The magic of allowing

There is a magic that happens when a mother simply allows—allows a child to follow a question a little further, allows a conversation to bloom, allows learning to unfold in its own rhythm.

You’ve had days like this. Think of one.
-What happened when you allowed the moment to lead?
-What did your child discover?
-How did you feel at the end of it?

Once I introduced paper-making to my daughter, Bridget. The directions said to purchase the pulp ready-made, but she wanted to gather materials from outside our front door. I allowed her to try—with help—and the results were remarkable. We had sheets made from iris, cattail, and walnut bark. Some worked better than others, but she was so absorbed that she created an exhibit for a homeschool coop science fair.

We see this gift of allowing in the lives of many youn people who later made a full life for themselves and impacted the world. 

Thomas Edison’s mother famously removed him from school after a teacher dismissed him as “addled.” She allowed him to follow his curiosity instead of forcing him into a mold. She cleared space in their basement for his experiments—sometimes messy, sometimes dangerous, always full of learning. It became his first “laboratory,” and he later said her belief in him made all the difference.

Albert Einstein’s parents gave him unhurried room to think, dismantle machines, question, and imagine; they allowed him to explore without pressing him into someone else’s schedule. The results were life-changing for science.

Beatrix Potter spent her girlhood sketching fungi, observing wild creatures, and roaming the countryside with a notebook in hand. Her parents allowed long hours of exploration and careful looking. Those early freedoms became the foundation for her art, her storytelling, and even her later scientific contributions.

Jane Goodall was the child who disappeared for hours to watch how hens laid eggs. Instead of scolding her, her mother listened to her discoveries and encouraged her focus. That early permission to observe closely, quietly, and patiently shaped the woman who would become one of the world’s most influential primatologists.

Their stories remind us that great minds grow because someone made space for curiosity.

But, what does allowing look like for a teaching mother today?

Sometimes it means pausing the plan for a genuine question.

Sometimes it means letting a child attempt something hard instead of stepping in too quickly.

Sometimes it means honoring their idea, even when it diverges from the day’s agenda.

Sometimes it means slowing the pace so the child has time to observe or try again.

And often, it simply means not interrupting absorption—recognizing that deep focus is rare and precious.

Allowing is not permissiveness. It’s not abandoning structure or intention.
It’s making room for the living part of learning—the part that cannot be scripted or forced, only welcomed.

When a mother allows in this way, the whole atmosphere shifts. There is ease. There is connection. And there is growth—for both of you.

Allowing honors the child’s personhood. It recognizes that God is at work in their minds and hearts in ways we cannot orchestrate. It reminds us that our task is not to push but to guide, not to manage but to accompany.

And it brings us back to the heart of a living education: giving our children a full and generous life—one that invites them to think, wonder, try, and grow.

Stay well and keep on growing.