I can only speak for my husband and myself, but we don't feel

Hear the words of Jodi Benson, who speaks with humility and conviction: “I can only speak for my husband and myself, but we don’t feel like we could do any of this parenting without our faith.” In this confession is no boast, but a recognition of weakness and need. Parenting, the ancient and eternal calling of humankind, is a road filled with trial, with fear, with weariness. To walk it without a guiding light can feel like wandering through a wilderness without map or compass. Thus, Benson lifts her eyes to something beyond herself, to faith, that ancient anchor of the human soul.

In the beginning of all families, men and women believed that child-rearing was not merely a task of flesh and will, but a sacred duty entrusted by powers higher than themselves. In every culture, parents called upon the divine for strength, for patience, for wisdom. They knew, as Benson reminds us, that human effort alone was fragile, and that the raising of a child was too great a burden to be carried without help. Faith, then, was not an adornment but a necessity, the hidden foundation upon which households were built.

The meaning of faith in parenting is not only prayer or ritual, but a deep trust that one is not alone. It is the assurance that mistakes can be redeemed, that exhaustion can be renewed, and that children are not raised by parents alone but held by hands unseen. Faith gives perspective, reminding weary parents that their children are not possessions, but gifts; not burdens, but sacred souls entrusted for a time. In this, faith humbles and strengthens, softens and fortifies.

History gives us examples of this truth. Consider Susanna Wesley, mother of John and Charles Wesley, founders of Methodism. She bore many children, endured poverty, and carried hardships beyond measure. Yet it was her faith that sustained her—she prayed daily with her children, taught them discipline and devotion, and shaped their spirits so deeply that her sons would go on to move nations with their words and songs. Susanna’s story mirrors Benson’s words: faith made possible what otherwise would have crushed her. Parenting without faith might have left her broken; parenting with faith made her a pillar of generations.

And yet, to speak of faith is not to deny struggle. Faith does not erase tears, nor remove trials. Instead, it gives parents courage to walk through fire, knowing that fire refines rather than destroys. When Benson says she and her husband “could not do any of this without faith,” she reveals the truth that faith is not luxury, but survival. It is the difference between despair and endurance, between collapsing under the weight of parenting and rising each day renewed.

The lesson for us is clear: find your foundation. Whether through faith in God, in love, in community, or in the enduring power of hope, no parent should attempt to walk this road alone. Do not be ashamed to lean on something beyond yourself, for strength is found not in self-sufficiency but in humility. Teach your children not only by your words but by your reliance on what sustains you. In doing so, you give them not only guidance but the gift of seeing that even parents are learners, dependent upon grace.

Therefore, let every parent who hears these words take action: seek strength beyond yourself, draw from wells deeper than your own hands can dig. When you falter, turn to faith; when you succeed, give thanks; when you are weary, rest in the assurance that you are not alone. In this way, you will not only raise children—you will raise them with the wisdom of humility, the courage of endurance, and the hope that sustains generations.

Thus Jodi Benson’s words, spoken with quiet honesty, become a timeless truth. Parenting without faith may feel possible for a moment, but with faith, the journey becomes more than survival—it becomes sacred. And in that sacredness, parents and children alike discover strength beyond measure, love without end, and a legacy that endures beyond time.