Over the past few weeks, I've watched her navigate the space between excitement and anxiety. There were moments when she'd sit around the house, clearly wrestling with the unknown that lay ahead. I could see the fear in her eyes, the same fear any of us feel when facing something completely new. But what struck me wasn't the fear itself; it was how she chose to move forward anyway.
She didn't wait for the fear to disappear. She didn't need a guarantee of what college would bring. She simply decided that the unknown was worth stepping into, even with trembling hands.
And in watching her, God spoke to me in a way that my wife's gentle encouragement and His own whispered promptings hadn't been able to reach.
Looking back over her high school years, I can see how God was orchestrating every step of her path. It felt like a miracle watching her and her best friend navigate high school together, both excelling academically, both earning spots in the National Honor Society, both developing the kind of study habits and character that would serve them well in college.
And then, almost effortlessly, they both chose Michigan. They decided to be roommates. What could have been a terrifying leap into complete unknown territory became a journey she'd take with her closest friend by her side.
I watched this unfold and marveled at how perfectly God had arranged everything. He gave her a roommate she already knew and trusted, someone whose habits and values aligned with hers, someone who would make this major transition feel less like stepping off a cliff and more like stepping into the next chapter with support.
There's something humbling about realizing that sometimes God uses our children to teach us what He's been trying to tell us all along. As parents, we're wired to protect, guide, and instruct. We listen intently to our children's needs, fears, and dreams. That same attentiveness that sometimes makes us deaf to other voices, even God's voice, even our spouse's wisdom, becomes the very channel through which He reaches us.
But here's what struck me most: it's so easy for me to see how God has ordered her steps, how He's been directing her path, providing exactly what she needed when she needed it. I can trace His faithfulness through her high school years, through the friendship He provided, through the way everything fell into place for college.
Yet I struggle to trust that same divine orchestration in my own life.
I've been carrying my own fears for far too long. Fear of what others might think. Fear of not being enough. Fear of stepping into spaces where I don't have all the answers. For over a year, I've been talking about starting a podcast - something that excites me but also terrifies me. I've made excuse after excuse, waiting for the perfect moment, the right equipment, more confidence, clearer direction. While I've been wrestling with these anxieties and hesitations, my eighteen-year-old daughter has been showing me what faith in action looks like.
What I witnessed yesterday wasn't the absence of fear - it was courage that coexists with fear. My daughter wasn't pretending to be brave; she was choosing to be brave. She acknowledged the unknown while refusing to let it paralyze her. She felt the weight of uncertainty while still packing her bags and walking through those doors.
Martin Luther King Jr. once said, "Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase." That's exactly what I watched my daughter do. She couldn't see her entire college journey stretched out before her, but she took that first step anyway. She trusted that each step would reveal itself as she moved forward.
That's the lesson I've been avoiding. I've been waiting for fear to leave before I take my next steps, waiting to see the whole staircase before I'm willing to climb. But she showed me that courage isn't the absence of fear, it's the decision to move forward with it, trusting that the path will unfold as we walk it.
As I drove away from Ann Arbor, I felt something shift inside me. If my daughter can step boldly into her future with nothing but hope and determination, what's stopping me from doing the same? If she can trust the process without knowing the outcome, why can't I?
God has been calling me to take steps I've been hesitant to take. My wife has been encouraging me toward dreams I've been too afraid to chase. But somehow, seeing my child's willingness to embrace the unknown gave me permission to do the same.
There's something profound about how courage spreads. When we witness someone we love step bravely into their future, it doesn't just inspire us, it challenges us. It asks us why we're still standing on the sidelines of our own lives.
My daughter's example reminded me that growth requires movement, that dreams demand action, and that faith means stepping forward even when the path isn't fully illuminated.
If you're reading this and you've been playing it safe, waiting for perfect conditions or absolute certainty, look to your children. Watch how they approach new challenges. Notice how they adapt, how they trust, how they leap before they're completely ready.
Our kids are often braver than we are because they haven't yet learned all the ways things can go wrong. They still believe more in possibility than in limitation. There's wisdom in that perspective.
Maybe God uses our children as teachers because He knows we'll listen to them in ways we don't always listen to Him. Maybe He speaks through their courage because He knows it will penetrate our adult fears and hesitations.
Today, I'm making a commitment to approach my own unknowns with the same fearless optimism my daughter showed me. Not because I'm not afraid, but because I choose to be brave anyway. That podcast I've been putting off for over a year? It's time. If my daughter can step into her dorm room without knowing what college will bring, I can step behind a microphone without knowing who will listen.
If an eighteen-year-old can trust the process and step boldly into her future, then so can I. If she can carry both fear and faith in the same heart, then I can learn to do the same.
Thank you, Kay Kay, for teaching your old dad that courage isn't about having no fear, it's about having fear and choosing hope anyway. You've shown me what it looks like to trust God with the unknown, and I'm finally ready to follow your lead.
Go Blue, sweetheart. And thank you for the lesson I didn't know I needed. Thanks, Kayla x Kennedi!
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