First, one really cute thing Owen does before
I get into the meat of what I want to say. Owen is simultaneously a human boy
of nearly the age of three, a big giraffe, a small robin, and a small bear.
Giraffes are his favorite animal, robins his favorite bird, and I have called
him Bear since the day he was born so that one is more default. There was a new
animal added to the menagerie this week: a baby fox. Clara was changing him for
bed and he made a slight whimpering sound and then tucked his head down into
her and rubbed it back and forth. When she asked him what in the world he was
doing he told her he was a baby fox. His name is Harold when he is a baby fox.
He keeps a baby fox den beside our bed with two of our throw pillows and an
assortment of his blankets. (This is quite similar, structurally, to his
robin’s nest that he builds on the floor at various times. I am overlooking his
lack of architectural imagination.) Now, onto the other story. . .
Owen, like most young sons, emulates nearly
everything that I do. For better or worse, of course. He parrots my mannerisms,
expressions, language. He is learning to process the world and his emotions
through the way I engage the world and my own emotions. It is very convicting
stuff. And the snapshot I share in this post is not meant at all to puff up my
own estimation of my success at showing him Christlikeness. I fail constantly.
This post is to glorify God for the way he makes up for what we lack.
The other night we were at our weekly Bible
study and I was leading a conversation on family. We were discussing how it is
the task of parents to shape the affections of our children, not just their
minds. Clara and I are the only parents in the group, and we were expressing
some mild exasperation in the day-to-day specifics of putting Christ at the
center of our home. With a three year-old (almost) and a one year-old (almost)
we can wonder if anything we are doing with our kids—reading the Book of Common
Prayer at mealtimes, singing hymns, praying as a family—are really making any
difference at all, if there is any way they are getting through to our kids and
shaping their affections and desires.
Just as we are having this conversation,
Owen, who had been playing in the living room came up and asked Clara for a Bible.
She didn’t have one in the diaper bag and he got really sad. She told him to
pretend that “Is Your Mama a Llama?” was a Bible (heresy!). He assented,
grabbed the book, and came and sat next to me at the kitchen table. He
interrupted our conversation to tell the whole group his routine:
“First, I read the Bible. Then I sing a song,
like ‘Oh, How He Loves Us.’ Then I pray.”
It was a simple moment, but it was so
touching for us. He wanted to insert himself into our conversation. He sat
beside me for the rest of the time, mimicking my hand motions and agreeing with
another group member whenever I did.
But it showed me that God’s power manifests
not when we are perfect and have everything neatly ironed out, but when in our
weakness we try to be more like him.
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