The #1 Way to Steep Our Kids in Scripture

“These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. “You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. “You shall bind them as a sign on your hand and they shall be as frontals on your forehead. “You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” Deuteronomy 6:6-8

I drop the tea bag in my mug, and the water begins to change color. I can’t resist picking it up by the string and dipping it in and out again, watching the color deepen to a reddish brown.

We want our children to be so steeped in the Word of God that they change colors, like the cup of water that becomes tea. We send them to Awana and Sunday school, Children’s Church and VBS. But we can’t outsource the job of teaching Scripture to our kids. The above passage doesn’t leave it at family devotions. We are commanded to eat, sleep and breathe the Word of God.

How do we do that? Family devotions are enough of a struggle as it is …

Let me start by saying it doesn’t mean you need to preach mini-sermons at every juncture of the day. But it does mean that we (often and conscientiously) point our own gaze and our children’s back to the face of our Savior.

There are five ways I can think of to do that. In this article I’ll focus on the first and most obvious (but hardest):

1. Whatever we encounter as a family, we need to apply Scripture to it. Our kids must understand that our truth comes from the Bible, not some generic form of American moralism.

One evening last summer, we got into a conversation with our boys about why some people choose not to ever drink alcohol. We explained that alcohol can become dangerous when used improperly, and many people become slaves to it.

The next day, we walked past a man sitting on a street corner with a bottle of beer, carrying on a loud conversation with himself.

This man demonstrated a Bible verse for us: “Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise.” (Prov. 20:1).

That’s just one example of how you can apply scripture to everyday life.

Are the kids whining? “Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach.” (Phil. 2:14-16)

See a flock of geese flying in a V across the silver-lined clouds? “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.” (Psalm 19:1). Quote it and leave it at that. You don’t have to know the chapter and verse.

“But I don’t have that command of Scripture! I can never think of the right verse!”

I don’t either. 😊

Sometimes (don’t tell anybody) I pull out my smart phone. You think there’s a verse in there somewhere? Find it. Sometimes smart phones DO make it easier to obey God. (You heard it here first.)

“I’m not that kind of mom. It would be weird.”

Often  as a mother, I feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But that’s how we grow in faith and godliness—by doing something we’re not used to doing.

Last week I was in a store known to have terrible customer service. Browsing near the cashiers, I was amused to hear the owner giving her employees a talk:

“I was reading customer feedback recently, and when our customers come up to pay, they say they feel like they’re interrupting us. From now on, when someone comes to the counter, it doesn’t matter what you’re working on, you stop what you’re doing, and you go to help them.”

One of her employees gave an objection I couldn’t hear. But the owner responded,
“Of course it will feel weird at first, because you’re not used to it. But pretty soon it will feel natural, because that’s what you’re going to do from now on—stop what you’re doing, look the customer in the eye, and smile. Every single time.”

I was amused that the customer’s feedback was a revelation to her. But what made it even funnier was the idea that an employee could object to showing common courtesy as a sales clerk.

So … will it feel weird to quote Scripture to your kids during the course of the day? Sure it will, at first. But just as cashiers learn to act a certain way, so Christian mothers learn to quote Scripture. It is at the core of what it means to be a godly mother, raising a godly seed.

There’s a reason it doesn’t feel natural, and that’s because, as Paul explains in Romans 7, “For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not.”

“I feel super-spiritual quoting psalms when, say, we see God’s glory in Creation. Won’t my kids see me for the phony Christian that I really am?”

Yes. But that’s okay. That’s just one more opportunity to direct them to God as our good Father, and be humble about our own sin.

Tune in next week for four more ways to steep our kids in Scripture.

Originally written for Warhorn Media by Michal Crum.

Not-So-Subtle Control

"Did you know the cellar door was open?” she asked pointedly.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Oops.”
Oops! she thought. Can he not remember to close it so the toddler doesn’t fall down the stairs?

***

“Why is your coat here?” she questioned.
“I forgot where I put it,” he answered.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. Was it that hard to put away?

***

Reading those scenarios makes me cringe. I hate to admit that I can be that wife – ugh, I hate to admit it. Not too long ago, God gently asked me something after one of these conversations played out: When I ask my husband these pointed questions, what’s my motive?

Often I outwardly portray that I’m “just curious.” Genuinely wanting to know the answer to the toned questions I’m throwing at him. While sometimes that’s true, there’s another motive that’s also accurate: pride.

I ask these questions wanting him to get the picture. Get with the program. Realize that he’s doing things incorrectly.

It doesn’t just happen at home; my motives follow me anywhere and everywhere. In the car, in stores, in other people’s houses. Why can’t he think like I do and take care of things like I do? Why can’t he just do it *right*?

Then I realize what I’m doing. And I realize how selfish and rude it is. How my desire for control and the need to be right run the show sometimes… and how that show is downright ugly.

Ever been there? I don’t know about you, but almost every time I do this I have a little prick in my spirit before the words come out of my mouth. A nudge from the Holy Spirit to either keep my mouth shut or change the words I’m about to say.

Right now, this morning, is a fresh start. Another chance to say no to the selfishness and pride that put a wedge between my husband and me and are sin before God. So today, with His help, I’m going to heed that nudge from the Spirit and either refrain or reword. One day at a time, may He make me more like Himself. Will you join me?

Written by Amy Parsons

I Need a Miracle

I’m praying today for a miracle. A real supernatural work.

I have sin to battle, and I think I can approach it in one of two ways. I can muster some grit — some southern-mama-I-can-and-I-must-be-kind-and-patient-and-by-golly-I-won’t-let-the-devil-have-me-today — and you know, in doing that, I just might keep some of God’s laws and also make some progress in all.the.things.

The Israelites, they were going to do it, too. They were going to do what was right: “All that the LORD has spoken we will do.” (Ex 19:8) And they failed miserably. Time after time, decade after decade after century upon century.

And so, God established the New Covenant. Not that there was anything wrong with His Old Covenant (think, The 10 Commandments), but the problem was with them, the Israelites. And with us — the try-harders, the pull-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps, you-can, just-do-its. The problem is that we CAN’T. Not only can I not save myself from my sins, but I can’t live the Christian life — it’s impossible (apart from a miracle ). I can’t unselfishly love my children from my heart. I can’t lay down my life as a sacrifice and die to my own will and desires and temptations today with a heart of gratitude and attitude of joy. I can’t be truly content in every circumstance. I can’t givethanks for everything from the heart.

Unless.

Unless God works a miracle in me. God working in me, miraculously changing my want-tos. Miraculously changing my affections and loves. Miraculously making me more like Jesus. This is life in the New Covenant.

God calls us to obey and love and serve, come and die — and then through the power of the Holy Spirit, God works the miracle of a changed heart in us to follow Jesus.

And so, the way I want to choose today is not the try-harder-bootstrap life, but rather a prayerful attitude that admits to God: “Apart from you, I can do nothing.” But — if God will work in me, change my want-tos, God, if You’ll do that, I will strive mightily by Your power today as You work in me. God, help me to labor — elbow grease and potty train and sweep and pray and home school and obey Your Word — by the power of the Spirit. God, do that miracle in me today.

Originally published on Instagram by Amanda Criss

That Mom Who Has It All Together… Doesn’t

I’m going out on a limb talking about this; a limb the mommy wars might saw off at any moment, and I’ll go tumbling to an untimely internet death.

But this message is worth the fall, if I take it. Because I’m really over the assumptions we’re making – these assumptions we women make about each other.

I represent part of the “Type A” mom crowd. This has nothing to do with the fact I produced two children in the last three years. It’s who I’ve always been. I like red lipstick, real clothes, and my shower (almost) every day. I actually do believe it’s possible to have both clean floors and happy kids. And for me, this more structured life works well. Our particular family wouldn’t be as peaceful without it.

So it’s been discouraging to see, in the Almighty Social Media, conversations implying that women whose houses are organized, or who like to wear makeup every day, or who generally run a tight ship, are somehow “unrealistic”, “unattainable”, or even lying about their motherhood. But what if none of that were true?

I was convicted, a few weeks ago, when someone about whom I’d made some big assumptions turned out to be a hurt individual with a really loud facade. And I’m not alone: it’s human to make assumptions. We like to think we’ve got people figured out; that we know their story. We like to hold their lives up to our insecurities and deem them lacking – if not in organization, then in nurture.

But some of us are Type-A with tight ships because that’s who we are. We’re not out to prove anything. We’re not playing a comparison game. And if anything, we’re sitting at play group second guessing our every word, wondering if we’re “too much”, beating ourselves up for possibly making someone else feel bad for how we live and dress and parent… even though the response of others is completely out of our control.

Some of us operate better with routines and schedules. Some of us sleep train because we like to sleep. Some of us like our shower and our makeup because it makes us feel human, yes, it helps us mom better. But our choice to paint on some Maybelline in the morning is not a statement about anyone else. It’s not a judgment. These choices aren’t rooted in some desire to “be better” than other moms, to “have it all together”. We’re just like you: we want the best for our kids, we want to be good moms, and this is how we do it.

I wish, I wish, we could give one another some grace in this hard world. We look at the ones who are organized or appear like life is easy-peasy and instead of grace, we hand down judgment. We look at them through the lens of insecurity instead of embracing these women like anyone else.

Why do we do this dance of comparison? Why is the internet so hard on the “together” mom?  I think it’s because we’re threatened by the idea that someone has life “figured out”… that we’re falling behind, that we’re not good enough.

But in reality? We all have those moments, “together” or not.

We dance with comparison because we think, in that fleeting second, that security can be bought with superiority. So we tell ourselves:

Maybe she’s organized, but I bet her kids don’t get the attention they deserve.

Or conversely:

Maybe she spends tons of time with her kids, but I bet her house is a wreck.

Here’s a truth about the mommy wars or any kind of comparison trap: you can elevate yourself by lowering another, but the elevator you built always comes back down. 

You’ll be here again. You’ll meet another mom who makes you feel inadequate and you’ll face the same insecurity, the same thoughts… unless you put a stop to it.

What would happen if we stopped measuring who has it “together” and who doesn’t? Perhaps we’d find that, more important than looking “together” is being together. Learning together. Raising disciples together. Checking our insecurities at the door and just accepting people for who they are, not how they measure up to our failings.

We’d find that we can actually learn from the unique gifts of the other. We’d find that people aren’t thinking as much about us as we think about us. And we’d find that, when we stop thinking about us in general, the threat we originally perceived is somehow… gone.

When we are worried about measuring the successes and failures of others against our own, we aren’t really living. When we judge the state of one another’s living rooms, how can we go deeper as friends? When everything becomes competition, there can be no community. The mom who “has it all together”… doesn’t always have it all together. No one does.

We are all in a continuous state of growth. No one has this life figured out, no one has it “together”. When you bring that understanding to your relationships, it frees you to love people, imperfections and all. It doesn’t matter if they are Type A or Type B, Enneagram 1 or 7, ENTJ, ISFP, or just plain human.

Who they are is not a reflection on who we are.

Who they are is an opportunity to love.

Isn’t that what we want our kids to see?

Written by Phylicia Masonheimer, originally posted here.