The Prayer of St. Francis and the Limits of Control

Seek not so much to be understood as to understand. — Prayer of St. Francis 

There are certain words that become lifelong companions. Some people find them in literature, some in philosophy, and others in sacred texts. For me, the Prayer of St. Francis has occupied that place for as long as I can remember. I first encountered it as a young teenager and, even then, I found it profoundly moving. It spoke to something I could not yet fully articulate. Decades later, its significance has only deepened. It has accompanied me through difficult chapters of my personal life, periods of professional growth, experiences of disappointment and loss, and countless encounters with families struggling to find their way through conflict. 

What strikes me now is not simply the beauty of the prayer but the psychological wisdom embedded within it. As I have grown older, I have come to appreciate that many of the difficulties people experience in relationships arise from a struggle against things that cannot ultimately be controlled. We want other people to understand us. We want them to acknowledge our hurt. We want fairness, accountability, validation, and sometimes even vindication. We want painful experiences to make sense and disappointing outcomes to be corrected. We want the past to become something different than it was. 

Yet life rarely cooperates in that way. 

Much of my professional life has involved working with people who are navigating conflict. During the course of a legal career and many years assisting separated families, I have watched intelligent, caring, and well-intentioned people become trapped in disputes that consume enormous amounts of energy, money, and emotional resources. Often the visible disagreement concerns a parenting schedule, an extracurricular activity, a holiday arrangement, a school decision, or some other practical issue requiring resolution. Over time, however, I came to understand that the visible issue is frequently not the true source of the conflict. The disagreement itself often reflects something much deeper: unresolved hurt, mistrust, grief, fear, betrayal, disappointment, or a profound sense of injustice. 

The longer I worked in this field, the more interested I became in understanding the human dimensions of conflict rather than simply the legal dimensions. Developments in neuroscience helped explain much of what I had observed throughout my career. Human beings are not purely rational decision-makers. When people are frightened, wounded, rejected, betrayed, or overwhelmed, they often operate from a place of protection rather than collaboration. Their nervous systems are attempting to keep them safe. In such circumstances, expecting people to suddenly become calm, objective, and cooperative because a lawyer, counsellor, judge, or Parenting Coordinator encourages them to do so is frequently unrealistic. 

That realization fundamentally changed the way I approached my work. Earlier in my career, I often believed that conflict could be resolved if people simply communicated more effectively. While improved communication can certainly help, experience taught me that communication alone is rarely enough. Eventually, I came to understand that my role was not to change people. My role was to create enough structure around the conflict that families could continue moving forward despite it. Sometimes that structure helps relationships improve. Sometimes it creates opportunities for healing and understanding. Sometimes it restores trust that had been lost. When that happens, everyone benefits. 

When it does not happen, however, the structure still serves an important purpose. Children continue growing. Schools continue operating. Activities continue occurring. Life continues moving forward whether emotional resolution has been achieved or not. Families require a process that allows necessary decisions to be made and existing arrangements to be implemented even when emotions remain unresolved. Progress cannot always wait for healing. 

It is here that the Prayer of St. Francis continues to resonate with me. The prayer does not deny suffering. Nor does it suggest that conflict, disappointment, or injustice are unimportant. Instead, it quietly redirects our attention toward something more productive. It asks us to focus less on controlling others and more on understanding our own responsibilities. It encourages us to bring understanding rather than demand it, to bring clarity rather than confusion, and to bring peace rather than contribute to discord. Whether interpreted spiritually, philosophically, or psychologically, it reflects a profound recognition of the limits of human control. 

That lesson extends beyond professional life. Like many people, there have been experiences in my own life that did not unfold the way I hoped they would. There have been periods marked by hurt, disappointment, misunderstanding, and profound uncertainty. Looking back, I can see how much energy can be consumed by attempting to reconcile the past, obtain understanding from those unwilling to provide it, or persuade others to see events as we see them. Eventually, a different realization emerges. Peace rarely comes from winning an argument with the past. More often, it comes from deciding how we will move forward despite what remains unresolved. 

As I have grown older, I have become increasingly convinced that there is freedom in understanding where our responsibilities begin and where they end. We cannot force understanding. We cannot compel empathy. We cannot guarantee fairness. We cannot control the choices other people make. What we can do is decide how we will respond. We can choose integrity over bitterness, structure over chaos, compassion over hostility, and progress over paralysis. We can help create conditions in which people and families have the opportunity to move forward even when life remains imperfect. 

Perhaps that is ultimately why the Prayer of St. Francis has remained with me for so many years. It reminds me that wisdom does not lie in controlling every outcome, nor does peace arise from ensuring that every wrong is made right. Instead, both wisdom and peace emerge from recognizing what is within our influence, accepting what is not, and continuing to move forward with purpose, compassion, and humility. 

The older I become, the more I believe that this lesson applies not only to family conflict but to life itself. 

Cori McGuire,
Family Law Lawyer, Parenting Coordinator, Mediator, Arbitrator, Collaborative Family Law Lawyer & Child Interviewer