Don’t decide, guide.

When Shawn was 12, she was invited to join the U.S. junior team. The practice schedule was intense—especially on top of her schedule outside the gym. She studied two hours a night, getting all As. She wrote short stories and poetry, joined the yearbook committee, even volunteered to walk dogs at a shelter. Sometimes it seemed like too much. I thought it might be better for her to quit gymnastics. One afternoon before practice I found her in her room, crying. “I don’t want to go,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

I sat down and put my arm around her. “You don’t have to go,” I said.

“Coach Chow will be disappointed in me. The team will too.” She didn’t say it, but I could hear her next thought: You’ll be disappointed in me. After my worries about her workload, I had the perfect opportunity to tell her to quit, but I couldn’t. Gymnastics was no longer my way to channel her energy. It had become a part of her. This was her choice, not mine.?

“You’re doing this for you,” I said. “Mr. Chow will go on coaching whether you’re with him or not. Just make sure you’re quitting because you want to, not because you’re having a bad day. I’ll support you either way.”

She wiped her tears. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, and gave me a big hug. Thank you, Lord, for giving me just the right daughter, high energy and all. Shawn was back with the team the next day. And I felt better knowing it was her decision.

Trust.

At 13 Shawn qualified for her first international competition—in Belgium. It would be the first trip out of the States for all of us. Maddeningly, U.S. team rules stated we couldn’t travel with our daughter (the team traveled as a team). By the time Doug and I took our seats in the arena the day of the competition, I was a wreck. I scanned the floor. Gymnasts dotted the blue mats. And there was Shawn, entering through the tunnel with the team, her eyes scanning the stands. She spotted us and gave us a big wave. Lord, she really has grown up a lot. Thank you for being with her when we can’t.

The competition was about to begin. My heart beat wildly. The way Shawn’s 90-pound body catapulted through the air on the uneven bars, flipped upside-down inches above the balance beam made me hold my breath each time. I said the prayer I always say before Shawn’s meets. Please get Shawn through this safely. She looked so poised, focused. Was this the same daughter I was so worried about??

I shook my head, amazed at the new heights Shawn reached dismounting the vault and flying off the bars. She was leaping off apparatus much higher than our table—without her dad to catch her. I had to trust she’d land safely. She did, each time. Shawn placed first on vault and floor and won the all-around competition.

That didn’t mean I stopped worrying about her. I still do. I’m not making her curfew an hour later, even if she wins gold in Beijing. But if it’s one thing my daughter has shown me, it’s that the best way to be a parent to her is to trust—in her and in God. Shawn was given a gift. I’ll be by her side to help her use it. Isn’t that what we parents are here to do?