Fatherhood: The Art of Letting Go While Holding On.

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There’s a truth about fatherhood that no one really prepares you for. They tell you about the sleepless nights, the scraped knees, the first heartbreak, and the overwhelming pride when your child achieves something great. They talk about the weight of responsibility, the sacrifices, and the fear of failing as a parent. They talk about the laughter, the lessons, and the love. 

But they don’t tell you about the hardest part. 

They don’t tell you about the moment when your child, this person you have poured your soul into, sacrificed for, and protected, pulls away. Not just physically, but emotionally. They don’t tell you what it feels like when your words carry less weight, when your presence no longer provides the same comfort, when they start listening to voices that are not yours. 

They don’t tell you what it is like to watch them drift away and not be able to do a damn thing about it. 

“Your children are not your children. 

 They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. 

 They come through you but not from you, 

 And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.” 

When they are young, they are yours in every way. Their tiny hands hold onto yours for security. Their wide eyes look up at you for answers. They believe you are the strongest, smartest, most important person in the world. You are their guide, their protector, their constant. 

And then, little by little, they start to pull away. 

At first, it is subtle. They want independence, they form their own opinions, they make choices you wouldn’t make. Then one day, you realize they are no longer yours the way they once were. 

It is a painful realization because as parents, we carry this deep, unspoken belief that our children belong to us. That our love, our sacrifices, and our wisdom somehow make them ours to keep, to shape, to protect forever. But they don’t. 

They were never ours to own. They were only ours to guide. 

“You may give them your love but not your thoughts, 

 For they have their own thoughts. 

 You may house their bodies but not their souls, 

 For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, 

 which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.” 

This is where fatherhood becomes a test of faith. 

When our children walk into seasons we do not understand, when they choose paths we would not have chosen, when they seek guidance from those who have not sacrificed for them the way we have, it is in these moments that we have to trust. 

Trust that the love we poured into them will one day be enough to call them back. 

 Trust that even if they are walking through shadows now, the light we once gave them will still be there when they need it. 

 Trust that even if we do not recognize who they are today, they will always carry pieces of who they were raised to be. 

But trust does not mean silence. 

 Trust does not mean we stop loving. 

 Trust does not mean we give up. 

It means we remain steady in a way that speaks louder than words. 

“You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. 

 The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 

 And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.” 

A father is not the map. He is the bow. 

We spend years bending ourselves, pulling back with strength, aiming with purpose. And when the time comes, we release. We watch as our children take flight, uncertain of where they will land. 

But here is what is hardest. A bow does not chase the arrow once it is released. 

We do not get to control the outcome. We do not get to dictate the journey. 

We can only hope that the Archer, the One who sees farther than we do, knew exactly where that arrow needed to go. 

“Let your bending in the Archer’s hand be for gladness. 

 For even as He loves the arrow that flies, 

 so He also loves the bow that is stable.” 

Some seasons of fatherhood are filled with laughter, closeness, and deep connection. Other seasons are marked by distance, silence, and heartbreak. 

Some seasons, our children run to us. 

 And some seasons, they run away. 

But a father’s love is not seasonal. It does not waver when they stop calling. It does not disappear when they reject our advice. It does not fade even when they choose to listen to voices that do not have their best interest at heart. 

It remains. 

 Steady. Unwavering. Rooted. 

We do not chase. We do not beg. 

We simply hold steady, so that when they are ready to return, they know exactly where home is. 

So if you are a father who is watching your child drift, know this. 

This season of distance is painful, yes. But it is not the whole story. One day, when the noise fades, when the lessons we taught start to make sense, when life humbles them in ways we never could, they will remember. 

They will remember who was there. 

 They will remember who never wavered. 

 They will remember who always loved them, even when they were not easy to love. 

And when that day comes, we will still be here. 

Not as the fathers who chased, but as the fathers who held steady. 

Because that is what fathers do. 

Kahlil Gibran's words have always stayed with me, reminding me that fatherhood is not about possession, but about love, trust, and the strength to let go. We are the bows, they are the arrows, and the Archer sees the path beyond what we can. 

On Children – Kahlil Gibran 1883-1931 

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.      

And he said:       

Your children are not your children.       

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.       

They come through you but not from you,      

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,       

For they have their own thoughts.       

You may house their bodies but not their souls,       

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.       

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.       

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.       

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.       

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.       

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;       

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. 

They were only ours to guide.