Yup! It’s another Twofer! This time, it’s a twofer because this is both a musical musing and a piece on parenting, so it fits into Instant Tribe. Enjoy! 
I think I’ve written about Keith Green’s Song For Josiah before, but today it seems particularly fitting; today is the 28th anniversary of Keith and Josiah’s death in a plane crash (Keith’s daughter Bethany was also lost, as was another family of 6, and the pilot of the plane). Keith was just 28 years old, but he’d already had two careers that made him famous in his short life. He had been a child star, only to grow out of favor. Then, as adolescence made the rejection he was already feeling even keener (because don’t all kids feel rejected and alienated to some extent?), he conveyed his musical talents into a second career, eventually developing a relationship with Jesus and God and becoming an unapologetic Christian and music minister.
I was 18 when I discovered Keith’s music, some 14 years ago. As another blogger posted today, it’s not that Keith sings about Jesus that makes his music so infectious; it is the love, the passion, the relationship that is so clearly evident in his music and in the life he was leading that makes it so powerful. It spoke to places in me that I didn’t even know were broken, providing me with a healing so effective that it prepared me for what came next and then the next step and the next, and so on. Keith’s music, because it was built on a living relationship, because it was built on loving and being loved by a God who is Love, served to connect me to the God of Love I needed so deeply.
As a result, there are things in his music that have radically shaped the way I feel about my faith. Am I saying that I built my faith whole cloth from Keith’s music? Absolutely not. But because of the way that his music spoke to me when I was at such an impressionable age, he had a huge impact on me, and even on the way I think about what it means to be a parent. That’s where this particular song comes into play.
I’ve heard a speech that is often attributed to Paul Harvey, though whether he is actually the author or origin, I could not say. In this piece, the author says that instead of wishing that his children will have everything they want, he wishes they will have enough, and goes on to explain this. He hopes they will have enough joy to understand the power of joy, to be happy and satisfied with life, but not so much that they become complacent and dissatisfied, expecting that everything will be handed to them on a silver platter because it’s always been so. He hopes they’ll have enough sorrow to appreciate the joy when it comes, but not so much that it comes to dominate their existence. He hopes they have enough money to not have to worry about it, but enough want that they never forget what it means to be in need, to lose touch with those who are not as fortunate as they are. He continues like this for a while, but I think you get the idea.
I love this idea. You see, by giving in to our children, it’s easy to make them soft. Now, while it’s important that our children be allowed their innocence and childhood, it’s also vital to remember that childhood is also the time that teaches and trains them for the life that comes after. If we coddle our children, we fail to equip them to face the challenges that life inevitably brings to us all. If our daughter never learns that goldfish die, how is she supposed to cope when she is faced with the loss of a family member or friend? If our son never learns that knives are sharp, or that falling down hurts, what’s going to happen when he tries to parachute off the roof of the house with his sheet, or dive into the pool from the corner of the garage?
It breaks our hearts to watch our children suffer. Let’s face it; only someone who was mentally ill would look at someone in pain and have no empathy, no sympathy. It’s right to want to protect our children, and we should. Our children need us to guide them through life, to allow them to explore this world and the dangers that it offers at appropriate ages with appropriate supervision. You don’t let infants play with matches or stoves, but your 6 year old can help you put on a pot of water for tea or her favorite snack with your supervision, and your 12 year old should be able to navigate a kitchen largely unaided (though you’ll probably still need to stay put to supervise if he’s doing anything but his few favorite staples, or she’s trying a new recipe, and it’ll take both of you to clean up afterward).
Keith acknowledges this dichotomy in his Song For Josiah: the need to protect to his son, but the need to let him have only enough so that he has the strength necessary for the life ahead (even though neither of them got to live it). He’s particularly addressing the spiritual battles that he fears lie ahead for his son, but these concerns poured out from the heart of a father for his son are beautiful and universal if you allow them to be (and I’ll be honest, I see both levels, both the concern for my child’s spiritual health and the other, more quotidian concerns).
And actually, let’s look at that concern for Josiah’s spiritual life. These days, it’s popular to say that we should let our children determine their own spiritual direction for their lives. That we shouldn’t attempt to force our own religion on our children; they’re too young and impressionable to be coerced by our religious beliefs. It’s not right, says pop culture, to warp a child’s mind, with your own limited notions of the divine, if a divine even exists.
Except, that’s a load of relativistic hogwash, isn’t it? I mean, think about it: we’re expected to teach our children right from wrong, correct? We teach them to share, to be honest and not to lie, not to take things that do not belong to them, we teach them acceptable social behavior and even where it’s acceptable to put their body waste and where it isn’t. We define behavioral norms of right and wrong, of good behavior and bad behavior, rewarding right choices and discipling wrong choices in an attempt to shape our children in to the sorts of people who will easily and successfully navigate civil society in the future.
Aren’t we, in shaping their definition of right and wrong, of good and bad, of acceptable behavior and unacceptable behavior, aren’t we shaping children’s minds? Even the structures we put in place, even the code of ethics and morals we teach them, whether we call them that or not, have an origin from somewhere… there’s an absolute that described them at some point, and more often than not, that origin is religious in nature. So by teaching our children acceptable social behavior, we are shaping their religious life, developing the beginnings of their spiritual life, even accidentally. And if we refuse to teach them these behaviors, then we are left with rebellious, anti-social, poorly socialized children who are ill-equipped for life and who struggle with every aspect of life; their education is at risk, and their risk of incarceration is increased.
So we do, actually, shape their religious ideas, even when we aren’t meaning to. It’s just that some of us are very intentional about it, that some don’t apologize for pointing to their own faith as the source for their beliefs of what is right and wrong. Is this always a good thing? No. There are suicide bombers who are raising children to be suicide bombers. There are children being raised to be racist and hate-mongers. It’s a tragedy. But neither is being intentional in shaping my child’s faith always bad; it was the exposure to church that I got growing up that gave me the strength I needed to hang on and keep going and that shaped me into the woman I am today. My great-grandmother’s faithfulness was a very active and intentional influence on the woman I am, even from the time I was tiny.
We have Keith here, then, pledging to Josiah, his beloved son, that this life will be difficult. He’s promising that the faith that Keith has chosen and plans to raise Josiah in will be very difficult… but that the final reward will be worth all the trouble. He’s telling his son that he’s been there; he understands the struggles his son will face… and as a result, he will do the best job he can to be a good father and a good confidant, too, to understand his son when he needs that most. And he promises to let his son grow and develop into the man he needs to be, even if that takes him away from his parents.
That’s the kind of parent I want to be. I want to find that line that must be walked, the one that gives my children enough… enough freedom to let them discover the wonders of this world, and enough limits to protect them from harm, but enough danger to shape and discover the diamonds they are deep within. I want them to come to know and love the God I do, the one who gave up the glory and immortality of eternity and heaven to woo them into a relationship with Him, who took up His power and rolled a stone away to walk out of tomb. I want to walk the balance between holding my children close enough that they never doubt for an instant that I love them heart, mind, and soul… and yet enough to let them go when the time comes. I want to be godly mother to my children, so that once they’ve grown and become adults, we can be more than mother and child, we can be siblings in the family of Christ. It won’t be easy, and there will be days when I’d rather duct-tape them to the wall than to patiently deal with them (but I won’t. I promise. No taping the children with anything other than a video camera). But being a parent is an honor and a privilege, and I’ve been aching for that opportunity for years. Oh, my Beloved Child, I will show you such wonders in this life, if you will listen, and I promise I will listen too. And I love you. I have never met you, and still, I love you with every beat of my heart. I can’t wait to meet you.
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