The Sins of the Father

The other day I was on my way to a customer’s office in my work truck listening to country music on the radio. Country, of course, is the great populist music of our nation. They sing about the stuff that matters to most people, especially in central Kansas: love, commitment, faith, tradition, and beer. Musically I am not very much drawn to country, but I love the message, packaged as it is, ever so carefully, by executives in Nashville.

So the other day I am driving and this song comes on the radio. I have heard this song before, as anyone who has listened to a country music station for more than 18 minutes certainly has. But I hadn’t heard it since Owen was born. And I’ll be darned if somewhere around verse two I didn’t break down and start weeping in my heavy duty half-ton pickup.

You see my son is now at the age where I see the truth of this song. He is watching me. He does try to do what I do. And it is wonderfully beautiful and incredibly frightening at the same time. Good or bad, as the song tells us, my son will pick up on what I do. How I react when I’m surprised. How I pray. How I treat his mom. How I use my free time. He’ll be watching it all.

And it is moments of realization like that when parenting becomes a responsibility not only in the sense of providing for physical needs and putting your child’s interests ahead of your own, but in the sense of shepherding their heart, teaching them that though I am a sinner, by grace I can repent. And though little Owen will be like me in so many ways, it is my goal that he be better than me. That he loves more and sees more grace in this world, this glorious place, as he longs for his true Father to redeem it all.