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When I had boys I was scared to death.  Growing up there was just my sister and I, and most of the boys I knew at church were wild.  In fact, quite a few left the church as soon as they could.  I just knew I would never be able to raise good boys.

I had never reckoned with Keith.  He was determined to raise those boys “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.”  He never expected me to do it alone, and he started when they were young.  Even if he could not nurse them, he got up when they cried in the night and brought them to me.  He often sat there talking to them while they nursed, when he could have been sleeping, so they would early on associate both our voices with that comforting process.

Every evening he gave them their baths so I would have enough uninterrupted time to do the things I needed to do—wash the evening dishes, finish folding the laundry, and other necessary things.  A few times he sent me out right after the afternoon nursing to “do whatever you want,” while he sat with them, usually playing or reading to them.  Other times I would hear their voices wafting through the kitchen window, singing about the “wee little man.” while he held them up on the lowest limb of “the Zaccheus tree,” a sapling in the backyard

Play usually involved acting out Bible stories.  It was so handy that Daddy was bigger than they, so he could be Goliath, or “the big fish,” swallowing them up by covering them with his body until they had prayed for “three days and nights.”  As they grew older, the play became more spirited.  “Let’s play ‘roll and wrestle,’ Daddy,” was followed by thumps and giggles, and muffled shrieks of laughter as they took turns tackling Daddy in the middle of the living room floor and then rolling around as far as they could without knocking something over.  They never knew that Daddy was watching out for the furniture and carefully moderating his strength so he would not hurt them.  They just knew that Daddy would get down in the floor and play with them whenever they asked him to.

My favorite snapshot from those days is the one I took standing in the front door looking down on three mud-covered bodies.  It was summer and a soft, warm rain made it perfect for a mud fight.  They went out and had the time of their lives, then knocked on the front door.  I opened it to see Nathan on Keith’s shoulders and Lucas standing just in front of his legs, head about waist high, all three shirtless in grungy, mud-spattered cut-offs.  I think.  I did see three sets of eyes and grinning white teeth somewhere in all that brown mud.  Clean-up was just as much fun since it involved using a hose before they could even step inside the house.

He didn’t just involve himself in their fun.  He taught them how to work, how to be gentlemen, and how to study the Bible, among other manly pursuits.  

Keith started being a dad before those boys were even born, and has kept it up.  He was not above changing diapers.  In fact, one of his own original sayings is that if a Dad cannot change the messy diapers, he won’t be much use in later years when the messes of life afflict his children either.  

Keith will tell you that 90% of the convicted felons who sit across the desk from him did not have fathers in their homes.  He does not bother to check out what kind of father, or whether the marriage was a good one.  That makes that little fact even more important.  Even the mere presence of a father can make a huge difference.  Imagine the difference it would make if he were really trying to be a good one.

Dads, you know what you need to do today.  The buck stops at you.

Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, Eph 6:4.

Dene Ward

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            I can hardly believe it, but Silas has started school.  When he found out he had to go back the second week, he said, “You mean I have to go again?!”

            “Yes,” his mother told him, “there is a lot to learn.”

            “But I already learned,” he said, sure that now he would get to stay home with her and his little brother.  Of course, he found out otherwise quickly.

            I know that no one would say it out loud, but sometimes I get the feeling some of my brothers and sisters have the same attitude.  “I already learned!” which is supposed to justify their never studying for a Bible class, never attending an extra Bible study, never darkening the meetinghouse doors for anything but the Lord’s Supper, as if it were a magic potion that would save them that week regardless of anything else they did.  What they have “learned” are usually the pet scriptures, the catchphrases, the simplistic theories that try to explain away the profound depth of the Scriptures—all those things that smack so much of a denominational mindset.

            I have amazing women in my Bible classes, and let me tell you, most of them are neither young nor new Christians.  These are women of a certain age, as we often say, who have sat on pews for longer than many others have been alive, yet they see the value in learning still more. 

            And that does not necessarily mean learning something new.  Sometimes the learning has more to do with a deeper comprehension, uncovering another level of wisdom, or an additional way of applying a fact to one’s life, leading to a changed behavior or attitude.  When I see someone in their later years actually change their lives because of a discovery made in Bible class, I am reminded yet again of the power of the Word.  The most amazing thing about this living and active Word, is that if you are not blinded by self-satisfaction, every time you study it you can see something new.  It’s like peeling an onion—you keep finding another layer underneath.

            You may have “already learned” a great many things, but if that is your attitude, you will never grow beyond the boundaries you have placed upon yourself with that notion.  Like a kindergartner who has learned his letters and numbers, you will be stuck in the basics, the “first principles,” and never come to a fuller comprehension of the magnitude of God’s wisdom and His plan for you.  If you are still deciding how long to keep a preacher based upon how much you “enjoy” his preaching and how many times he visited you in the hospital, if you are mouthing things like “I never heard of such a thing” or “I am (or am not) comfortable with that,” with not a scripture reference in sight, you still have a long way to go. 

            God wants meat-eaters at His banquet.  That means you need to chew a little harder and longer.  Yes, it takes time away from recess to sit in class and learn some more.  Yes, you have to process some new information which may not be as comfortable as you are used to.  Your brain may even ache a little, but that is how you learn, by stretching those mental muscles instead of vegetating on the pew.

            You may think you have “already learned,” but I bet you even my kindergartner grandson will have figured out very shortly that there is a whole lot more he needs to know.  He’s pretty smart for five.  How about you?

 Whom will he teach knowledge? and whom will he make to understand the message? them that are weaned from the milk…Isa 28:9.

Wherefore leaving the doctrine of the first principles of Christ, let us press on unto perfection…Heb 6:1.

Dene Ward

            Did you see the video going around of the mother goose leading her babies up a set of two stone steps somewhere in an urban center?  (She might have been a duck, but I am not a poultry expert and it suits my purposes here to call her a goose.)  Those steps were twice as high as those goslings.  At first the mother waddled on, but soon she realized she was alone so she returned to the steps and watched as each baby leapt to the top of the next step over and over and over—and usually fell back.  It took no less than five or six tries per step for each one, and some many more.  The last little fellow almost had it but then fell onto his back, exhausted.  Did he give up?  No, he got up and kept on trying, and finally, several minutes after all the others had made it, he got to the top of the second step and ran to his mother, who then turned and led her tiny gaggle across the plaza.

            That mother had it easier than you and I do.  She had no hands and arms to be tempted to reach out and help.  All she could do was patiently wait, honking her encouragement.  Too many times we use those hands and arms when we shouldn’t, thinking we are doing the right thing, and our children grow up emotionally frail in the process, with a warped sense of their place in the world—usually the center, they think.

            What would have happened if you had never let go of those little hands as your toddler tried his first steps?  What would have happened if, when he tried to climb, you always came along, picked him up and put him where he was trying to go?  What would happen now if every time something wasn’t exactly the way he wanted it, you came along and made it that way?  Sooner or later he must find out that the world does not run to his schedule not his set of likes and dislikes, and the earlier he learns that the less painful it will be for all of you.

            In his work, Keith has come across many young people who finally found out that their parents could not get them out of trouble as they were hauled off to prison in manacles.  Once, a nineteen-year-old probationer thought he could bypass some of the rules of his sentence, namely his officer checking to see if he was home where he belonged, because “I have a mean dog.”

            “Lock him up,” Keith said.  “That’s your responsibility because I will be doing my job, which is your punishment for your crime.  If you don’t, I have authority to stop the dog any way it takes.”

            “Bbbbbbut you can’t hurt my dog,” he blubbered.

            “YOU will be hurting your dog,” his officer told him, and finally got through.  He did the crime because he thought he could get away with it—mama and daddy had always gotten him out of trouble before.  Now he had to pay the consequences.  I wonder if his parents ever did make him do something he did not want to do as a child. 

            God gave those goslings a goose, a mother who would stand there and patiently wait while her children tried and learned and grew stronger even with their failures.  He gave a goose who would honk her encouragement when they fell flat on their backs, urging them with “love” to get up and try again.

            Some parents don’t have the sense God gave a goose when they raise their children.  What do you think will happen if you fix every problem and adjust every situation to their liking?  As adults they will be persistently dissatisfied and miserable, or constantly in trouble and probably devoid of true friends who are tired of always having to do things their way.  Certainly love them, but “learn” to love them in the hard things (Titus 2:4).  Teach them, discipline them, tell them they can do it and cheer them on.  Add a more “tactile” form of exhortation when necessary.  Give them words of encouragement, of admonishment, of rebuke, of love.  That is why God gave them parents instead of a goose.

Hear, O sons, a father's instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight, for I give you good precepts; do not forsake my teaching…My son, be attentive to my words; incline your ear to my sayings. Let them not escape from your sight; keep them within your heart. Proverbs 4:1-2,20-21

Dene Ward

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