Parenting through the silence and trusting God with the pieces. 

Ugh. There is nothing worse than knowing you’re about to break your kid’s heart with something that’s completely out of your control.

Especially when it’s one of the ones who hasn’t quite found his way to God yet.

Big changes are happening in our family. After four years in southeast Georgia, we’re moving back to the Chicago area at the end of summer. We’ve prayed on it, wrestled with it, sat in all the messy middle of it. But in the end, we know it’s time.

And Monday—we told our 16-year-old.

It broke his heart.

Which, of course, broke mine too.

There’s something uniquely painful about watching your teenage child try to be strong while silently falling apart. They’re too old to be distracted with ice cream and cartoons, and too young to see the bigger picture—that sometimes God calls us into the unknown for reasons we don’t understand yet.

He’s built a life here—friends, mentors, routines, comfort. And now we’re asking him to start over again. As a mom, it guts me. You’d trade anything to protect their peace, their joy, their sense of home. But sometimes life just won’t let you.

We’ve all changed here. Grown here.

Georgia is where we began to heal.

It’s where I started telling the truth about my story.

It’s where I began to live like I’m actually allowed to be whole.

Leaving is hard for all of us—but hardest for him.

It’s been 24 hours and he’s still not talking to us.

But he hasn’t run away yet, so… I’m counting every silver lining I can.

Today, I’m learning (again) that you don’t always get to fix the pain.

Sometimes you just sit with it.

I sat beside him while he cried and didn’t try to talk him out of it.

I held his shoulders while he muttered how unfair it all is.

And I let him feel it—because the only thing worse than heartbreak is feeling like you have to hide it.

We’re not promised a life without grief.

But we are promised that God never leaves us in it alone.

I don’t have a neat bow to tie on this. No silver lining big enough to make this feel easy. Just a mama heart cracked open, trusting that this uprooting is not the end—but another chapter where grace will meet us.

So tonight I’m praying this:

God, hold the hearts of our children when we have to say the hard things.

Give them peace that passes understanding, even when they don’t understand.

Let our love remind them that home isn’t just a place—but your loved ones.

And remind us too, that You are always going ahead of us, preparing the way.

Amen.

If you’re in a season of transition—one that requires you to do the hard thing, the thing that hurts the people you love most—I see you. I’m there with you. And no, you’re not a bad mom. You’re a brave one. Even if your teen doesn’t speak to you for a week.

We can be soft and steady. Broken and brave.

And still trust that God is holding all the pieces.

With grace (and maybe a little side-eye from the teenager)

-J