Children

Reprinted with permission from Dan Miller’s book Spiritual Reflections. First posted at SharperIron Nov. 26, 2008.

My foibles as a father are numerous and varied. My intuitive responses to the rapid-fire ordeal of parental decision-making routinely unveil my native blockheadedness.

With this disclaimer firmly staked, I nonetheless testify to the remarkable benefit I gain from imitating my heavenly Father’s example as He nurtures His children. I am discovering that such imitation provides not only wisdom for parenting, but also becomes itself a means by which to better understand my Father.

For instance, by following God as parental exemplar, I am learning that skillful parenting occasionally commends the discipline of choosing our children’s pain over their pleasure. Living in an affluent, fun-at-any-cost culture, our default modus operandi as parents is to remove every pain as quickly as possible, or at least to reduce it as far as is feasible. But I find that God’s parental instincts flow much deeper and commend to us the capacity of permitting our children to suffer for their good (2 Cor. 1:3-9; 12:1-10; Heb. 12:4-13).

To illustrate, I once picked up my eight-year-old son from school over the lunch hour for a special father-son excursion to a local sporting goods store. I purchased a junior size basketball for him, and we dribbled and bounce-passed the new ball on the sidewalk in front of the store for several minutes (just to make sure it worked, of course) before I took him back to school. From that day forward, my son and that ball were virtually inseparable partners.

First published at SI May 1, 2006.

Into my heart, into my heart,
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.
Come in today; come in to stay.
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.

My Dad used to always order his eggs “over easy”—a little fragile, potentially gooey, requiring extra care to keep them intact. I think we can have days like this, too…ones when we need to be handled a little more gently or things might get messy. These “Over Easy” posts are for those days when you might need something on the lighter, “sunny side” of things. —Diane

We have a very observant two-year-old. She has verbal skills exceeding that of her brother and sister at her age. We have had some very close fellowship these past few days, as the other children have been at camp (for an excruciating two weeks, but that’s another post) and my husband is returning from his cross-country excursion (ditto). I am able to focus more attention on Kate, and I am seeing the impression that we have all made on her, good and not-so.

The other day I was singing in the car as we drove into town. Kate kept demanding, “Mommy, stop!” Now, it shouldn’t ruffle my feathers that my little sweetheart feels the need to critique my vocalization. At the risk of sounding narcissistic, folks actually request for me to sing at church sometimes. And they don’t even bring compost to throw. But repeated requests to “put a lid on it” from a toddler, well… I finally gave in and stopped. Whatever joy I was receiving from making my joyful noise was being drowned out by the peanut gallery. A few seconds later I heard her chirp, in a sing-songy voice, “Good girl!” I had stopped. It was the behavior she desired. She was commending me! Because it made me laugh, she now uses the phrase several times a day, but always appropriately. When she gets a little older we’ll talk about Who makes her a “good girl”—not her obedience to commands, not even her most sterling behavior, but a Person.