Originally posted February 2005.
 
Malachi 4:6 “He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers; or else I will come and strike the land with a curse.”
 
To some fathers it may seem strange that a father’s heart would have to be turned to his children. Some fathers seem to naturally enjoy a healthy relationship with their kids throughout the years.

However, it is much more difficult for other fathers. They may have once dreamed of playing catch with their kid some day, or of reading The Hobbit together on the couch, but it never quite worked out like that. They brought babies home from the hospital that were interested in nursing, not football. In fact, the whole first year of life seemed to be mommy’s special time of bonding. Certainly things would get better with age…wouldn’t they?

As their babies grew, bonding with their children did not become any more natural. When their babies cried, they wanted their mommies. When they got hurt, they wanted their mommies. When they needed comfort, they wanted their mommies. In fact, they always wanted their mommies.

Some of these dads gave up. They felt out of place, unneeded, and even a little rejected. They felt that since mommy seemed so gifted at parenting, they should just step back and get out of the way. They gave themselves to their careers, their hobbies, and even their churches, but they never learned how to connect with their kids. The time for reading to their kids came and went, and passing the football together never quite interested them or their children.

If you’re one of those dads, something needs to change. Your heart needs to be turned back to your kid, and your kid’s heart needs to be turned back to you. It may seem awkward for you, but you’ve got to connect with your kid no matter what it takes.

Let me give you the secret for connecting with your preteen child. It’s wrestling. You don’t need to know how. You’re bigger. You’ll figure it out. Get down on the floor, and in a taunting tone, say something like, “Come ’ere boy. Let me show you the double leg grab pull down flip around.” If he squeals with laughter, take him down. If he runs, hunt him down.

I don’t mean to imply that wrestling is all that there is to connecting with younger kids. That would be absurd. There is also tickling. Tickle a lot. Tickle their feet, their arms, their legs, their necks. Some people think that too much tickling is cruel, and those people should be thankful that I was not their father, because I would have tickled such silly notions right out of them.
Of course these two keys to parenting can also be combined. Unlike collegiate wrestling, tickling is the ultimate goal of the match. You don’t take them down so that you can count to three; you take them down so that you can tickle them.

I hope you know I’m not kidding. It obviously doesn’t have to be wrestling and tickling but you’ve got to connect with your kid. Get down on the ground and spend an hour with your child. Get at his level and wrestle or play Legos. Build a model, have a pillow fight, or play Hot Wheels. Try to be a kid for a little while.

You don’t have to be Super Dad. You don’t have to be too creative. They just want you. They want your time and your attention. Give them your heart, and they’ll give you theirs in return.


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Originally posted December 2004.
 
A small boy played quietly by the stream, watched silently by several men who hid in the cover of the dense jungle. As a leaf floated down the stream he bombarded it with rocks of all sizes, some nearly too large for him to lift.  Occasionally the water splashed back on his dark skin making him squeal with laughter.  After several minutes he spied a shiny object on the ground.  He had never seen anything quite so colorful and after a minute he peeled of the bright red wrapper.  Inside the wrapper was a hard ball-shaped object.  Intrigued, he rolled it in his fingers.  It was much harder than a berry, which it reminded him of.  He held it to his nose but didn’t perceive much of a smell.  He touched his tongue to it and as he contemplated the taste, he noticed that his fingers were becoming sticky.  His eyes grew big and round as he tasted it again.  It was sweet and wonderful—unlike anything he had ever tasted in his life.  Once again, he squealed with laughter. 
 
As he plopped it in his mouth, he started to scan the ground for more of these wonderful berries.  Just then a man stepped out from the jungle.  He had a young smiling face and a kind look about him, although he was ghastly pale.  The boy would have normally run away, but the man’s outstretched hand held out to him many more of the strangely wonderful berries.  The man spoke softly and kindly as he befriended the boy.
 
Soon the other men also stepped out from the jungle.  They seemed to be friends with the first man.  They all seemed to be nice enough and invited the boy back to their ship.  He really didn’t think much about going with them.  It was all too easy.
 
As all this happened, the boy’s father stood and watched.  He wasn’t quite sure what was happening and didn’t want to interfere in the boy’s life.
 
The boy was taken to a neighboring island.  There he was taught different customs, a different religion, and a different language.
 
Although the father knew where the boy went, he did not bother to rescue him.  He was very busy and wasn’t sure what to do.  Other men in his village were also losing their sons and daughters, so this wasn’t shocking or out of the ordinary; it was just what happened sometimes.  Sure, on occasion they would talk about how they missed their children, and how they wish they could do something, but what could they do? 
 
This story seems implausible, because what parent could possibly sit by idly while losing his or her child to invaders? Yet, a similar scene is played out in America every day.  Children are pulled away from their parents.  They are given immoral values, sexy clothes, false religion, crude language, and a general distaste of all that is good.  They learn to love leisure and endless forms of entertainment, while disdaining hard work and honorable living.  Sex becomes acceptable in any form, and marriage seems like an old-fashioned ceremony that serves no purpose, but to pose an opportunity to play dress-up. 
 
Parents lose their children every day, but not to slavery as we know it.  Parents lose their kids to a different slavery.  A man is a slave to whatever has mastered him,[1] and our children are becoming slaves to the world around them.
 
The process is so gradual that can go undetected.  The amusingly defiant “No!” of the two-year-old becomes the abrasive “get out of my face” of the thirteen-year-old.  The defiant thirteen-year-old becomes the detached sixteen-year-old who won’t talk to her parents, follow their advice, or perhaps even come home at night.
 
We are losing our children—in the United States, and in the church.  We cannot stand to lose our children any longer.  God forbid that we should just stand by and watch it happen to us. 
 
We must fight.  We must study the tactics of our enemy and the vulnerabilities of our children.  Even our own values and beliefs must be challenged.  We must be willing to be different.  It would be insane for us to keep doing the same thing as everyone else and to expect a different result.  Our own pride must be challenged.  Are we willing to go to any extreme, even if it makes us look odd to our friends and families? 
 
It is one thing to lose our kids, but it is quite another to lose them while silently watching from the bank of the river.  We must realize the gravity of the state of our youth and take action.


[1] 2 Peter 2:19

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Originally posted December 2004.
 
Please take a moment to take the following quiz:
 
1) Which parent has primary responsibility for bringing children up in the training and instruction of the Lord?
 
2) Which parent is responsible for managing the family?
 
3) Which parent should ensure that children are obedient and respectful?
 
4) Which parent has primary responsibility for child discipline?
 
You may be shocked to learn that it is the dad who is primarily responsible in each of these areas. I don’t mean to downplay the role of moms at all. Let’s face it: in most homes the moms are far more involved with the kids. They spend more time with them, care for them, cook for them, get up with them, and all kinds of other things. Moms are irreplaceable. But dads, you must stay involved! While you may not spend as many hours with the children, you must not disconnect or be a neutral party when it comes to parenting. You should be the driving force behind what your family does—the visionary. God sees you as such. Read each of the quiz questions again and then read the corresponding verse below. How would you say God sees your role, dad?
 
#1) Which parent has primary responsibility for bringing children up in the training and instruction of the Lord?
 
Ephesians 6:4 Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead,
bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.
 
2 & 3) Which parent is responsible for managing the family? Which parent should ensure that children are obedient and respectful?
 
1 Timothy 3:4,5 He must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him
with proper respect. (If anyone does not know how to manage his own family,
how can he take care of God’s church?)
 
4) Which parent has primary responsibility for child discipline?
 
Hebrews 12:9,10 Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in His holiness.
 
In a Dilbert comic strip written by Scott Adams the following exchange took place:
 
Employee: Do you mind if I leave early to spend some time with my kids?
Exasperated boss: I never spent time with my kids and they turned out just fine!
Employee: How many do you have?
Boss: Threeish.
 
I met a father once who was reflecting on his job as a parent and said, “I think I did a good job with my kids. I went to all of their games.”
​
Dads! That will not cut it. We cannot bring home the bacon and leave the child-raising to the moms. We cannot consider game attendance the fulfillment of our parental role. We cannot manage their lives from the office. We must be involved. We must know where our kids are, and I’m not talking about their physical location. We must know where they are in regard to character and spiritual development. We must know where they are going, and we must know how to help get them there. And we must help our spouses implement the plans that will help our kids grow. That’s a lot of “we’s”, isn’t it? But much of it is about “us.” We dads need to step up to our God-given calling. God wants us involved, and our wives and kids need us to be involved.

To you moms out there without husbands or with disconnected husbands, I want to say I admire what you do. You have guts. You are pulling double duty to the best of your ability, and I believe that God will bless you in that. Keep up the good work!

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Originally posted November 2004.
 
Kathleen drove back to Iowa to see her mom shortly before her mom passed away. Here is an account of my experience that I wrote several days after she left:

I really haven’t tried to do much pastoral work this week, so I’d guess the last four days (has it really only been four days?) is pretty typical of what Kathleen experiences all the time. The exception, of course, is that I have the hope of her coming back soon. So where I am only playing Mr. Mom for a few days, she has another 17 years or more.

I’ve been trying to do it all: quick runs to the grocery store, laundry, cleaning, schooling, comforting, etc... Several generous people have made us meals, so I’m not experiencing the full weight of mommy-hood, but I think I’m getting the picture. It’s quite a job. At one point I was frantically running through the house trying to find my shoes so I could take Keziah (age 5) to the Emergency Room. All kinds of thoughts were running through my mind. “Should I leave the other kids alone while I go to the E.R?” “Can I call a neighbor?” “Do I have time to gel my hair?” (Hopefully I’m not that vain, but I had just gotten out of the shower.) It didn’t even occur to me to call 911. I guess the little edible robots the kids made with toothpicks, marshmallows, and licorice weren’t such a great idea. (To my credit, I didn’t let them put toothpicks in the robots made for the smaller two kids.) Thankfully, she coughed up the toothpick before we made it out the door.

Another time I was pretty much at the end of my rope after Malia (age 3) missed the potty. I actually did okay with cleaning it up and all, but then later she was squirming around when I was putting her new pajamas on and I just about lost it. I didn’t actually yell at her or do anything to her, but I admit, I most certainly felt like going berserk-o. What can I say? I’ve got testosterone issues. I’m just kidding, of course. The issues were not testosterone issues, but character issues. Actually, I was pretty discouraged by the whole event because I would like to think I’m a little more mature than that. God help me!
Then there was last night, or this morning, or whatever you want to call it. Jireh (18 months) woke up at 1:00 screaming. I dragged myself out of bed and got him some milk. That helped for a good five minutes and then he started at it again. I let him cry for another ten or fifteen minutes and then I went down to comfort him. Of course, two fears ruled my mind. First of all, what if he has an ear infection? Secondly, what if I can’t get back to sleep?

After thirty minutes or so of cuddling him and singing “Jesus Loves Me,” I put him back down. Another thirty minutes or so and I was free to go back to sleep. That was several hours ago, and instead of lying in bed I’m writing all of you. (Maybe that’s that whole thing about mommies wanting some adult companionship.) Anyway, of course the discouraging part of it all is that they’re all going to start waking up in two hours. I’ve got a whole day ahead of me with very little rest. (That should really help my irritability issues, huh?)

The verse that comes to mind is Matthew 6:34. It says, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” I don’t need to worry about tomorrow (or is it today now?). God will give me grace. He gave me grace to get through yesterday, and the day before, and the 14,000 and some days before that. There has never been a day that was too much. Sure, I might be a little sleepy, but maybe I’ll get a nap, or Kath will come home early, or God will just help me minute by minute to keep faithfully serving Him right in the midst of my exhaustion. That’s my hope. Somehow, someway, God is going to get me through today, and tomorrow, and the next 14,000 days after that. God is good.

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