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Love’s Imprint
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Yesterday my family had lunch with two other families, one with small children like our own, the other a couple whose children are grown. It was one of those Sunday lunches (we called them “dinners” where I grew up) that reminds me of how I am part of a community and a communion, and that this is a good thing, in spite of my introversion. After we cleared the table, the children ran off to play, the women retired to the den, and we men sat at the table.
Our conversation turned to raising children. I told them that I feel weighted by my past. I am having to learn what being a good father means in the midst of fathering. It’s like learning to drive at 60 miles an hour.
It’s my great fear that my inadequacies as a father will lead me to scar my children. I worry that I won’t show them how fully I love them, or that I will fail to direct their eyes to heaven. “I’ve got to get this right,” I told the men at that table.
“Or,” the oldest man there said gently, “you can remember what your Bible says.”
“Grace,” I said, sheepishly. He nodded. We all mess up, I know, and it’s certainly not our righteousness that guides our children to Christ. I suppose I look at my own life and see the seeds — and often the fruit — of terrible mistakes, and I worry that I will fail my children, that I won’t have the strength and character to guide them. It is Christ who saves them, yes, but we parents can do so much harm with our words and actions and failures to act. Some nights I go to bed thinking I held my own as a father that day; others I lay my head on my pillow, ashamed, and consider how much harm I need to undo when the sun rises again.
I’ve thought about this as I grieve for my friend Jennifer, who is dying of cancer. She has two daughters, a teenager and a little girl. She worries about whether the youngest, especially, will remember her. She worries over what it will mean for her soon to be absent from their lives. This is the twin to my fear of failing as a father, that I will die while they are young, while they still need me. I grieve because Jen is dying, and I grieve because she is living out that deep fear of a parent.
It occurs to me, though, that the actions of parents have a way of imprinting themselves on a child’s heart. Just as we can carry scars from childhood years that are significantly lost to our memories, Jen’s children will retain her love, and the sense of wholeness that comes with being unconditionally accepted by a parent, even as their childhood memories fade. She is leaving them, yes, but in a sense she is inseparable from them.
It is a miraculous thing, the power of a parent’s love to fill up a child, so that he senses a shadow of his heavenly father’s love. I want to believe that even if I mess things up, my children will still have my love imprinted on them, so that they sense, behind my imperfect love, the perfect love of God. I want to believe that, when I get things wrong as a father, God will still redeem my effort. I need for imperfect to be good enough, because it’s all I have. I suppose it’s all any of us have, isn’t it?
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One more diversion
Even when you get to the other end of parenthood, Tony, you have to cling to grace. I made many mistakes as a parent, but the kids are all right and still love me. Sometimes I don’t think I give them enough credit to see past all my many imperfections to a mother who tried her best. Now, with them in their twenties, we talk about the things of the past–the good and the bad–and we all are full of grace, thanks be to God.
My children are now in their twenties and thirties also. When they graduated from high school I wrote each a letter expressing my love and asking for forgiveness for anything I did to hurt them. No parent will be perfect. There are so many variables beyond us even though we try, not to mention our own sin. God has been so faithful to not only forgive us, but to work directly in our lives and our children’s in spite of our failings.
I remember my own father admitting to me that he had made mistakes. I passed that on to my siblings as he had never said it to any of them. Our children benefit by seeing our own failings. They will have failings too and they need to know they, like us, can run to a Heavenly Father.
Amen, Michelle! I’m thankful that my grown kids talk to me about the past, also–both the good and the bad. The good is very fulfilling, and the bad gives me a chance to ask for forgiveness, which they generally willingly grant. Praise the Lord!
You didn’t ask for advice, but here goes, anyhow. Give your children every minute you can, even when you are sacrificing something you really wanted to do. Our sons are 22 and 25 and adore their Dad (as do I!). The thing they remember most is that he would drop whatever he was doing and change whatever plans he had to spend time with them doing what they wanted to do. One memory I have is of sitting at the breakfast table one Saturday morning and him clicking off a list of things he was going to do that day. A few minutes later, a son came into the room and said, “Dad, wanna go hit around some tennis balls?” and he was all over it. And, mind you, their fondest memories are not going to be of trips to Disney World - they will be obscure moments they spent with you. Guaranteed.
My father had a horrible childhood. He had no model whatsoever as to how to do the job right. He did very well.
He made innumerable mistakes. Every father does. The kids turn out any way (and the best parents sometimes turn out bad ones and the worst sometimes turn out good ones - or a couple of each).
Your kids will turn out as they do as much in spite of what you do as because of it. Relax, be human, don’t pretend to be perfect. Don’t be afraid to admit a mistake when you kinow you’ve made one.
They will likely respect you and admire you as I did my dad - a guy who tried his best and did a much better job than anyone expected.
I usually find that people who are truly concerned about doing the best they can with their kids end up doing ok. And it’s usually the parents who don’t care that end up doing a lousy job. I’m betting Tony will do just fine.
While sympathizing with you and even more for your friend Jennifer I will say that it’s easy to worry too much or on the other hand presume upon God’s mercy. It’s clear that we can, and sometimes do, take our selves too seriously, even when we have great responsibilities or time is short - like being a parent.
Of course we fail at times - so do our children (at all ages). Our goal should not to be loved or remembered by our children. Our goal should be to love God and enjoy him. If we are in the least bit successful at this we will have been obedient as parents. The results are wisely left in God’s hands. In fact, as we note what God is doing in our childrens’ lives (as well as the lives of others-we don’t have to be parents) we can enjoy him even more. That’s why your comment about community is so important.
I couldn’t help but think of the Mark 9:24 passage as I thought about this issue. Though the circumstances are always unique in relationships our belief always needs fortifying. Only God can do that through Christ and his Spirit which he has left us. Otherwise it can be just a lot of whistling in the dark or waiting for the sky to fall.
Nice article, Tony. I have always enjoyed your gift of writing that the Lord has given you.
Parenting is such a difficult topic. I currently have three teenagers and an eleven year old. Guilt of what I have done or am not doing covers me like a smelly old blanket. One man told me, “Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving.” However, as I analyze guilt, especially in regards to being a father, I recognize that it is not a blanket, but heavy cast-iron chains that consistently weigh me down and renders me inactive.
Then, I take this key God has given me called grace. It unlocks the burden, grants me forgiveness, and it sets me free — allowing me to look into the eyes of my children. And do you know what I see, Tony? Love. Undeserving love. And it keeps me going to continue to try, with God’s help, to be the father, leader, guide and loving husband to their mother. Everything else, I must turn over to the Lord– for my children are his children that he has allowed me to be an earthly father.
Thanks for reminding me of this.
“Or,” the oldest man there said gently, “you can remember what your Bible says.”
I’d tell him to steer clear of any part where it says to kill your children. Modern methods have shown there is a better way.