In my day job, I work as a nanny for three adorable children. The brother-sister twins are almost 18 months, and their older brother is 4. I’ve learned some things that I more or less expected to learn after taking this job: how to change a diaper, how to prepare bottles, how to spot from across the room a baby chewing something he’s not supposed to chew. However, I’ve also learned some things I didn’t expect.
Caring for small children provides a sharp insight into what it means to be human, often on a daily basis. Here are a few examples.
Children reveal aspects of human nature that are present in adults; we’re just better at hiding them.
One characteristic I’ve come to appreciate about young children is that they speak exactly what is in their hearts; they don’t dilute or filter their feelings like we grownups do.
A typical example would be the older brother, Sam, becoming distressed that one of his siblings has commandeered a piece of the wooden train set that he may or may not have been playing with. On the verge of tears, Sam will say, “But I don’t want him to play with my trains!” It’s the pure confession of a child’s heart.
Even in children who are not my own, I see our shared humanity and flaws: my selfishness, my narcissism, my sometimes overwhelming desire that things will just go my way. It’s easy to see we all have a 4-year-old within us, a small version of ourselves that rants and raves against authority, that never wants to share, and that resists responsibility and facing difficulties. Really I see our shared sin, our shared tendency to turn away from good things.
When we direct children, we are also directing ourselves.
When it’s your job to tell a child what’s acceptable and what’s not, what’s good and what’s bad, and how they should and shouldn’t behave, you begin to see how such directions apply to yourself, too.
You must have a larger frame of reference for why you’re telling a child not to push his little sister, or not to throw a tantrum when he can’t watch television, or even why it’s important for him to always wash his hands when he’s finished going to the bathroom. Even if it’s just implied, even if only the adult is aware of it, we direct children on how to live well based on deeper beliefs about what it means to live well.
Underlying (almost) every direction, there’s a bigger reason, a bigger life lesson: you can’t push your sister (because we have to be kind to each other); you can’t throw a tantrum (because you have to learn to respect authority and understand that things don’t always go your way).
There’s nothing quite like a questioning child to force you to define your beliefs.
I once read a wry comment about parenting that went something like this: “I realized in a panic a few months before my first child was born that I needed to throw together some sort of morality.”
As grownups, it’s easy to take the world and what we believe about it for granted. We don’t stop to question everything we don’t understand. It’s also easy to skate through our day-to-day without really considering our deeper beliefs about the important things: family, relationships, God, death, sin, redemption. We fall into the sometimes mindless rhythm of work, cleaning, errands, and to-do lists. Confronting our beliefs about life’s biggest matters and forcing ourselves to define and refine them is hard and painful and takes time and effort. Why would we seek that out?
But everything changes when a child enters the picture. Being the Adult In Charge often means that it’s your responsibility to explain everything from the laws of physics to appropriate interpersonal behavior to the nature of God to a little person who has every right to be asking about such things. After all, in Sam’s case, he’s only been on the planet four years.
A child will ask about all of the things we don’t really think about anymore, that we were once taught but have forgotten. Questions like “Why is it raining?” or “Why do I have to share?” or the big ones, like “Who is God?,” “Why do people die?,” “What is sin?” The questions are harder to ignore when they’re asked of you directly by an ever-questioning child. And when a child who trusts you and looks to you for direction is asking the question, it’s a reminder of the importance of the answer. You take things more seriously when you’re responsible for helping guide another human life.
Children are scientists and explorers, and they make no assumptions. I must admit, I am often exhausted by the questions. But when I’ve had some time to rest and reflect, I’m thankful for them. It’s as if little children are simply giving voice to the big questions of life and the universe we often leave unasked. We grownups don’t challenge each other or ourselves as much, although we should, both for our sakes and for the sake of children. We must always be prepared to defend what we believe (1 Pet. 3:15).
Sam has not yet asked me any question as big as “What is sin?” or “Why should we love God?” Perhaps he never will. Those are questions better answered by his parents, anyway. But I hope and pray to have children of my own some day, and if I do, I know such questions will come.
And I need to be ready.
Is there enough evidence for us to believe the Gospels?
In an age of faith deconstruction and skepticism about the Bible’s authority, it’s common to hear claims that the Gospels are unreliable propaganda. And if the Gospels are shown to be historically unreliable, the whole foundation of Christianity begins to crumble.
