The Honor Weapon: Mother, May I? Honoring a parent, honestly 

By Drake Hunter | Commentary, Rocky Mountain Voice

“Mother, may I take three giant steps?” “Yes, you may.”

Remember Mother, May I? The childhood game where getting ahead depended on permission? Forget to ask, and back to the beginning. Apparently, even walking required management approval.

Fun as a game. A challenging way to spend the rest of your life. (Somebody give me an AMEN!)

Here is the challenge: We grow older, but sometimes our parents’ approval—or their absence—continues directing our steps. We keep trying to please them, prove them wrong, or finally receive something they never gave. Years later, an old wound can still be giving the orders.

Then Jesus affirms this command: “Honor your father and mother” (Matthew 15:4).

Wonderful. But what does honor look like when the relationship was painful? Or when becoming a responsible adult requires making choices your parents would never approve?

My twenty-one years in the Air Force provide a familiar setting for thinking about honor. Military life places people within a structure of authority, responsibility, and accountability. Rank identifies a position. Character shows up in how a person carries it—and how others respond.

Families have their own responsibilities, too. Parents are entrusted with nurturing life. Children grow toward taking responsibility for that life before God.

And somewhere in that growth, we face a choice: What will I carry forward from what was handed to me, good or bad?

Some received affection, encouragement, and sound instruction. Some received neglect, rejection, or abandonment. Many received a complicated mixture.

Honoring our parents requires honesty about that inheritance. We can appreciate the good without excusing the harm. We can recognize their humanity while establishing boundaries. Honor does not require calling mistreatment love or granting someone continued access to hurt us.

At minimum, we can acknowledge that our life came through them. That life has worth, even where their care fell short.

But our parents cannot carry the responsibility of being God in our lives. Neither their approval nor their failure can tell us everything about who we are becoming.

That is where dependence must mature.

Genesis 2:24 describes leaving father and mother to establish a new household. Growing into that responsibility requires learning to make decisions, bear consequences, and answer to God. Honor continues as the relationship changes.

For some, that means releasing the need for permission. For others, it means grieving the childhood they needed and never received. Psalm 27:10 offers assurance that even when parents forsake us, the Lord receives us.

We have somewhere to turn. We also have something to choose.

Will I carry destructive patterns into another generation? Will resentment govern how I speak, love, and lead? Or will I bring my history before God and learn the character of Christ?

Call it the choice between carrying forward a curse and cultivating a blessing. By “curse,” I mean the harm we repeat. Being wounded does not make someone cursed. Grief and anger need care, and healing takes time. Through grace, wise support, and repeated choices, we can learn a different response.

Honor receives the good, faces the harm, and takes responsibility for what comes next.

Jesus shows us that maturity. He lived under His Father’s calling and, from the cross, entrusted His mother to a disciple’s care (John 19:26–27). Dependence on God found expression in responsible love.

So, begin somewhere concrete. Thank a parent for a good gift. Fulfill a responsibility you have avoided. Tell the truth about an injury. Establish a needed boundary. Ask God to help you interrupt one harmful pattern.

We cannot rewrite our beginning. Through Christ, we can grow into people who offer something good to those who follow.

“Mother, may I?”

There comes a time to take the next faithful step—and accept responsibility for where you put your feet.

As always—God is here. God is able. God is good.

Pastor Drake

Dedicated to my granddaughter, Lilly-pad, and to everyone learning to grow through the hurt of a parent’s absence. You are deeply loved. May you find in your heavenly Father the love, belonging, and guidance to become all He created you to be.

With love, Papa.

Editor’s note: Opinions expressed in commentary pieces are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the management of the Rocky Mountain Voice, but we support the author’s constitutional right to express those opinions.