My oldest was probably only four years old when he came to me beaming, proudly announcing that he had tied his shoes.

There they were—laces twisted and looped into tight little mounds, knotted over and over until there wasn’t a single inch of string left to work with. They weren’t tied “properly,” but he had done his best. And oh, how proud he was. I couldn’t help but smile.

Each shoe had nearly twenty little knots, laced so tightly together they practically formed a solid mass. Naturally, this left me with an unexpected project—untying all those enthusiastic knots. It wasn’t in my plans that day, but I remember feeling tenderly amused by his effort. He had tried to do something new and important, something he’d seen me do a hundred times. He was trying to help. And I knew it.

There was no scolding. No frustration. Just praise for the effort and a little gentle guidance for next time.

I’ve thought about that moment often—especially when I find myself in the middle of a mess of my own making, trying to do something good, but going about it all the wrong way.

When my well-meaning efforts create tangles, I remember my little boy, and I remember how I felt toward him that day. And then I picture my own Father in Heaven.

I imagine Him watching my valiant efforts—efforts to help, to serve, to figure something out or make something better—and I can almost see Him smiling, maybe even sweetly amused. Not annoyed, not angry that I’ve “meddled” in His work, but moved by the fact that I tried. I like to think He kneels beside me, gently helping me untie the unnecessary knots I’ve made.

The beautiful truth I’ve come to know is this: I can’t ruin anything so completely that He can’t fix it. I’m just not that powerful.

When I turn to Him, He is fully capable of reversing the damage I’ve done—or even better, transforming it into something I never imagined. Something redemptive. Something meaningful. Something good. All in His time. All in His way.

He doesn’t need my help to do His work. But it brings me joy to try. And when it doesn’t go right, I believe He’s still proud of me for the effort. And when it does go right? I know full well it wasn’t me. It never was. Left to my own devices, I only ever manage tangled shoelaces.

I’m so deeply grateful for a loving Father in Heaven who doesn’t condemn me for getting it wrong when my intentions are right. A Father who sees past my mistakes and into my heart. And when I start to spiral with guilt or frustration over my failures, I remember: He loves me in spite of me. He helps me as I learn. He’s not mad at me—He’s helping me untie the knots.

And somehow, that memory—of one tiny boy with a handful of twisted laces—gives me the courage to keep trying.

Someday, He’ll finish His work. And I imagine He’ll look at it with a smile and say, "It is finished."

Until then, I’ll keep trying. Knots and all.

Related: When perfection is impossible (and it always is)

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