It occurred to me early on in my firstborn’s life that babies come out knowing literally nothing. I’m not sure science would agree with me–there are probably basic human instincts all people are born with. I was never a science person, though. So when I had to teach my kids how to walk while wearing shoes or that you don’t eat an ice cream cone with a spoon, I realized just how much teaching is involved in this thing called parenthood.
Moments of teaching them new things like how to eat an ice cream cone are fewer and farther between. Our kids are both old enough now to learn those kind of things more through observation and imitation. Our work is not done, though. It’s just getting progressively harder.
Now, the things we need to teach our children have less to do with the physical realm and more to do with the emotional and spiritual realms. These are harder, because I– a mostly mature adult (I did buy my son a fart gun for his birthday so I can’t give myself too much credit)–still frequently feel like I’m swimming against a current when it comes to emotional and spiritual matters.
But the teaching moments come to us, ready or not. Sometimes, we summon these moments, like during our daily family devotion. We schedule time to read Bible stories, we ask our kids what they learned about at church, and we help them memorize Scripture. At night, my husband and I are purposeful in our prayers with the kids before bed–always praying for their salvation with them, for our family members, our missionary friends, and others in need. These are the moments we choose to teach, on our terms, on our schedule. I’m a firm believer in intentional family discipleship.
Far more often, though, the teaching moments come out of left field, giving me whiplash and scrambling for answers. Like when my daughter experienced a random moment of grief over a teacher who passed away a year ago. I know how it feels for grief to hit out of nowhere, but I had no idea this was coming for her. Or when my son witnessed his dad helping a disabled student–the first time it sank in for him that some people live with hardships for no reason at all except the encompassing curse of sin. The hard questions have started–often at bedtime, more often in the car. Never at a “convenient” time.
“Is she going to get better?”
“Do all my teachers know God?”
“Do kids always have a daddy at home?”
“Is God in my heart?”
“When we die, how do we hear God?”
“What if God wasn’t real?”
These questions are only the tip of the iceberg. With each, I’m reminded again of the enormous responsibility that comes with raising little people. Responsibility, yes. But what an immense privilege, too. As time speeds up, the weight of this privilege increases but so does my desire to steward it well.
It’s these moments that I realize how desperate I am for the Spirit’s guidance, and how often I neglect it. I’m much more comfortable leaning on my Christian upbringing, or my seminary training, or “go ask your dad.” The truest reality, though, is that the indwelling Holy Spirit is all-sufficient for my children and their hard questions, all the complicated emotions, and for me.
This year, I have felt God pressing on me to rely on His Spirit more. I don’t know how to do that, but my kids are helping me walk this road simply by asking their endless questions. It only becomes more vital that I wholeheartedly rely on the Spirit as they get older. My Spirit-dependency is not just for the benefit of my children, but I recognize my need for the Spirit most obviously in this domain. It is the only way I will be able to walk this road of parenting without being crushed under the weight of it.
As John Piper says, “Only after we have appealed for the Spirit’s enablement and thrown ourselves confidently on his promise and power to work in us, do we now work with all our might.” Thanks be to God that we do not walk this path alone and that He does not expect us to work out of our own strength. Might I be the kind of mom who daily appeals for the Spirit’s enablement and relies on His promises, that I might pass along His wisdom, not my own, to my children as they wrestle with hard questions.
Photo by Quaid Lagan on Unsplash
