When my children look back on their childhood, I hope what stands out to them the most is Jesus.
I want them to remember our family gathered with the body of Christ every week even if we had to do it online for a time.
I want them to remember their mom singing to Him when she felt like crying.
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I want them to remember our family giving others good gifts because He has given us the best gift.
I want them to remember their dad praying for wisdom when he didn’t know what to do.
I want them to remember their mom asking God for forgiveness when her temper got the best of her.
I want them to remember our friends filling our house to study the Word of God.
I want them to remember praising God for answered prayers.
I want them to remember learning stories from the Bible and seeing Jesus in the whole thing.
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I want them to remember their parents sitting at the table with missionaries of other faiths and sharing the truth with gentleness and kindness and love and cookies.
I want them to remember their dad praying with them at night and singing the doxology before bed.
I want them to remember helping cook the meal for the family going through a difficult season because Jesus called us to love our neighbor.
I want them to remember that, once a week, we all put down our work and our phones, rested and spent time with family and friends celebrating the things God has done.
I want them to remember that love permeated our house because of Jesus.
I don’t want them to remember us as the best parents ever. We aren’t. Not by a long shot.
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But I want them to remember that God is great and powerful and loving and near. That Jesus died for their sins and ours, and that belief in Him is the only thing they need. That our household served the Lord.
And maybe, God-willing, someday our grandchildren will remember the same thing about their home too.
Originally published on the author’s blog