Grown and Gone — Still Called to Honor

Read

John 19:26–27 “When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, ‘Woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.”

Think

Some people assume the fifth commandment comes with an expiration date. They think honor is something you give while you're living at home—something for childhood and teenage years. Once you're out on your own, paying your own bills and making your own choices, it feels like that chapter should be over.

But God never closes the book on honor.

“Honor your father and mother” isn’t a childhood rule. It’s a lifelong command. The way we express it changes, but the calling does not. We are never too old to honor the people who gave us life.

In John 19, we find one of the most powerful pictures of adult honor. Jesus, hanging on the cross, turns his eyes to his mother. In the middle of excruciating pain, in the middle of carrying the weight of the world’s sin, he still thinks about Mary. He arranges for her care. He honors her presence. He ensures she will be looked after. This was not obligation. It was love. It was honor in action.

Jesus was grown. He had left home. His ministry had taken him far beyond Nazareth. But he never stopped seeing his mother. Never stopped showing care. Even in death, he gave her dignity. That’s what honor looks like for adults.

You may not need to obey your parents anymore, but you are still called to respect, remember, and respond with grace. The challenge is that adult relationships with parents can be complicated. Distance, disagreements, and decades of baggage can make things difficult. But even when it’s hard, honor is possible. It starts with appreciation.

Think back for a moment. Maybe your parents weren't perfect—and no parent is—but there were likely things they did that cost them something. They worked hard. They stayed up with you when you were sick. They paid for what they could. They sat through concerts or games or practices. They held you, fed you, disciplined you, prayed for you. They gave something so that you could grow. That matters.

Honor begins by choosing to remember those moments. To say thank you, not because everything was perfect, but because something was poured out.

That may look like a handwritten card. A regular phone call. A visit. A gesture of service. For aging parents, it might mean stepping in with practical help. Transportation. Finances. Advocacy. Presence. Sometimes it means having hard conversations, but doing so with humility instead of hostility.

Honor may also mean extending grace for things they didn’t know how to give you. Some parents did the best they could with the tools they had. That doesn’t excuse pain. But it does give space for understanding. And understanding often leads to compassion.

You can still honor while disagreeing. You can still honor while keeping healthy boundaries. You can still honor when trust has been damaged. What matters is the heart. It is possible to speak truth without contempt. To share space without stirring up resentment. To choose forgiveness even when reconciliation feels out of reach.

In adulthood, honor also means inclusion. Inviting your parents into your life. Letting them celebrate milestones. Keeping them connected to your kids. Letting them see the fruit of what they helped plant.

Maybe you don’t realize what your words mean to them. Maybe you haven’t seen how much your presence still matters. But small things go a long way. A phone call. A photo. A visit. A “thank you” without prompting. These are more than gestures. They’re seeds of honor.

There’s a story of someone who found a shoebox in their mom’s closet after she passed away. Inside were dozens of handwritten letters—notes from birthdays, college years, random thank-yous—each one carefully kept. The child never knew how much those simple efforts had meant. But those words were treasured. Stored. Held. Honor lands deeper than we think.

And even if your parents have passed away, you can still honor them. You can speak about them with gratitude. You can pass on their wisdom to your children. You can pray prayers of thanks. You can choose to let their legacy continue in grace, not regret.

For some, it may feel easier to keep the relationship distant. Maybe it's been strained for years. Maybe there’s pain that hasn’t been addressed. Maybe there’s guilt on both sides. But honor starts with a decision. You choose to take a step. Not always toward reconciliation, but toward responsibility.

You may never have the kind of relationship you once hoped for. But you can still reflect the heart of Jesus—who saw his mother’s need, even while carrying the weight of the world.

Here’s  the beauty of this command. Honor doesn’t just shape your parents. It shapes you. It turns your heart from pride to humility, from blame to grace. It helps you become the kind of person who sees others clearly, who remembers the cost, who walks in wisdom and love. You don’t have to do it perfectly. But you are invited to do it intentionally. One phone call. One thank you. One step.

Apply

Reach out to a parent or parental figure today. Not because you have to, but because God is forming something in you. Say thank you. Share something specific. If they are no longer alive, write a note of gratitude anyway. Speak it out. Let honor take root in your words and your actions.

Pray

God, thank you for giving me life through the parents you chose. Even when things are messy or complicated, help me honor their role. Give me grace to speak with kindness, humility to listen, and strength to serve. Shape my heart through these relationships, and help me reflect your love in the way I remember, forgive, and care. In Jesus’ name. Amen.