simple trust.

My physical disability has grown more pronounced over time, with increasing pain and fatigue. In this, I’ve found daily companionship with Jesus. Like the tired and troubled who came to Him in the Gospels, I come to Him for rest (Matthew 11:28). And He never turns me away.

This dependency reshaped my priorities. I used to pride myself on being the capable Martha, doing all the things and meeting all the needs. But now I’ve been given the gift of Mary’s posture sitting at Jesus’s feet (Luke 10:38–42). My desire to check off the to-do list has been replaced with a longing to dwell with the One who meets all needs, including those I can’t.

Even research confirms the value of parental presence over perfection. A study published in Child Development found that emotional availability and spiritual modeling from parents have a greater long-term impact on a child’s well-being than material provision or performance.

What My Children Learned Through My Weakness

Looking back, I now see how God used my limitations to shape my daughters not in spite of my weakness, but because of it.

They’ve become helpers. One of my daughters instinctively got up to help her teacher in first grade while others sat still. She didn’t hesitate. She’s never stared at or questioned someone with a visible difference. Compassion is her default.

They’ve become pray-ers. One rainy evening, while I struggled with leg pain in traffic on the way to a game, my younger daughter prayed aloud with me. She asked God for strength and a clear path and within minutes, both came. That car ride became a holy moment, a firsthand lesson in God’s responsiveness.

They’ve become aware. They notice needs. They value people. They’ve seen brokenness up close, and they know what it means to look to God in the midst of it.

These traits weren’t taught in Sunday school or learned from a curriculum. They were formed in the crucible of our everyday struggles through my tears, through our prayers, through the visible gaps where God showed up.

Why Our Cracks Matter

As parents, we long to be strong, capable, and confident. But Scripture tells a different story: that God shines best through weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). That our children are watching not for perfection, but for the surpassing power that belongs to God and not to us (2 Corinthians 4:7).

We live in a culture obsessed with polished parenting and curated perfection. But what our children need most is to see real faith in real life. They need to see us lean on God, cry out to Him, and praise Him when He comes through.

In the end, our cracks aren’t liabilities they’re the places where God’s glory shines brightest.

And that might just be the greatest gift we could ever give our children.

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