Relationships

School starts this week in Birmingham, and it couldn’t come soon enough. I love my kids. I really do. But I’ve reached the point where I get frustrated with them for waking up. “Are you up already? It’s only 9:30. Ugh.”

A few days ago, Jannie Rose, my sweet 7-year-old daughter, looked at Tiffani and with a straight face and a matter-of-fact tone said, “I need a break from you.” She wasn’t frustrated or emotional or having a bad day. It was a fact. Tiffani looked at her and said, “Same,” and they both walked off. Whew, friends. I’m telling you. If you could bottle up the mental fortitude of those two humans, America could once-and-for-all end its reliance on fossil fuels. 

It’s time for my kids to go back to school. That’s my point. We took our first steps in that direction yesterday when we met their teachers. And that’s what I want to talk about. Teachers. 

Here’s something I know because I have friends who are teachers and because I’m a normal, self-aware human: teaching is hard. Teaching is hard to the third or fourth power. It drains you. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. For 7 or 8 hours a day, you serve multiple roles. Yes, you’re an educator. But you’re also a friend. A counselor. A role model. A mother or father figure. A mediator. And, at times – Lord, help us – a social worker. 

Then you have the part that teachers must hate the most: parents. Last year, I asked Micah’s teacher how much of her day she spends responding to parents questions and complaints and so on. Twenty percent, she said. I gasped. That’s too much. I might’ve called her bluff, except I know she wasn’t bluffing. I was a youth pastor for several years, and I spent at least twenty percent of my time responding to parents. 

But that’s how the butter’s churned, as my grandma used to say. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. Parents gonna be parents, and most parents think teachers exist only for their kid.

________

Teaching is hard, but it’s also thankless. Put those two together and you have a recipe for burnout. I can imagine every teacher at some point in his or her career has turned off the lights on an excruciating day, plopped in the car, and asked, “What’s the point? Why do I keep doing this? Does any of this even matter?”

Well, I want to tell you it does. Here’s a personal example to prove it. 

A year-and-a-half ago, I was lost. I wasn’t far removed from a seven year battle with a chronic illness that took everything from me. I had a job, but that job made me work 50-plus hours a week. I was exhausted. I had no purpose, no direction. I wanted to quit work and crawl in a hole and live as a hobbit for the rest of my days.

Then, one night I was at my mom’s house and found a box of stuff from my childhood. Little paintings from third grade. A collection of poetry from middle school. A football program from my senior year. Random stuff that should’ve found the trash years ago. I reminisced for a while, and I liked that. I’m big on reminiscing. 

I was about to close the box when I saw a note. The note was from my third grade teacher. I won’t tell you her name because some people like their privacy, and she might be one of them. Here’s what the note said:

Look at the third paragraph. Can you read it? If not, here’s what it says: 

“Never stop writing. Some day you are going to be famous.” 

When I read that, something awakened inside me. Like the words were fingers that reached into my soul and reconnected a cord that was unplugged. I felt alive. I knew she was right. I should never stop writing. 

I had, though. I had stopped writing. For as long as I can remember, writing has given me joy. Even as a young lad, I wrote stories. When I was bored or sad or whatever, I scribbled on computer paper. I still have some of those stories. I’m holding one in my hand right now. It’s dated 12/9/95 – I was 10 – and it’s called The Ghost of Hillsbury. I read it, and it’s terrible, and you would think it’s terrible too. But who cares? When I was 10, I didn’t write to win awards or approval or atta boys. I wrote because it gave me life.

Writing has always been my sanctuary. When I write, I feel connected. Grounded. Centered. Whenever I’m lost, writing brings me back home. Everything seems to make sense when I’m holding a pen and a pad. But at this stage in my life, as an adult recovering from a chronic illness and working too many hours at a job I didn’t like, I had no time to write. That’s what I thought anyway. I didn’t have the time or the energy. And what would I write about? 

When I read my teacher’s words, though, I knew why I was lost. I had abandoned my first love. I sat down on the floor and cried and thanked God for my teacher. I needed those words like a drought-stricken flower needs the rain. 

I wrote them on a notecard, placed them in my office, and started writing again. I’ve written everyday since. And my life has improved. Drastically improved. I feel more alive. I’m more engaged with my family. I even found a new job. It’s funny the universe works for you once you begin to work for yourself.

I share this story for one simple reason: teachers alter the trajectory of lives. 

Even 30 years later, I read the words on that note pad as though they came from Buddha’s tongue. Or Jesus’s. I loved my teacher, all of my teachers. I had a deep respect for them. I knew they loved me. I knew they wanted what was best for me. I know that still today.

And, so, when a teacher makes a statement like the one above – Never stop writing – you listen. Teachers know – and I apologize for getting all spiritual – things about your soul, things you can’t see because you hide them behind layers of shame and regret and pride. They see your true self long before you see it. They see the man or woman you can become.

__________

Here’s a strange mystery: whatever hurts you the most also heals you the most. They’re two sides of the same coin. 

So, yes, teachers, what you’re doing is hard, thankless, exhausting work. You carry the burden of preparing actual humans for a beautiful, but cruel world. But you also have the opportunity to alter the trajectory of actual humans. And that has no price, no dollar amount. You can’t measure it or track it. 

So, on behalf of all kids, those who’ve gone before and who are soon to come, thank you. Thank you for investing in us. Thank you believing in us, for encouraging us, for seeing who we could be, not who we are right now. We need you. Teachers, you show us the way. And when we lose our way, you lead us back home. 

Even thirty years later. 

We pulled out of our driveway at 8 a.m. headed to Lincoln, AL. Never heard of it? Me neither. This small town could pass as the logo for a backwoods, stuck-in-yesteryear Alabama community. On my way through, I passed as many Confederate flags as Red, White and Blue ones. 

I apologize if you reside in Lincoln or feel a special connection with it. I mean no disrespect. Well, maybe I do. Only a touch of disrespect, though, and a touch is fair, don’t you think? If you don’t, see the paragraph above about the Confederate flags. 

I would’ve never traveled through Lincoln, but my oldest son, Noah, had a baseball tournament there. On this day, Noah and I left the fam at home and set out on the 45 minute trek by ourselves. It was Sunday, and for the fifth or sixth weekend in a row, the first day of the week began with a ballgame. Since February, I’ve only seen the inside of our church building a time or two. 

The Powell’s have entered that season of life where kids outgrow sweet local, everyone-wins-and-eats-cake-afterwards sports and move into competitive events. To be honest, I’ve looked forward to this season for a long time. I love kids, and I love sports, so when God blessed me with two sons, this is the season I envisioned. While the world of competitive sports is busy and hectic and a bit ridiculous, I love seeing the joy on Noah and Micah’s face as they run hither and thither around baseball and soccer and football fields. They love sports as much as I do. 

There’s a problem, though. Maybe you’ve diagnosed it. You’re a good Christian, so I’m sure you have. We miss church. A lot. What message are we sending our kids? Are we telling them sports are more important than God? Are we placing their well-being before the well-being of myself and my wife? Are we not feeding the demon of travel sports, the demon that’s ruining the modern-day church?

I used to answer yes to these questions, and if you answer yes, that’s fine. But I don’t answer yes to them anymore. The drive to Lincoln with my son changed that.

As we left the house, I wanted to turn up the radio. I wanted to tune out. But I stopped myself and instead spent the 45-minute drive talking to my son about God and life and the difference between knowledge and wisdom. 

He asked me at one point if I ever made mistakes, decisions I regret, choices that hurt people. I told him I did, and he was shocked.

Really, he said, and I thought he might cry. You make mistakes?

I then told him that everyone makes mistakes, and he will too, and sometimes those mistakes hurt people. I told him you can’t spend your life trying to avoid failure. The most important thing is that you learn from your mistakes, that you don’t repeat them, and if your choices hurt someone, you ask for forgiveness. That’s how you grow, I said.

Until that moment, Noah thought I was perfect. Kids assume their parents are flawless, and it’s our job to explain to them that we’re not, so that when they make mistakes, they don’t drown in shame. 

I asked Noah where he sees God. I told him where I look for God and how you can find God anywhere, if you have the eyes to see. 

The entire drive was a holy, divine experience. I arrived at the baseball field alive and closer to God than I had in a long time. God descended on my white mini-van and filled every square inch of that steel frame. I could feel the Divine’s presence.

___________

Loving God and teaching your children about God isn’t about showing up for church every Sunday. The American church has done a disservice to parents by making us believe we can raise strong, mature Christians if we show up at a building and prioritize God one hour every week. Not only this, but the church has made us believe we can pass our children off to teachers and task these teachers, mostly volunteers, with their spiritual development, that this is an okay and acceptable and even proper way to raise godly Christians.

It’s not.

You, the parent, are the single greatest determining factor in the spiritual growth of your children. If you want to glimpse the spiritual future of your children, look in the mirror. There you will find it. 

Do I believe Christians should attend and be involved in a church? Of course. But let’s stop pretending we can outsource our children’s faith to a group of volunteers for one hour a week and expect them to mature into faithful followers of Christ.

HOW TO RAISE KIDS WHO LOVE GOD

There are a lot of articles and books and talks about how to raise godly kids, how to build in them a faith that withstands the disappointments of life. I’ve read a bunch of them. And while there’s nothing wrong with how to articles, most of them miss the point.

Like most things in life, the right thing is usually the hardest. 

What is it? It’s sitting down with your kids and talking to them about God. It’s not about going to church once a week. Church is a good thing. Church is part of the formula, but one hour a week isn’t THE formula. Surely we don’t think it is. 

If you want your kids to love God, you must show them the way. You, as their parent, the human being they spend the most time with and love the most. You must do it. You must be intentional about pointing out God and showing your offspring how to look for the Divine. 

God seemed to know this, too. When the Israelites prepared to enter the Promised Land, God gave them a lot of commandments. Why did he give them so many? Two reasons. First, because he wanted the Israelites set apart from the other peoples, so he could reveal his glory. Second, though, God knows humans forget. So, this is what God says in Deuteronomy 6:7-9:

These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.

When God wanted to ensure that the next generation didn’t forget him, he told the parents to create a rhythm of God-talk and God-awareness. He instructed parents to talk about God as they walked down the road of life, in the little moments here and there. This is how you lay the foundation for a God-consciousness that will last a lifetime. 

This is how you raise children who love God.

You build God into the rhythm of your life. You talk about God wherever you go. At the grocery store. On the baseball field. On the way to school. On the ride home from school. When you play in the yard. When you travel on vacation. Wherever you go, as you tread through life, you talk about God. This is our task, as parents. The same task that God gave the Israelites he gives to us.  

This isn’t some earth-shattering exercise. It’s quite simple. You look for opportunities to inject love and joy and hope into the conversation. When you see a homeless man, for example, give him some food. Or talk to your kids about how Jesus would love them. When you see the flowers blooming, mention their beauty and ask your kids where beauty comes from. And so on. This is how we raise the next generation to love God with all their heart and mind. 

We don’t do it by passing them to volunteers one hour a week. We do it by consistently exposing them to the language and character of God.

THE BIGGEST THREAT TO RAISING KIDS WHO LOVE GOD

As we talk about working God-talk into the rhythm of our lives, I must say this. 

Technology is the greatest threat to the spiritual growth of our children. Why? It eliminates boredom, and boredom is the open door to the divine. Too many parents throw a screen or a device in front of their children every moment they’re awake, and then wonder why, as their little ones grow to teenagers and young adults, they don’t care about people or the things of God. Well, they were never shown how. Technology crucified their boredom, and without boredom, I don’t know how you make room for God. 

Tiffani and I might be making a mistake, but we refuse to solve our kids’ boredom with technology. This is the hill we’re willing to die on. The one thing we’re willing to be wrong about. 

We let them watch tv. Our mini-van has one built in, and it’s a life-saver on long trips. But we don’t watch it unless we travel out of town. Our kids don’t own iPhones and won’t for the foreseeable future. We don’t have gaming systems. I’m not against these things. If you have them, fine. No worries. In my experience, though, it‘a harder to engage with your children and invite those God moments when they’re face is in a screen. The first moment they sense boredom, they turn to technology, and they never learn how to tolerate boredom and therefore never learn how to look for God. 

On the ride to Lincoln, Noah didn’t have a screen to pacify him. This gave me the open door to talk to him about life and God and so on. Not every moment like this shakes the foundations of your life. Sometimes I’m alone with my kids and try to dig below life’s superficial terrain, and hit nothing but solid stone. If this happens, I don’t force it. I thank God for this moment, just as it is, and move on. 

Regardless, this strange truth remains: God seems content with not forcing himself onto anyone who doesn’t want to give him room. And in a culture where technology fills the void where boredom once lived, I fear God will disappear from the consciousness of our children. It’s our job as parents to make sure this doesn’t happen.

_______

I want to give God room. I want to allow space in my life and the lives of my kids for God to show. This won’t happen at church one a week. This happens when we make a conscious decision to look for God as we go throughout our day. It starts with us. We can’t show our children what we don’t see ourselves. Look for God. Pray for opportunities, for wisdom and clarity and courage to integrate God into the rhythm of our lives. 

Grace and peace, friends.   

Noah and Micah, 

I prayed for you before you were born. I thought about holding you and playing ball with you and teaching you about life. Maybe I thought about these things because I never had a dad. Well, I had one. But he wasn’t present. Maybe I sat awake at night as a teenager, thinking about you, because I wanted to be the dad I never had myself. So I dreamed up all the things I thought a good dad would do. I rehearsed entire scenes in my head, then I would smile and say, “One day…” and turn over on my pillow and go to sleep. 

Now, you’re here. The moment you were born, I held you close and felt a strange paradox: joy and dread. Joy, first, because of your presence. A piece of me is here, in my arms. When you become a parent, something in you changes. You become someone new, almost instantly. When you arrived, the world seemed good, even the worst parts drowned out by the love I felt for you. Evil didn’t exist in those first moments after your birth. Eden was reborn in that hospital room, and I will never forget it. 

I also felt dread, though. I felt dread because I knew the kind of world you were entering. This world is beautiful and the people in it are good and try their very best. I believe that. But the world is also broken and people carry around all kinds of wounds, from failed expectations and abuse and so on. You will suffer. You can’t avoid it. As I held you that first time, I shed a few tears, wishing this weren’t true. I want to shield you from the pains of life. If I could, I would absorb every mistreatment, every misspoken word, every scrape and scar to your physical body and your heart. But I can’t. Few things are more central to life than suffering. My role as your dad is to prepare you for it, to show you how to endure suffering, to learn and grow from it. This is a daunting task, and I fail often. 

The Most Important Thing I Want You To Know

Of all the things I want you to know about suffering, dear sons, this is the most important: God is the only source large enough to take your pain and transform it. If I teach you anything, I want to teach you how to hold you suffering, like Christ held his on the cross, until God takes it and transforms it. When you’re hurt, you will be tempted to hurt others. You will want to find a scapegoat, somewhere to offload your pain, a friend or loved one or spouse. Suffering is like a virus. It needs a host to survive. Remove the host, the virus dies. The same is true for suffering. Don’t spread the virus. If you need an example, look to Christ. He shows us how to end the cycle of suffering and bring heaven to earth. Follow his example. I will try my best to lead the way for you. 

I struggle with intimacy. I always have. I refuse to settle for a life of distance, but drawing near to people is really hard. I tell you this because I want to apologize for all the times I’ve been with you and settled for meaningless chatter or no chatter at all. I want to talk to you about things that matter. I want to ask you how you saw God today, in your conversations at school or in the trees as you ride down the road. But I don’t. I ask you how recess went instead.

I want you to have an awareness of God in all things. I want you to know God is with you at all times. God celebrates with you when you win a big game or pass a test. He also cries with you when your friends leave you out or when you’re scared at night. God is with you at all times, always loving, never judging. 

What It Means To Be A Man

The world will try to tell you what it means to be a man. Many of these things you will know, not because someone tells you, but because they hover in the air, invisible but active, like oxygen. Most everyone breathes the air and falls in line. Don’t fall in line, my sons. Don’t believe the lies you see lived out in men on tv or on the news. You will notice that most men don’t show emotions. You will also notice how most men love certainty and avoid failure. They equate success with identity, and they refuse to ask for help. Most men think this shows strength and, God helps us, maturity. It shows neither.

Don’t get caught up pursuing our culture’s picture of manhood. It will make you heart hard as stone, and you will live your days hopelessly insecure. Unhealthy men have caused more harm to people than we have created good in the world. I hate to say that, but it’s true. Men have used their strength and power to abuse and manipulate, often at the expense of the weak and vulnerable. You don’t have to settle for this, though. 

Try to be a good human, instead. Try to live like Christ.

People are more important than progress. Never forget that. Success is enticing, but you often have to step on a lot of necks to reach the top. If you gain the whole world, but sacrifice even one person in the process, you gain nothing. Your life is worth nothing. I want your life to be worth something, not in the world’s eyes, but in God’s. In God’s economy, people are the only currency. Become rich in God’s economy.

Don’t support laws or systems that dehumanize people. Stand up for injustice. Find the outcast and the marginalized wherever you are, in your school or on the street, and befriend them. Jesus is always with the least of these, and I want you to always be with Jesus. I haven’t modeled this well. I will try to do better. 

Strength has nothing to do with violence or weapons. Weapons don’t heal. Weapons create more violence, more suffering. Strength has nothing to do with certainty, either. Strength is an inner resolve, a deep, abiding security in who you are and a willingness to live fully present in this very moment. It’s a willingness to love at all costs, to give yourself for the good of the world, to stand for truth and for justice, even if you lose friends or a job, or your reputation or even your life. Certainty is a sign of immaturity. You can’t follow God and certainty. Choose the former.

You Will Suffer

At some point in your life, someone you know, someone you love, will hurt you. It will feel like death. You’ll want to build walls around your heart so you never experience pain like that again. Please don’t build walls. If you do, many toxic and unhealthy seeds find the necessary environment to germinate, seeds like apathy and cynicism and bitterness and others. If you continue watering these, they will grow, and like dandelions, they will eventually infest the landscape of your heart, drowning out the things of God, things like love and joy and peace. 

Open your heart all the way to love. When someone wounds you, it’s okay to be angry and upset. It’s okay to cry. Call me. I will listen. I will walk with you as long as it takes. Your mom is a far better listener than I am. You can call her as well. 

When You Fall In Love

One final thing. Your mom is an amazing woman. I love her beyond vocabulary. Sometimes you ask why we argue. You don’t ask this often because we don’t argue often. But sometimes we do. That energy you see is the energy of love. In our arguing, I hope you see that we respect each other. We don’t call names or degrade. We argue. We find a resolution. We move on. This is a necessary and important part of loving someone for a long time.

One day you will feel for someone like I feel for your mom. If you don’t, that’s just fine. But you probably will. You will fall in love, as they say. I think that’s a fair way to put it, because you lose control, and it feels like you’re plummeting into the unknown. It’s scary. It’s also exhilarating . When you find this person, remember that while the feeling you have now is beautiful and euphoric, the feeling isn’t love. You’re falling into love, but you’re not there yet. 

Our culture knows very little about love and even less about commitment and covenant. Don’t allow our culture to define love for you. Our culture gives up on love way too soon. It looks for love in the wrong places. It tries to make love an idol. Me and your mom have been married twelve years. I’m just scratching the surface of what it means to love her and to be loved by her. Love takes time, that’s all I’m trying to say. Be patient with love and with the person you choose to spend your life loving. 

My sons, you are strong and brave. You will make mistakes, but never let your mistakes define you. Forgive those you hurt. Repent. Learn from your failures. Then continue down the road of life. Don’t forget to laugh. Life is full of joy. Don’t forget to cry either. Most of all, remember God. If your one and only desire in this life is know God, your life will have joy and peace and meaning. He is in all things and all people at all times, but you must have the eyes to see. I pray you have the eyes to see.

I love you,

Dad

When Tiffani and I started the adoption journey, it sounded like fun. We were excited and hopeful. God ordained this. He planted the seed, and we agreed to give it water. We weren’t sure how fast the seed would grow or what it would look like once it matured. We just knew God wanted us to do adopt. So we jumped in.

But adoption’s not fun anymore.

June 16, after forty-one months of fundraisers, paperwork, prayer, and hopeful expectation, we were matched with a little girl from India. I’ll never forget seeing her face for the first time. Her name was Lovely, and that’s exactly what she was. Her name was also Matsy Grace, the name we chose for our first girl (for simplicity’s sake, I’ll call her Lovely moving forward). Tiffani and I looked at her picture – we only had one – most of the night. The emotional connection was instantaneous. We were still six months away from holding her for the first time, but she was already our daughter.

After receiving the referral, our agency recommended we update her medical information. This would ensure two things: up-to-date records (and treatments, if necessary) as well as new pictures and videos.

We waited nearly three weeks for the results.

July 3, we received three new videos. Tiffani watched them first. And what she saw disturbed her. Lovely looked feeble and malnourished. At the time, I was with a few friends. Before sending me the videos, Tiffani called. When your wife feels it’s necessary to warn you beforehand, you know it’s bad.

I put off watching them. I’m not sure why. Maybe I needed time to prepare. Maybe I hoped Tiffani was exaggerating about her health. When I finally hit the play button, my worst fears were realized.

At the time, I remained positive, both for myself and my family. She would be okay. The doctors in India would give her the proper attention. We would be there in a few months. Looking back, however, Lovely wasn’t okay. She was dying.

The next day, July 4, while our country celebrated freedom and independence, I felt shackled by the chains of paperwork and time. Lovely needed medical attention, and she needed it now. Tiffani researched the area around Lovely’s orphanage for jobs. Everyone needs a part-time speech therapist and pastor/engineer, right? She found nothing.

We were helpless. Rarely in our modern world, with advances in travel, health, and communication, are we in helpless situations. Our daughter was in serious trouble, however, and we couldn’t physically help her.

In this moment I realized my god complex was worse than I thought, much worse. Prayerful trust was my only option, and I didn’t like it. I’ve been taught God doesn’t bless idleness. Prayer matters, but it’s only one side of the equation.

Well, what happens when you can’t act? All you can do is wait…and trust.

Here’s what happened to me: self-doubt, restlessness, and frustration. A god complex doesn’t like inaction. It refuses to believe another person is in control, even if that person is God.

Not all heroism is evil, but when we believe a happy ending – our ending, in other words –  is more important than God’s plan, we have problem. I’ll be honest, part of me wanted to “finish the deal.” I wanted the world to see me holding Lovely. I wanted to remove her from the brokenness and give her a life she couldn’t experience otherwise.

I’m not beating up on myself. I’m trying to communicate something about God. On my best day, when I put my best foot forward, when I search deep within my soul for unchecked agendas and biases, I’m still broken and selfish. God knows this yet still allows me to participate in his eternal redemption story.

We serve an amazing God.

July 5, less than 48 hours after watching the heart-breaking videos, we received the news. Lovely died. She was fifteen months old.

When Tiffani called and, through tears, uttered the words, I was numb. Or maybe I was emotionally paralyzed. I’m not sure. I didn’t know how to feel. How do you grieve this? How do you make sense of it? Lovely is my daughter. She died in an orphanage, before her second birthday. She died without seeing her family. She died alone.

That last sentence still keeps me up at night.

Death is inevitable. Most of us hate this reality. We would rather pretend death doesn’t exist than embrace it. In doing so, ironically, we avoid life. Real life, the kind Jesus promised in John 10:10, happens when we embrace both our limited and limitless natures. Otherwise, we’re left to create toxic god complexes, driven by selfish ambitions and fueled by fear.

I’m at peace with Lovely’s death. She’s whole now. She’s with God. But I’m not at peace with her final days. No one should die alone. No one should pass from this life to the next without a familiar hand nearby. Not even the most vile of human beings deserves such a fate.

Tragically, this is the fate for hundreds of thousands of orphans. They die alone. Their lives aren’t remembered or celebrated. While a funeral wasn’t possible, we refused to allow Lovely’s life to pass without doing something.

So we planned a celebration. Lovely will always be our daughter. She will always be loved. She will always have a family. These things should be celebrated.

We gathered with friends and family. I shared a few tear-filled thoughts. I rambled, really. No words make sense of tragedy. We released balloons into the sky. And we planted a tree, her tree. Incidentally, an hour or so after planting her tree, the bottom fell out. The heavens released at least an inch of rain. Maybe it’s coincidence. I choose to think otherwise.

Every time I visit my in-laws, I will stop short of their house to spend a few moments with Lovely.

I need you to understand something. I don’t despair of life. I’m not mad at God. Far from it. I’m even more convinced death isn’t final.

Love never dies. Hope never fails. I cling to these eternal truths with more certainty than ever. I’m not sure I’ll recognize Lovely in heaven. But I know she’s there. And, as a father, that’s the ultimate goal, the only goal, for my children. Lovely taught me not to fear death. She also showed me there’s a different kind of death, one that chooses fear and hate over love. Make no mistake, this death is a choice, a daily decision. These words in Deuteronomy have stuck with me the last few weeks.

[blockquote cite=”Deuteronomy 30:19-20″ type=”left”]”Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses. Now I call on heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Oh, that you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live! You can make this choice by loving the LORD your God, obeying him, and committing yourself firmly to him. This is the key to your life.”[/blockquote]

Unfortunately, we choose this death too often, myself included. Moving forward, I’ll choose it less. Instead, I’ll choose gratitude. I’ll choose to enjoy every day for what it is, not what I expect it to be. I’ll choose love because it binds us together, all of us, it somehow binds me to Lovely, and it ultimately binds me to God.

I encourage you to choose this life as well.

I love you all. To God be the glory forever. Amen!

Not long after my first son was born, someone came up to me and said something that changed my perspective on parenting. “Enjoy every moment. The days are long but the years are short.”

At the time, I was low on sleep and high on stress, and this wasn’t the time for one-liners. Why couldn’t he offer to babysit for a few hours instead?

But it’s been nearly four years since I held my son for the first time, and I’ve thought about his comment hundreds of times.

Parenting is a beautiful storm. Few endeavors are more life-giving and joy-filled. But it’s far from easy. Some days all you can do is hold on. The torrent of poop diapers and irresponsible decisions threaten your sanity. Other days, you see it. You see the hard work, late nights, and discipline finally paying off.

Parenting is hugely important. Strong families are the backbone of strong societies and cultures. Without strong parents building strong children, cultures become paralyzed and stagnant. Parents, you’re shaping the eternal trajectory of your children.

But, let’s be honest, children aren’t easy to read. I still can’t understand why they don’t come with instructions. And the whole thing happens so fast. One minute a huge ball protrudes my wife’s belly. The next moment the huge ball pees on the nurse. Here I am today, just days away from the huge ball’s fourth birthday.

The days are long. The years are short.

You have a short time to prepare your children. And beyond the poker faces are real needs. For children to thrive in today’s world, with its unique complexities and challenges, here are some things they need.

1.) Your marriage to take priority over them

Children demand time and resources. You should serve them and provide for them. You should invest in their present and future.

And one of the best ways to invest in your children is to invest in your marriage.

If your children take priority over your marriage, you will lose your children and your marriage. Your children will become idols, never living up to your expectations, and you will always expect more from them than they can give.

In the Powell house, we aren’t perfect, but Tiffani and I let our boys know mommy and daddy’s relationship is important. I tell them mommy is important to me. When Tiffani and I talk, they can’t interrupt. We’re are affectionate in front of our children. I want them to see Tiffani and I prioritizing our marriage.

2.) To see you live out your faith, not just talk about it 

Your children might listen to your words, but they will follow your actions.

You can’t pass down faith you don’t model. Jesus must impact your decisions. His ways, which are strange and puzzling to the world, must inform your walk. Read Scripture with your children. Talk about Jesus at home. But don’t leave him there when you take the kids to the ballpark. Don’t talk about justice and never help those in need.

You might think your children are naive. Maybe you’re right. But you’re also naive if you think they aren’t watching (and modeling) your actions.

3.) A life without constant connection to technology 

Whether your children are newborns, toddlers, or teenagers, it’s your job to disconnect them from technology. When your default response to boredom or public tantrums is technology, you build a craving in them for entertainment. You’re teaching them that life is a never-ending Disneyland experience. And you’re the tour guide. It’s not your job to entertain your children every waking moment. And it’s not your job to protect them from boredom.

I’m not against technology. But you need boundaries. Establish times when technology isn’t allowed, starting with the dinner table. Allow your children to feel boredom and work through it. It’s fun to visit Disneyland every few years. It’s exhausting when you try to bring Disneyland to your living room.

4.) Encourage them more than you correct them

Certain days, my vocabulary shrinks down to two words: no and stop. It’s so easy to highlight the negative. When your children mess up, it’s obvious. But what about the things they do right? Are you highlighting those?

As a parent, your yeses should outweigh your nos.

How often do you say, “I’m proud of you,” “I love you,” or “I’m thankful for you”? You have no idea of the power in affirmation. As a teenager, I longed for this, especially from my dad. I wanted to hear “I love you” from him so bad.

I knew he loved me, but I rarely heard it. And this left a seed of doubt in my mind.

Every day, your children make good choices. If you don’t verbalize them, it’s not just unfortunate. It’s bad stewardship. James 3 says words are like a destructive fire. Well, the opposite is also true. Words build up. Affirmative words that go unspoken are equivalent to extravagant gifts that go unopened.

Are you affirming your children? Do you build up more than you tear down?

5.) To know life isn’t fair

There’s a disturbing trend in America, especially in youth sports culture. It’s called the “participation trophy effect.” I just made that up, so don’t cite some copyright law. I won’t respond to you.

The “participation trophy effect” says everyone is a winner.

“It’s okay, Billy. You didn’t win the game. But you still get a trophy. Everyone’s a winner out here.”

No, they’re not.

I’m so grateful for my background in sports. They taught me about life. And I learned more from defeat than victory. Participation trophys don’t prepare your children for real life. In real life, not everyone gets a trophy. There are winners and losers. But, through loss and rejection, you learn. You develop perseverance and grit. Defeat might break you down, but you have an opportunity to rebuild stronger than before.

I want my boys to see failure, rejection, and loss as essential components of life. I want them to measure self-worth internally, not by a score on a scoreboard. I want them to know excellence and hard work matter. Life doesn’t give you a trophy because you show up. Sometimes you fail. But failure isn’t final.

6.) To say no and protect their boundaries

From the moment my boys could crawl, they pushed our boundaries. If we told them to stay away from the electrical outlet, they crawled to the electrical outlet. If we told them not to stand in the chair, they stood in the chair.

At first, I thought my kids were evil creatures who gained pleasure from my frustration.

Eventually, however, I realized they tested our boundaries because they wanted to ensure they actually existed.

Establish boundaries between your children and your expectations. They should clearly know what is appropriate. But you must also establish boundaries between your children and the endless barrage of activities and opportunities.

You can’t do everything. Your children can’t experience everything. To them, every opportunity looks good. It’s your job to keep your children grounded and prevent them from drowning in activities.

Overcommitment is one of the great idols of American Christianity. We worship this idol because it tells us we’re important and our children are gifted. And, unfortunately, we sacrifice our children on this altar. We enjoy the satisfaction from our children being the best. This gives us importance. But it creates teenagers stretched thin, obsessed with outward achievements, and overcome with anxiety.

Your children might not say this, but they need you to say no.

7.) Help them become the man or woman they were created to be, not who you want them to be 

Before becoming a parent, I dreamed about having a son. We would play catch. I would coach his little league team. He would grow into an athletic shortstop and play college baseball.

Somewhere between conception and birth, God started working on my heart. I realized my dreams weren’t about my son at all. They were about me. I wanted to relive the moments that highlighted my childhood. God challenged me to see my children like he does, without pre-conceived expectations.

Maybe my children will play baseball and golf like their old man. But I’m much more concerned with helping them become the men and women God created them to be. As parents, this should be your goal. Help your children recognize their gifts, those things they naturally do well. Give them space to explore and try new things. Don’t impose your expectations on them.

And never compare your children. They’re created uniquely, not equally. The barometer for your children isn’t a sibling or your friends’ kids. It’s the mirror. Teach them to compete against the person they were yesterday, not the person beside them.

Your greatest competition in the fight for greatness is the man in the mirror. Stop comparing your children. Start challenging them to be the best version of themselves.

8.) Talk about sex and other hard topics early and often

My youngest son is almost three, but he’s already curious about the body. He asks about different “parts” and why boy and girls don’t “look the same.” So (cue the awkwardness) we’ve already had a sex talk with him. Not like the one he’ll receive as a teenager. But we’ve explained that God created boys and girls with certain body parts. We also explained that God created Micah’s “parts” only for Micah, and Noah’s “parts” for Noah. No one should touch their “parts” and they shouldn’t touch other’s “parts.”

That’s elementary, yes.

But Tiffani and I are determined not to dodge the uncomfortable subjects. Growing up, I had one painfully awkward sex talk. Literally, it was painful. It’s like an unexpected bombshell of private parts and words you can’t pronounce blows up in your face, severing your desire to ever discuss sex with your parents.

Rather than dropping a bombshell on your children, why not teach them about sex like you would other things God created? Why not diffuse the awkward bomb with periodic conversations?

You can’t avoid the hard subjects. Your children will inevitably learn about sex. They will hear about drugs and alcohol. The question is who will tell them?

To sit back and assume they’ll figure it out is bad parenting. Sex is a beautiful gift from God. But when it’s used outside of God’s boundaries, sex destroys. And if you don’t create a culture of open dialogue, your children will find a culture that does. And that usually doesn’t end well.

9.) Pray for them, with them, and over them

I plead with you to pray for your children, whether they’re a few days old or few days from graduation. I would not be here without the flood of prayers from my parents and close friends.

Tiffani and I pray with our boys every night. We also pray over them, individually. We pray for their future spouse. We pray for God to surround them with a Christ-centered community. We pray for God to protect their heart and mind.

Prayer trumps any parenting style. It’s also a blanket of grace, covering your mistakes and failures. When your children struggle, this blanket catches them.

Prayer changes things.

__________________

I don’t have parenting figured out. It’s incredibly weighty and difficult, but it’s also immensely rewarding. By God’s grace, you’re shaping the eternal trajectory of your children.

Although the world is complex and loaded with pitfalls, your children can thrive if you give them what they need.

I love you all. To God be the glory forever. Amen!