how to talk to kids about God

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday {Wednesday}: It’s Not Supposed to Be Easy

September 18, 2013 By Michelle 17 Comments

“Mommy,” Rowan asked, all wide eyes and furrowed brow, “If God asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

Rowan was about five, and we were reading his children’s Bible for the first time, the Bible I’d hoped would skirt around some of the more difficult, unsavory issues. As we finished the story of Abraham and Isaac, I realized that wasn’t going to be the case.

“Well,” I answered, “I’m pretty sure I don’t have the kind of trust Abraham had. So no, I wouldn’t. I would tell God ‘no.’” I reassured Rowan that God wouldn’t actually have let Abraham go through with it, but was merely testing Abraham’s faith.

I gave Rowan the answer he wanted to hear. But I also gave the answer I knew was true. The fact is, even in matters far less grave than the sacrifice of a child, I often don’t obey God’s will. I look for the easy way out instead.

I know I’m inclined to explain away or talk around some of the more challenging stories in the Bible, in order to make them less challenging, less disturbing.

I tell myself the story of Abraham and Isaac doesn’t apply to me. I needn’t worry about having to make a choice like that, because that was the Old Testament God. Now that we have Jesus, I reassure myself, God doesn’t ask us to make choices like that.

Even with some of the New Testament stories – like the parable of the rich young man, for example – I tell myself Jesus isn’t being literal, but is merely offering an example as a metaphorical illustration.

But I’m kidding myself. In re-writing and re-interpreting some of the tougher stories in the Bible, I am letting myself off the hook. I’m trying to skate by, to get off easy. I want to be a “good Christian,” sure, but I don’t actually want to suffer or sacrifice for it. I’ll take Christian-lite please, with as few repercussions on my personal comfort and happiness as possible.

But here’s the deal, here’s what the Gospels actually say, straight-up, if we don’t sugar-coat the message:

The Christian life isn’t supposed to be easy. And if it is, we are doing it wrong.

I know, I know, I don’t want to hear it either. But it’s true. God asks us to make sacrifices, big sacrifices, sacrifices that will have a lasting impact on our personal lives. And while those sacrifices certainly won’t require us to tie our kids to a stack of wood in the backyard, they will require trust, faith, challenge and even discomfort.

The road is not supposed to be easy. We can’t walk it half-way or even three-fourths and call it good. We can’t withhold even a little bit of ourselves. God doesn’t say, “Follow me when you’re ready,” or “Follow me when it’s convenient for you,” or “Follow me when it’s easy.”

God says, “Follow me.”

Questions for Reflection:
What are you withholding from God? Do you ever try to talk around the more challenging Bible stories in the hopes of giving yourself an out? What would obeying God’s command, “Follow me” look like for you right now?

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When Your Prayers Go Unanswered

August 25, 2013 By Michelle 45 Comments

“God has answered 90% of my prayers,” Noah declared recently at dinner. “Really?” I asked. “So how do you know?” I pictured an Excel spreadsheet with lots of columns and check marks. “I just sort of keep track of it,” Noah answered. “I just know.”

“Well I wish he’d answer 90% of my prayers,” Rowan said. “I get like 10% answered.”

I laughed out loud at that – Rowan can be a bit glass-half-empty. Like his mother. I assured Rowan that God has answered more than 10% of his prayers. It was more likely he wasn’t paying close attention and missed some of the answers along the way.

I reminded the kids that sometimes it seems like God doesn’t answer our prayers because the answers come later than we expected. “And sometimes,” I added, “God doesn’t give us exactly what we ask for because he has other, maybe better plans for us. Or because he has our best interests at heart, and knows that what we are praying for isn’t really good or right for us.”

“Yeah,” Noah agreed, “like the time I prayed for a wheelbarrow of candy. That was one of the ones God didn’t answer.”

“What? You prayed for a wheelbarrow of candy?” Rowan looked impressed by Noah’s prayer boldness. I could see the wheels turning.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus teaches us to ask God for what we need, assuring us that if we keep seeking, we will find, and if we keep knocking, the door will be opened (7:7). He also tells us that just as parents wouldn’t give their children a stone instead of bread, or a snake instead of fish, God gives only good gifts to his children.

I’d argue the opposite is implied in that passage, too. God knows what’s good for us, and like a protective parent, he tries to keep us from harm. He knows what lies ahead, what’s around the next bend. And he knows what will help us grow.

I know from personal experience that God uses the in-between waiting periods, the times when it feels like our prayers are going unanswered, to grow us closer to him. He also uses those periods to teach us something important about ourselves.

Believe me, I was not gracious or patient during the six years I waited for my first book to find a publishing home. I was obstinate and crabby and downright belligerent at times. But slowly during that period, I learned about the sins of envy and idolatry and how they impacted my relationship with God. And in that time, difficult as it was, I also learned to trust God more than I ever have before.

In the moment, I certainly didn’t recognize that period as a good gift from God, but that’s exactly what it turned out to be.

Questions for Reflection:
Can you think of a time in your life when it seemed like God didn’t answer your prayers? Is there something you learned from that experience? How did that strengthen or perhaps cause a bump in your relationship with God?

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: Glorious to See

February 10, 2013 By Michelle 21 Comments

“So, sometimes I get a really strong but quick feeling of happiness,” he says. “Like the other day, when I watched the wind blowing the cedar boughs. I felt a burst of happy feeling. What is that? Why does that happen?”

We are snuggled on the couch, sharing a fleece blanket, our books open on our laps.

“Well, when that happens to me, I tend to think it’s God,” I say, nudging my glasses down on my nose so I can look at Noah over the frames. “You know, God is with us all the time, but I think sometimes he makes himself extra noticeable, sort of as a way to tell us to pay attention. I think those happy moments that come out of nowhere are God.”

Our conversation reminds me of an experience I had about a year ago, just after my father-in-law was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. It was the Christmas season, but I was so angry, bitter and sad, my heart was hardened against joy. All I felt during those dark days was the weight of grief.

One night, as I stood at the kitchen sink with an apron around my waist and a stack of dirty dishes on the counter and my arms elbow-deep in soapy water, I felt an inexplicable flash of joy. And I knew instantly it was God, making his presence known to me, assuring me that despite the darkness, despite the fact that we were walking in the shadow of death, we would be okay. We would laugh and celebrate and find joy again.

Such was the case with Peter, John and James when they hiked with Jesus up the mountain to pray. I imagine the mood that day was somber. Just days before, Jesus had told his disciples that he would suffer, be killed and be raised from the dead — news that must have been terrifying and confusing for them. I suspect they were bewildered, unsure of themselves and afraid, perhaps even wavering in their faith or questioning their decision to follow Jesus. I imagine that hike up the mountain was a quiet one, as each man contemplated Jesus’ dire prediction, dread and fear creeping into the pits of their stomachs. Perhaps they, too, felt like they were journeying into the shadow of death.

At the top of the mountain Peter, John and James inexplicably fell asleep while Jesus prayed and as “the appearance of his face was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” (Luke 9:29) Moses and Elijah appeared and spoke with Jesus, and “they were glorious to see.” (9:31). When the disciples awoke, they were shocked to see “Jesus’ glory,” with Moses and Elijah standing next to him. Amazed, the three disciples scrambled to process the unbelievable sight.

Jesus understood that his disciples needed to be shaken awake. He understood that they needed to stop, stand still and take notice. And just as Jesus knew his beloved disciples needed a jolt of joy and reassurance, he knows when we, too, need to be awakened to his constant presence.

We don’t always experience God’s presence in such a dramatic way, in the magnitude of a transfiguration or in the midst of dark grief. Sometimes God shows himself on an ordinary day, in a seemingly ordinary way. Like in the hallowed hush of wind through cedar boughs.

Can you think of a time when God stopped you in your tracks and made his presence known? How can you make a practice of catching more of these moments?

Linking with Ann Voskamp and her Wednesday series on the Practice of Radical…because seeing God on an ordinary day, in a seemingly ordinary way, is radical indeed:

Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information. Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

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When You’re Afraid You’re Raising Spiritual Barbarians

January 16, 2013 By Michelle 24 Comments

You may recall that we don’t have a good track record with family devotions. I’ve tried a number of them, and so far we’ve failed to make it a regular habit. At one point last year, fed up with my kids’ persistent mutiny against devotions, I actually gave away my own copy of Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling for Kids in a random blog drawing.

When Advent rolled around this year I decided to simplify the whole process by going straight to the source. I decided we would read some of the Gospel of Luke as our nightly dinnertime devotion.

“Mommy! Read more!” Rowan begged one night at the table, after I’d finished the story of Zachariah. “Are you serious?” I asked, closing my Bible and setting it next to my plate. “Yeah, yeah, I’m serious, read more,” he said. “It’s catchy, don’t you think?”

“Catchy” is certainly one way to think of the Bible.

Two weeks into Advent Noah asked if we could continue the dinnertime Bible reading even after Christmas. Again, I asked if he was joking. Turns out, he wasn’t, and so that’s the plan. I’ve wanted to try The Message translation for a while now, so I picked up a copy at Barnes & Noble last weekend, and this week we started from the beginning, with the light and darkness, the heavens and earth.

For the past three years, whenever I read about many of my fellow bloggers and their families, I saw a Norman Rockwell picture of perfection – the family gathered around the dinner table, heads bowed, Scripture in hands. Then I’d look at my kids, falling off their chairs, silverware clattering to the floor, giggling through grace, mutinying against every attempt to bring God to the table, and I’d inevitably assume I was doing something wrong. “Why? Why is this so hard? Why can’t my kids be polite and Godly?” I wondered. “What am I doing wrong that they are such spiritual barbarians?”

The answer, of course, is nothing. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I simply needed to persevere until it clicked; to keep trying different options until one fit. And to wait. Patiently.

Maybe it’s simply that they are older now, a little better able to concentrate and understand. Or maybe I should have cut right to the chase, bypassing the devotional books and going straight to the Bible. Or perhaps this, too, will turn out to be a fad. Maybe three weeks from now they’ll mutiny again.

I’m not telling you this story so I can pat myself on the back, or so you’ll look at our family the way I looked at others. Instead, I want you to see what’s real, so that you’ll know that it’s all okay, in every less-than-pretty variation. I want you know that boys tumble from chairs, and silverware clatters to the floor, and someone burps during the prayer, and thanks is given more often for Super Mario Bros. than for the soup.

Grace isn’t always pretty, at least at our house. But through it all, God is present. Even, or perhaps especially, when we fall off our chairs.

What about you? Do you read the Bible or evening devotions at dinnertime with your family? Do you ever feel like you’re raising spiritual barbarians?

With Ann Voskamp’s Walk with Him Wednesday series {because we are trying, again, to make a habit out of this…}

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When Advent’s Not All Pretty and Perfect

December 19, 2012 By Michelle 20 Comments

It begins with inappropriate words uttered over the breakfast table, followed by a discussion of those inappropriate words, followed by a retraction of the promised ice cream outing to Ivanna Cone scheduled for that evening. Then here’s the crying and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth (by both child and mother).

And the next thing I know, the nativity has been rearranged on the coffee table.

Baby Jesus sits in the very center, but instead of the tiny clay wise men and lambs and Joseph and Mary gazing down at him in a close-knit circle of adoration, Rowan has moved each of them to the far corners and edges of the table, with their backs turned to Jesus.

Every lamb, every goat, every angel is turned away from Emmanuel.

“You know, honey,” I say to Rowan when I spot the new arrangement, “even when you turn your back on Jesus, he still lives in your heart.”

No response.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a revelation of sorts? Maybe I expected Rowan to look up at me all gracious and repentant, a flash of illumination written across his face. It’s Advent, after all. Isn’t Advent supposed to be pretty and perfect? All glittery and shiny and beautiful? A season of anticipation and awaiting and love?

But he didn’t. Rowan turned his back on me, too, and walked away.

There I was, poised to point my finger and start ranting and raving, when I caught another glimpse of those wise men and the sheep turned away from Jesus. And it hit me hard. I do it, too. I’m no different than Rowan. I turn my back on Jesus, too. I walk away from him. I can’t point my finger at Rowan without first pointing at myself.

In the end, the lesson I intended for Rowan is really meant for me. I need the reminder, too – that Jesus is Emmanuel. God with us. No matter what.

I need to remember that even when I turn my back on him, he still lives in my heart. He doesn’t abandon me. He doesn’t walk the other way.

Emmanuel.

God with us.

Amen.

Have you ever had a revelation like that — did you ever suddenly realize that God is with you, no matter what?

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Linking with Jennifer and Emily today:

how to talk to kids about God

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