From the archive:
I wrote this last fall while watching one of my kids step into a new season. Reading it again now, I can see even more clearly how God was working on me right alongside him.

A few months ago, we had a houseplant growing in our home. It was about a foot and a half tall. No flowers, just a green plant doing its thing. We watered it regularly, gave it attention, but it never seemed to get any bigger. It stayed a small, healthy, green plant.

After a while, we moved it out to the deck, thinking maybe some sunshine and fresh air would help it along. It grew a little but still, no blooms. Later on, we took it out of its pot completely and planted it in our backyard flower garden.

Today, that little plant has become something entirely different: a full-grown bush, covered in big pink flowers. Evidently, it just needed a place to stretch out.

That plant was always capable of becoming more. But its environment, the small, safe pot, was holding it back. It would have survived just fine inside our house. It would’ve been watered, taken care of, and looked after. But comfort isn’t the same as growth. Once it left the pot, once it had to dig in, weather the elements, and adapt to a bigger space, it finally started becoming what it was made to be.

That plant reminded me a little too much of parenting.

As a dad, I sometimes find myself wanting to keep my kids in the “pot”—safe, contained, protected. I want to water them with encouragement, give them just enough sunlight, and maybe rotate them every now and then for balanced exposure to life’s lessons. I want them to be healthy and happy. Who wouldn’t?

But if I’m honest, part of me also wants to keep them small. Manageable. Close. In a world that feels unpredictable and sometimes flat-out unsafe, it’s easy to confuse control with care.

Take driving, for example.

Brighton turned 15 over a year ago, but getting behind the wheel wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. He wasn’t in a rush, and I wasn’t either. Growing up on a farm, I’d been driving since I was tall enough to see over the steering wheel, often with cows as my only traffic companions. But Brighton’s growing up in a town, with actual lanes and lights and people who treat stop signs as polite suggestions.

And as much as I love the kid, sitting in the passenger seat while my little boy drove was a whole new kind of nerve-racking. Honestly, I don’t like anyone else driving. Call it trust issues, control issues, or just plain “I’ve-seen-how-some-of-y’all-take-left-turns” issues. I’m the guy who volunteers to drive everywhere—not because I’m nice, but because I like being in control of the brake pedal.

Brighton turned 16 and still didn’t want to get his license. And part of me wanted to say, “That’s fine. No rush.” But deep down, I knew it was time. Time for him to get out of his smaller pot and spread his roots a little. So his mama and I started giving him the keys more often. When we went places, he drove. I made a decision: sit in the passenger seat, keep my mouth mostly shut, and let him learn.

I gave calm suggestions when needed. I told him “good job” when he used his blinker or braked smoothly. I tried not to grab the wheel or stomp the imaginary brake on my side of the car.

Then we did something bold, straight from my mama’s parenting playbook. We made him a driving test appointment. We told him, “You've got a few weeks. You better start asking to drive.” And he did. He stepped up. He drove more, asked more questions, and began to carry himself like someone who knew he could drive. I am happy to say I am now parent to a licensed driver.

Just like that plant, he didn’t bloom in the pot. But given more space, more responsibility, he started to grow.

That plant in our backyard? It didn’t suddenly become capable of blooming the moment we put it in the ground. It was always capable. It just needed more space and the right environment to show it.

Same goes for our kids. They were made to grow, by design. And as much as I want to hold on tight and keep them in the safe little pots I picked out for them, that’s not where they’ll flourish. Growth means risk. It means scraped knees, awkward conversations, and some white-knuckle driving practice bathed in prayers. But it also means confidence. Capability. Blooming.

And not just for them—for us too.

As a dad, I’m learning that grace is a two-way street. My kids need it while they grow, and I need it while I learn how to let them. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hovered too much. I’ve underestimated them. I’ve overestimated myself. But God hasn’t called me to raise perfect kids or to be a perfect dad. He’s called me to trust Him with the process.

John 15:2 says, “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”

Sometimes pruning looks like letting go of control. Sometimes it looks like sitting in the passenger seat, staying quiet, and letting your son figure out the turn signal while you are screaming in your mind.

The beautiful thing is God doesn’t just want our kids to bloom. He wants us to bloom, too. As parents. As believers. As people who are still growing into who He made us to be.

Turns out, the letting go we do as parents might just be the very thing God uses to stretch us.

So I’ve been asking myself lately:
Are there areas in my life where I’ve outgrown my pot?
Or maybe…
Do my kids need to be transplanted into a bigger one?

I’m starting to think the answer is probably yes.
And also probably scary.

But if I’ve learned anything from a flowering bush in my backyard and a teenager with a driver’s license, it’s this:
God doesn’t grow people by keeping them comfortable.
He grows them by giving them room.

Room to try.
Room to fall.
Room to bloom.

Turns out, the hardest part of parenting isn’t holding on.
It’s learning when to step back and trust that what God planted really will grow.

Looking back, I realize this wasn’t just about parenting or plants or learning to let go. It was about trust. About believing that God is a better gardener than I am…and that what He plants, He knows how to grow.
Thanks for reading Grit & Wit.

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Have a question or want to connect? You can always reach me at themaurywood@gmail.com.

Pot-Bound No More: Letting Our Kids (and…