You shall teach them (commandments) diligently to your children and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down. -Deuteronomy 6:7
...preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. -2 Timothy. 4:2
...always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you... -1 Peter 3:15
We are sitting at the breakfast table. The summer sun streams through the window and I can already tell the day is going to be hot. My mind is racing with to-do lists, worries, thoughts of what needs to get done this week. Jeremiah suddenly speaks, "Mama, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure sweetie." I answer. Expecting something mundane about what we are going to do today or if he can have seconds. I am looking over our grocery list and am giving him just the edge of my attention.
"I was just wondering how it is that when Jesus died on the cross he took away our sins?"
These are the moments of mothering that terrify me the most. These questions, asked seriously, and out of the blue, in the midst of daily life. These questions whose answers are eternal. I tremble when I think of my responsibility to teach my children about the grace that most days I still struggle to understand myself.
I have shared the message of grace, the reason for the "hope that is within me" on public squares in Amsterdam, on stages at Bible school and youth concerts in Northern Ireland, after puppet shows in North Georgia, to friends who were skeptical and dismissive. But never with as much fear and trembling as I did on this sunny summer morning over our own breakfast table.
...preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. -2 Timothy. 4:2
...always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you... -1 Peter 3:15
We are sitting at the breakfast table. The summer sun streams through the window and I can already tell the day is going to be hot. My mind is racing with to-do lists, worries, thoughts of what needs to get done this week. Jeremiah suddenly speaks, "Mama, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure sweetie." I answer. Expecting something mundane about what we are going to do today or if he can have seconds. I am looking over our grocery list and am giving him just the edge of my attention.
"I was just wondering how it is that when Jesus died on the cross he took away our sins?"
These are the moments of mothering that terrify me the most. These questions, asked seriously, and out of the blue, in the midst of daily life. These questions whose answers are eternal. I tremble when I think of my responsibility to teach my children about the grace that most days I still struggle to understand myself.
I have shared the message of grace, the reason for the "hope that is within me" on public squares in Amsterdam, on stages at Bible school and youth concerts in Northern Ireland, after puppet shows in North Georgia, to friends who were skeptical and dismissive. But never with as much fear and trembling as I did on this sunny summer morning over our own breakfast table.
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