Just before Easter last year, when my daughter Kateri made her first confession, I behaved like a typical, hovering mother.

“You've got your list, right?” I pestered her as she stood waiting outside the confessional. “If you forget what to say, just ask Father … Wait till he tells you to say your Act of Contrition … Listen to the penance he gives you …”

To her credit, Kateri didn't roll her eyes or shoo me away. She smiled nervously and nodded at all my last-minute reminders. Finally, when it was her turn, she slipped inside the confessional and closed the door.

Of course, I had never consciously planned to follow her inside. Yet I found myself feeling startled at being shut out of this important experience in my daughter's development.

There I stood, alone in the quiet, dimly lit church with nothing to do but wait. I had done my part by helping Kateri learn her catechism and prayers, but now not only didn't she need me, but my presence also was inappropriate. To a protective parent, this is no small revelation. Inside the confessional, my daughter was alone with God. What was transpiring between them was, quite frankly, none of my business.

Afterward, as she and I knelt together in the church, I thanked our Lord for his forgiveness as I always do after confession, but this time was different. I was thanking him not for the mercy he had shown me but for the gift of forgiveness he had given my daughter. As I gazed upon the crucifix, I understood clearly, maybe for the first time, that Christ had suffered the pains of the crucifixion for the sake of my child. Although intellectually I had always known that God loves my children more perfectly than I do, I had never really appreciated it in this way before.

When it comes to material gifts, I appreciate things people give to my children far more than I appreciate gifts for myself. As parents, we are always touched by the love others show for our children. Because we love them so much, when another person recognizes their worth and shows kindness to them, their actions are precious to us. Now that Kateri was old enough to receive the sacraments, God was preparing to shower her with gifts far more valuable than any she had ever received before. This made me recognize all the more clearly that my children belong to God. We may think we love our children limitlessly, but ultimately we are only earthly parents. All children are God's children first. He knows them best, gives them what they need most and loves them even more than we do.

During this first Lent since Kateri's first confession, I have been particularly grateful that it is not only for the love of me that Christ suffered but also for the love of all his children, including the ones he has lent to me. He endured the scourging at the pillar to gain forgiveness of sins my children have yet to commit. He suffered the crown of thorns so that my little ones might see heaven. Even as the nails were driven into his hands and feet, he saw my children's faces and loved them. He accepted death on the cross so that they might enjoy new life.

At Mass on Easter Sunday, as our children fill our arms and spill into the pew around us, I will thank the Lord for the blessing of our family. As we celebrate the miracles of his triumph over death and his victory over sin, I will appreciate these gifts more fully than before. Most importantly, I will thank God for loving my children so well. Through his passion, death and resurrection, our Lord grants them mercy, forgiveness and the promise of heaven — gifts so precious that not even an anxious, overattentive mother could give them.

Danielle Bean writes from Center Harbor, New Hampshire.