We didn’t take this trip just to snap photos of campuses and pick up brochures.
This college tour through New York was about something bigger—connection. Healing. Showing up for our kids not just in big moments, but in between them. As a justice-impacted, blended family, sometimes even getting together feels like an act of faith.
And this trip? It was a lot of car time but even more walking.
Hours of highway stretched ahead of us—snacks, playlists, bad directions, and the full range of teenage moods. My daughter and I had some of our best belly laughs in those moments, cracking up over her ridiculous one-liners and silly voices. And then, just like that, silence would fall. Sometimes heavy. Sometimes necessary.
She opened up during one of those walks, voice barely above the din of early morning NY:
"What if I don’t get in anywhere?"
That vulnerability hit me hard. As a parent—especially one with a past—I constantly question whether I’m doing enough now to make up for what I missed before. I wanted to fix it. To reassure. But mostly, I knew I needed to listen.
Not long after, she shut down. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” And I’ll be honest—backing off hurt. It scraped up all my insecurities. Was I failing again? Should I push, or give her space?
Sometimes this is the space I pray the hardest - God guide me and my responses. Help me to say the right thing, give me the wisdom I need in this moment.
Add to that the unique dynamic of our blended family: my husband's son, just 13, prays before meals and lives in the Bible Belt. My daughter’s almost 17, proudly progressive, and leans hard away from anything resembling church. It felt like two different worlds sharing one hotel room and an even smaller bathroom.
But even there—God was working.
I kept thinking about 2 Corinthians 12:9
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
That verse stayed with me as I walked next to her, unsure whether to press in or pull back. There were moments I felt totally unequipped—like my past disqualified me from being the mom she needed in this moment. But God kept whispering: “My grace is enough for this too.” Not just for my daughter’s fears about college or her frustration with me, but for mine—the inner voice that questioned if I was doing it right. His strength doesn’t wait for us to have it all together. It meets us right in the middle of our weakness—and keeps us moving forward.
And honestly? I was second-guessing everything. Wondering if the laughter would last. If the walls would go back up. If blending our families could ever feel natural.
But maybe this is what showing up really looks like. Not perfect conversations or Instagram-worthy bonding, but being willing to sit in the car anyway. Drive the miles. Listen. Laugh. Back off. Pray—even when your kid won’t.
Because we don’t need a perfect past to show up for our kids’ future.
That trip—awkward moments, detours, tension and all—was proof.