Handling Rebellion

Something I’m learning the longer I walk the road of being a dad is that not every hill is worth dying on.

Every one of my children has unique characteristics—just like yours, I’m sure—and choosing which battles to engage in has become a critical practice in our home.

To be fair, they got it honest. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had a bit of a rebellious streak myself. Yet, even in the thick of my own missteps, my parents instilled in me that home was always a safe place to land.

What’s fascinating is that when it became my turn to be a father, the rebellious streak I once cherished—and still hold onto in many ways—became something I found frustrating when I saw it reflected in my children. That tension unsettled me. It forced me to take a step back and ask: Why does this bother me so much?

I began reflecting on a few of the parenting styles that have grown in popularity over the last few generations. One of the most well-known is helicopter parenting, where the parent hovers close, managing every detail of a child’s life. The intent is usually good—they want to protect, to guide, to ensure safety and success.

Another that came to mind is lawnmower parenting, where the goal is to remove every obstacle in a child’s path before they even face it. Again, well-intentioned. No parent wants to watch their child struggle.

But here’s what clicked for me: my frustration with my kids’ rebellion wasn’t really about them—it was about me. Specifically, it was about control. Their acts of defiance, even small ones, challenged my illusion of control. And that hit a nerve.

When I hold that mindset up against the image of the father in the parable of the lost son, the contrast is humbling. Jesus paints a picture of a father who lets go. Who watches his son walk away. Who doesn’t chase, manipulate, or coerce—but instead waits. And when that son finally comes to his senses, the father doesn't shame or lecture—he runs to him with compassion.

That moment—that embrace—is a masterclass in grace and leadership.

I imagine the ache in that father’s heart as his son disappeared into the distance. And yet, he showed remarkable strength by resisting the urge to dominate the outcome. That’s the type of father I want to be—one who leads with love, not control.

This can be a difficult space to sit in because we all resonate differently. Maybe you’re identifying with the father right now, feeling the heartbreak of a rebellious child. Or maybe you see yourself as the prodigal, still far from home. Either way, this story reminds us that the love of our Heavenly Father is unwavering.

So if you’re navigating rebellion in your home, take heart. Let your home be a safe place to land. Lean into prayer. Let go of the illusion of control. And like the father in the story, be ready—arms open—for the day your child returns.

Because sometimes the most powerful form of love is simply being there, waiting, watching, and believing that the story isn’t over yet.

Reflection Questions:

1. How do you respond when your authority is challenged?
2. What would it look like to wait with open arms?