My youngest son, Josh, will turn 19 in just a few days, which feels almost unbelievable. It seems like just yesterday we were finishing up his homeschool journey, and now he’s graduated and enjoying his first job.

Josh is quite different from my oldest, Matt. While Matt is independent and driven, Josh has always had a tender heart and a deep desire to please. That meant we had to parent—and coach—him differently to help build his confidence and success.

I learned that the hard way during the fourth-grade spelling bee.

And I’ll be honest: I made Josh cry.
Even harder to admit—I wasn’t that sorry about it at the time.

We were in crunch mode, studying for the school-wide spelling bee. Josh was one of the final 15 students selected to compete in front of his classmates. Just one week before the big day, he received a list of 600 words to learn. He hadn’t even wanted to enter the competition. But I encouraged him, believing that the challenge would teach him the value of hard work and healthy competition.

That evening, we had made it to word #247.

 “Mom! I’m missing too many words! I CAN’T DO THIS!”   

“Of course, you can,” I said. “You are the smartest kid I know. And the best speller.” 

“No, I’m not. I can’t remember any of these words!” 

“That’s because you haven’t learned them yet. We are learning them now.” 

“How many words did I miss on this page?” 

“Don’t worry about that. Let’s keep going.” 

After a few more misses, his eyes welled up.

 “Mom! I’m not good at this. Can we stop now?”

 “No. Just a couple more words, and then we’ll stop for the day.”

 I felt like Mother and Coach of the Year. NOT.

The truth is, I did know Josh’s potential. I knew he was capable. I was pushing him, yes—but I thought I was encouraging him too. The work was hard for both of us. I could see his progress, but he couldn’t. While I hoped to build his determination, he just felt defeated.

That’s when the tears began.

We always tell our kids that new things are hard. That perseverance pays off. That rewards follow hard work. And those things are true—but how we guide them through the challenge matters just as much.

The night before the spelling bee, we finished the list. Honestly, I was just as ready for it to be over as he was. I tried to be more mindful of his limits—stopping when I saw frustration, praising the effort, and assuring him that nerves were normal.

Still, I missed something big.

I gave encouragement based on what I could see, but not what I was hearing. Thankfully, my husband Chris saw what I didn’t.

Later that evening, he talked with Josh and gently uncovered what I had missed: Josh wasn’t afraid of misspelling words. He was afraid of disappointing us. He wanted to please us more than he wanted to win.

Chris did what I had forgotten to do. He listened. He encouraged. And he prayed with Josh, staying with him until he was calm enough to fall asleep.

Josh didn’t need stress relief—he needed failure relief.

He needed to know that regardless of the outcome, his effort mattered. That we were proud of him—not because of a trophy or a title, but because of his heart, his work, and his courage to try.

He didn’t need a coach in that moment. He needed a mom who offered patience, praise, and prayer.

The next morning, we started fresh. I made him breakfast, gave him a hug, and promised (at his request) not to sit too close during the event.

And when I saw him at the spelling bee?
He stood confidently at the microphone.
Word after word, he spoke clearly and steadily.
I saw strength, not stress.

It wasn’t just the result of practice—it was an answer to prayer.
The peace, the presence, the confidence—that was God’s doing.

Josh finished in second place.

But I was the one who learned the most from the fourth-grade spelling bee.

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Journaling Prompt:
Think of a time when you were doing your best to encourage or support someone—your child, spouse, friend, or even yourself—but later realized you may have missed what was really needed in that moment. What signs did you overlook? What would you do differently now, knowing what you’ve learned?

Even when we don’t get it perfectly right, God can use those moments to teach us, soften us, and equip us for future opportunities to love better. What grace-filled lesson did you carry forward from that experience?

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