Chicken, chicken or chicken?

To my Middle Child, everything is chicken.  We had a beef curry tonight, and she asked for more chicken.  We eat roast lamb and her favourite part is the chicken.  We eat grilled salmon and she wants more ... you guessed it ... chicken.  When we have murgh makhani ... you get the picture.


So I guess we ate a lot of chicken dishes when she was forming her view of dinner.  And every time we said "eat some more chicken", it cemented the idea more firmly that the delicious protein-laden stuff in her bowl is chicken.


Which got me thinking about other word associations we use - most pressingly "God" and "Father".  God, in his wisdom, revealed himself in the Bible as "Father".  Since having kids of my own, the sheer weight of that floors me every now and again.  For better or worse, their view of God will be significantly shaped by the way I speak and act.  


Dads: your child's first view of God will be a version of your behaviour toward them and toward others in their presence.  There might be time for their view of God to mature, but you are their starting point.


Will our children see God as absent?  Distant?  Stern?  Loving?  Only interested in rules?  A weak pushover without rules?  Cruel or abusive?  Consistent (or in-)?  Honest?  Selfish (or -less)?

... whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.       Matt 18:6

Where do babies come from?

My baby girl starts sex education tomorrow.  She's 6 (well, 6 and three-quarters).

Of course, I went to the parent information session.  I was a little concerned about what they would be teaching, having heard some of the odd PC-things going on in exotic places like Quebec, Holland and the UK.  Were they going to tell my delicate little flower that I was oppressing her mum?  Would they outline some of the detail of some weird fringe practices?  Would she be finding out about contraception?

Imagine, if you will, my relief when I walked into the staff room and saw where the presenters were from: Centacare.  If a Catholic agency can't tell them to save it for marriage, who can?  (It turns out that they can't tell them that.  Apparently it's values-free sex education - isn't that a contradiction in terms!)  As the presentation continued, my relief turned to support.

Before you both stop reading and start following "Conservative Christian Dad" in the blog next door, let me tell you why - for my daughter at this stage - I support what her school is doing.

The program is tailored for the age of the children.  It covers things like:

• the value of families;
• where babies come from (my daughter will be told that an egg from mummy and a sperm from daddy combine to make a baby, which grows in mummy's uterus.  How the egg and sperm get together is covered briefly for older grades);
• the proper names for all the bits;
• inappropriate touching, private parts, the importance of telling someone.

Most of these things she knows already.  (She has some experience of different family constellations from friends at school and church, and we've always been honest with her when she's asked questions about where babies come from.)  But the two big factors that lead me to support an appropriate level of sex education at her age are: the emphasis on the parent as the main educator; and the frighteningly high incidence of sexual abuse in our community.

One thing that the Centacare program stresses is that Mum or Dad should be the main source of information about the biology and morality of sex.  It is really important to start early, so that kids know that they can come to Mum or Dad to talk about these things.  How early is too early?  Well, when you consider that the average boy will first be exposed to internet pornography aged 11, that schoolyard conversations about sex will likely happen well before that age, and that some girls can start menstruating before they are 10, we parents don't have a lot of time to spare.  Most kids will ask questions to satisfy their curiosity, and will stop asking when they have enough information to be going on with.  The birds and the bees talk is no one-off event; it is a conversation that should span years, off and on.

The second factor that weighs heavily in the balance is the prevalence of sexual abuse in our community.  1 in 4 girls, and 1 in 7 boys will be sexually abused during the course of their childhood.  Such abuse is made easier when a child does not know whether what is happening is OK or not.  In many cases, the abuse is successfully concealed (for a time at least) because a child feels shame, or thinks he will not be believed, or does not know who she can talk to.  Sensitively dispelling these attitudes (without unnecessary specifics) is surely a helpful step in protecting all our kids.  Even something as simple as ensuring that children know the right names for their private parts can be helpful.  As a criminal lawyer in my former career, I have seen prosecutions fail or charges being downgraded because a child's evidence is too vague or general.

So I support the program - but I won't leave things in the hands of the Education Department or of Centacare.  I do not believe it is possible to deliver "values-free" sex education: what we leave unsaid communicates our values as much as what we say.  I'll be getting involved in the conversation so that I can show her the truth about families, marriage and sex - that God made them good, and as a good gift for us; that he made them for a purpose, and that when we misuse these gifts, we suffer as a consequence.

The Coles car park miracle

I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.  Romans 7:18-19

You know it's going to be a memorable meltdown when it happens in the middle of the Coles car park.  


Go back about an hour, and peace reigns.  We're just arriving at the car park.  My two daughters have agreed to swap car seats on the return journey.


In the present, we have climbed back into the car and Eldest's promise of swapping seats is forgotten.  Each of my little princesses is implacable and very vocal.  The volume is rising rapidly.  It's clear that I need to hold Eldest to her word, and restore peace soon.  But what to do?


The larger part of me is gearing up to issue the ultimatum.  My imagination whirs as I reach for some consequence for disobedience that will secure compliance and quiet.  But for some reason, I pause.


"You know what the right thing is to do, don't you?"  I ask Eldest.
"Yes," she says.  "But I just don't want to do it.  It's too hard."  Her voice is small.  How can she fight herself? She is evenly matched.
So we pray.  All four of us pray together that Eldest will have the strength to do what's right.  We pray that her will can overcome her desires.  That we will wait patiently while she wages this battle.  


Number Two is not quite five, and things are dragging a bit.  I can hear the complaint making its way from her mind to her mouth ...
"Just wait, honey," I interrupt her.  "We need to give Eldest some time.  This is really important.  It's about the sort of person she will grow up to be."
So we wait; and Eldest prays and wrestles.


Then as quickly as it all blew up, it's over.  "You can have my seat."  She speaks quietly, but decidedly.


Battle over; battle won.  Thank you Holy Spirit.

Connecting you now ... (or are they?)

I recently read this blog post by Pete Wilson, laying down the gauntlet to all us WiFi Dads: disconnect to reconnect.


The basic premise:

Mobile devices, computers and social media are wonderful things, indeed. They’ve transformed our lives and our world in countless positive ways. But make no mistake, while we’re more connected than ever (and maybe because we’re more “connected” than ever), we’re more disconnected than ever from our families.

Providentially, I am also listening to Tim Challies' book The Next Story, which is about living as a Christian in the digital world.  (You can buy a paper copy here.)  One of the big ideas there is that technological advance impacts on biology and behaviour - that we serve our gadgets as much as they serve us.  (Ponder that, next time to you reach for your phone in response to a notification!)


These ideas become real (or surreal?) for me some evenings when I'm sitting around with extended family.  We play on our iPhone / iPod / laptops.  Occasionally we'll exchange words - to explain what we've just been laughing at, or the great move we just made in our game.  When the evening is over, I invariably have a sense of having missed out - another opportunity for real connection has been lost.  (To be fair, this is also the case when we're all glued to the tv, book or guitar chord chart!)


It is hard to set aside the gadgets.  I get fidgety without something for my hands to do.  It takes effort to chat, even with people I know well and love.  My conversation runs in the same worn pathways until I find that I'm even boring myself!  (I suppose this comes from not taking the trouble to practise more.)


It is one thing to see my adult social skills atrophying - but it is something altogether else to ponder the impact on my children.  What message does my compulsive connectedness have on them?  Do they see the priority order as iPhone, laptop, wife, children?  Fast-forward 10 years, will I have raised kids who do as I do, and barely look up from whatever has replaced the iPhone by then?


I don't want to get rid of the technology altogether, but I want it as my servant, not my master.  And I want to give my kids the strength of character to harness the technology of their time, rather than being harnessed by it!


Pete Wilson's suggestions seem to be a good place to start:

This Sunday, disconnect from all your electronic devices and plan a day dedicated to your family and loved ones. If you choose to get crazier or more creative with this, definitely let us know. But it starts with one day. A little over a year ago I decided to start making each Saturday (Sunday’s a work day for me so it doesn’t work) a computer/email/cell phone/twitter/facebook free zone and I’ve never regretted in one day. Those close to me know how to get a hold of me if there’s an emergency. I can’t tell you how much I long for my technology fast each weekend.

What do you think?

what does Mum want with my tooth?

"The tooth fairy isn't made up.  She really exists!  I mean, it's not like your parents take your tooth."

The wisdom and logic of one of my daughter's seven-year-old friends.  Little blonde and brunette heads all nodded sagely along.  I mean, there really is only two ways to explain the missing teeth and miraculous money: parents or tooth fairy.  And we can't see any reason why the parents would want the teeth, can we ...?

I overheard this conversation without joining it.  There are all sorts of awkward ramifications in shattering the childhood illusions of children outside ones jurisdiction.  But it did get me thinking - what is my position on the tooth fairy or santa claus?  If I encourage my kids to believe in them, am I lying?  Will that jeopardise their later belief in Jesus?  Or is it all an innocent childhood stage that my kids will pass through unscathed, happy to have had some childhood magic to look back upon?

So, of course, I consulted the blogosphere.  What a variety of opinions!  There was an atheist blogger who worried that the tooth fairy and santa claus stories were somehow a trojan horse that would make it more likely that kids would believe in God.  There were Christian bloggers and commenters who worried that telling their kids about santa would cause them later to discard belief in God.  (Surely both can't be right!).  One mother is content to go along with her sons' imaginations (as she does for fictitious super heroes etc), and to use the result as raw material in the cut and thrust of raising kids.  And a number of atheist sites (here, here and here) airily proclaimed that the tooth fairy, santa claus, god and the easter bunny are all the same - inventions for which there is no rational evidence.

To my mind, there are two big issues that I need to sort out:

1. Truth-telling, and modelling truth-telling.
2. Giving my kids a reason for the hope that I have (see 1 Peter 3:15)

First: truth-telling.  I want to tell the truth, because only telling the truth will honour God.  I also want my children to be people of integrity and truth as they grow up.  This will have to inform how I approach the issue with my kids - I don't think I can tell them that the tooth fairy will turn up and give them money for their teeth. Is it different if they want to put a tooth under the pillow for the tooth fairy, and I replace the tooth with money: playing along?  What if the whole tooth fairy conversation is understood as imagination and make-believe, in the same manner that we play pirates or princesses?  I guess this is an issue that each parent (and each couple) must grapple with, focusing on the underlying principles of telling the truth and honouring God.  It will depend as much on the culture in my family as on the character of my children.

Secondly: the evidence.  I think that the atheist blogs have the solution to the problem half-right.  That is, they demand that a belief have a basis in evidence for it to be rational, and will discard the belief if not satisfied with the evidence.  In my opinion, they go wrong in claiming that there is no evidence for a belief in God.  There is ample evidence all around that God exists, and significant evidence in the historical record that Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of God and is one with God.  That he died and rose again to life.  This is material for another post, and many people have already dealt with this subject far better than I ever will (for example, Lee Strobel with his "Case for" series; Dr John Dickson's "The Christ Files"; the Centre for Public Christianity).

So I suppose, over the coming 9+ years of teeth loss in my family, I have the dual challenge of maintaining childhood magic for my children without lying to them; and giving them the evidential basis and critical thinking capacity to distinguish between the fairytales and the truth of the gospel.

Grandfather prays in Hebrew ...

I was reading Judges 2:10-15 recently, and was struck by how quickly the Israelites turned away from God.  I mean, their grandfathers had seen the 10 plagues in Egypt and the parting of the Red Sea.  Their fathers had wandered in the desert, been fed miraculously by manna from heaven, and had seen the miraculous conquest of the promised land.  Yet this generation "knew neither the LORD, nor what he had done for Israel" and "did evil in the eyes of the LORD and served the Baals."  And that incurred God's wrath.


It put me in mind of a comment attributed to Rabbi Jonathan Sachs:  "Grandfather prays in Hebrew, Father prays in English, Son no longer prays and Grandson is no longer Jewish".  (Gotta love the internet!)


I guess the pressure to be just like everyone else is pretty strong wherever and whenever you live.


What's the solution?  Please let me know - my own kids are too young yet for me to know if they will keep the infant faith they are showing now.  I pray they will!


One man (with kids now in their early 20s) told me that he and his wife tried to show that their faith in Christ was real and living - it made a difference to how they lived.  So these parents would read their bibles in the common parts of the house, where the kids would see.  They prayed with and for their kids.  I guess, as time went by, they explained decisions based on their faith in Jesus.


What has your experience been?

Getting Started ...

I became a Dad 6 years, 10 months and 10 days ago.  I had no qualifications (apart from the obvious), and no experience.  I had some good role modelling from my own parents and parents-in-law, but hadn't really developed my own style or identity as Dad.

I still remember the confusion of checking my wife into the hospital, and being sent home.  The sleepless night waiting for the phone to ring.  The utter bewilderment of getting to the hospital unable to find where they'd stashed the soon-to-be-mother of my soon-to-be-child.

And when my eldest daughter was born, the tidal surges of emotion, worry, and anxiety subsided, like a storm being calmed.  Holding my tiny, fragile girl.  Looking at my exhausted, beaming wife.  Peace.  Wholeness.  Goodness.

It seemed like some unaccountable mistake when we were allowed to take her home a few days later.  I felt so very small in our rented federation house in Bendigo, wife and daughter beside me.  What now?

There have been 6 years, 10 months and 10 days of "what now"s, and another daughter and son into the mix. I have had Dad moments when I've felt like the soloist in the Symphony - riding the music of the other musicians, borne aloft by it, song flowing immediately from idea to actuality.  And there have been Dad moments when I've felt like the tympanist (all "boom boom, duh duh boom").

This page is my place to process some of what happens in my family, to reflect on what happened in my family of origin, and to work out how God wants to lead and grow us.

Enjoy the music ...