One afternoon this summer, my 6-year-old came running through the house to find me. His eyes were wild with excitement. “Dad, you’ve got to come look — right now. Come look, come look, come look! Hurry, you’re going to miss it!”

We raced back to the living room, to the big window looking out over our backyard. From the day we moved in, that window has been our favorite room in the house. My son’s eyes searched one of the trees, searching and searching, and then he saw it again. “Dad, there! There! Do you see it? Do you see it?” And I did. Probably 25 feet up in one of our tallest trees was the backside of a big raccoon, comfortably perched out on one of the branches.

I mean, at first, we assumed it was a raccoon (too big to be a squirrel, too small to be a bear, too fat and furry to be a bird). We sat transfixed, watching that rear end — waiting for the animal to eat, or climb, or fall, or even just scratch an itch. Then it moved. Its tail swung down where we could see it, with its trademark black and gray stripes. “Dad, its tail! It is a raccoon!”

As I looked in my son’s eyes — and there was so much in those eyes — I saw a wisdom I once had and now sometimes struggle to remember. For that moment, he was my teacher, and I was his son.

Monotony or Creativity?

For the “mature” like me, raccoons are almost immediately a nuisance. They make homes under porches and climb down into chimneys. They tear away shingles and break holes in walls. When we see them, we reach for the phone to pay someone to come and remove them. Within a business day, if possible.

When my children see a raccoon, they see an entirely different creature. They’re not worried at all about the structural integrity of porches or the possibility of a four-legged home invasion. To them, animal control may as well be the KGB (just watch any animated movie with animal control workers). No, when they see a raccoon, it may as well be a triceratops. They don’t see problems; they see curiosities. They ask questions (lots of them): Where did he get his stripes? Why is he sleeping during the day? Does he have any friends? Can I pet him? We see trouble; they see beauty. We see monotony; they see creativity. We see a nuisance; they see a story.

Oh, how much we might learn from them, how much more we might see through their eyes. G.K. Chesterton writes,

Children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. (Orthodoxy, 81)

What 6-Year-Olds See

I recently felt my flabby imagination when our family went to pick KinderKrisp apples at a local orchard. Having tasted apples every week of their lives, it was our children’s first chance to actually grab one from a tree.

You could see their minds spinning, trying to connect the dots — they knew both apples and trees, but could not imagine them holding hands like this. They stared up in amazement as branches like the ones they’ve found in our front yard now reached out, wrapped in bright green cardigans, and nearly handed them the juicy red fruit. And, of course, they tasted better than any we ever bought from one of those bins at the store.

“God made a world even God could admire.”

To our shame, my wife and I weren’t connecting dots anymore. We were just trying to keep our kids from throwing apples at each other or bothering the innocent bystanders filling bags around us. So which of us saw the actual reality of the orchard? Who saw the apples as they really are — the 6-year-old or the 36-year-old? Chesterton weighs in,

When we are asked why eggs turn to birds or fruits fall in autumn, we must answer exactly as the fairy godmother would answer if Cinderella asked her why mice turned to horses or her clothes fell from her at twelve o’clock. We must answer that it is magic. . . . The only words that ever satisfied me as describing Nature are the terms used in the fairy books, “charm,” “spell,” “enchantment.” They express the arbitrariness of the fact and its mystery. A tree grows fruit because it is a magic tree. Water runs downhill because it is bewitched. The sun shines because it is bewitched. (71–72)

Our decades-long familiarity with this magic doesn’t make creation any less magical.

That we’ve watched God do his magic over and over and over again, doesn’t make it less miraculous. That we can begin to predict what will happen — birds from eggs, apples from trees, rainbows from storms — doesn’t suddenly render any of it “natural.” As much as modern science might have us think otherwise, nothing in all of creation is on autopilot. No, the Son of God “upholds the universe,” every apple of every kind in every orchard, “by the word of his power” (Hebrews 1:3) — even the ones in those store-bought bins.

God Has Not Grown Old

In this way, our cute, “naïve” children are our theology professors. Watch as Chesterton traces a typical boy’s imagination into heaven:

Grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore. (81–82)

Don’t believe him? Then let God tell you in his own words:

God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. . . . God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. . . . And God saw that it was good. . . . And God saw that it was good. . . . And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. (Genesis 1:3–31)

God made a world even God could admire. And we only assume he eventually got bored with it all because we’re not him, because we don’t see this world like he does — because we assume he’s like us.

“Give yourself some space to be curious again, to ask the questions you haven’t asked in decades.”

If you understand what Chesterton’s saying, you can’t see a sunset the same. It’s even more stunning when you realize (as a pastor once showed me) that God not only paints a new sunset for us every 24 hours, but that as the world spins, he’s always painting sunsets. He never puts the brush down. Somewhere in the world, right now, he’s ushering the sun below the horizon again, conducting her slowly with his brush, mixing in oranges, purples, and blues.

And as he does, his heart soars over what he sees. Because when it comes to sunsets, God is more my son than he is me.

Remember That You Forget

This dulling dynamic in adults is rooted in a subtle but dangerous forgetfulness. Chesterton warns us that, in the end, all of this is really not about raccoons, apples, and sunsets:

We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forgot. (74)

Have you been lulled into forgetfulness? Have you even forgotten that you’ve forgotten? Have the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things slowly choked out your ability for awe and wonder? Then find an orchard or a local park. Go outside at dusk. Take that walk you’ve wanted to take. Be on the lookout for the bunnies, squirrels, birds, and bugs you’ve trained yourself to ignore. Give yourself some space to be curious again, to ask the questions you haven’t asked in decades.

And if you happen to have one, take a 6-year-old with you.

“Now it happened that as he was praying alone, the disciples were with him” (Luke 9:18). At first, this verse might seem confusing. Jesus was praying alone. But his disciples were with him. So, was he alone? Or wasn’t he? The mom in me can’t help but chuckle.

All it takes is changing the pronouns to convert this verse into a familiar scenario for those with small children. “Now it happened that as she was praying alone, her disciples were with her.” Maybe tapping her on the shoulder, prying her hands off her eyes, asking for something to eat, or actually nursing at that moment. So, is she alone? Or isn’t she?

Like Jesus, moms are rarely without their disciples. And though they cannot say, as Jesus could, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9), moms are constantly teaching their children about their heavenly Father, whether they realize it or not.

Disciples with Little Disciples

When the laundry pile is high, the refrigerator stock low, the beds unmade, and a Bible nowhere to be found, mothers may feel like the least likely candidates for the post of theological student, let alone teacher. But the truth is, Christian moms are both.

From the moment they wake up in the morning to the moment they go to bed, a Christian mom is living based on an idea of who she is and for whom she was made. She is a disciple of Jesus and she belongs to God. How she does what she does — how she speaks, how she responds, how she comforts, how she disciplines, how she eats, drinks, works, and rests — in everything she is teaching her children something about her heavenly Father. All day long (and sometimes all night!), her disciples are with her.

Moms don’t just have disciples. Moms are disciples. And part of discipleship is learning to speak well about God in all we say and do. The atheist and the astrologist each say something about God. Pastors and parents do as well. What we may not realize as moms is that theology is not optional. It’s unavoidable. We already have theology. The question, then, is whether our theology is good theology.

What is good theology? Good theology knows and speaks the truth about God — what he is like and what he is doing in the world through Jesus Christ. In Knowing God, J.I. Packer says that good theology leads us to know God, not just to know about him. Good theology leads to doxology — delighted worship that works itself out in our daily lives.

“Good theology gives us direction for our everyday life. It is not irrelevant or out of reach.”

If this feels like an intimidating task, you are in good company. After speaking at length about God, Job ends with his hand over his mouth, saying, “I will proceed no further” (Job 40:4–5). In his Confessions, Augustine says, “After saying all that, what have we said, my God, my life, my holy sweetness? What does anyone who speaks of you really say?” (1.4.4). The posture of all sound theology is humility, because to speak anything about God is dangerous. Blasphemy is a real possibility. What gives a mom hope that she can speak rightly about God at all?

Mothering Blindfolded

We would never be able to speak rightly about God through our words and actions, if God himself had not first spoken to us. But he has! Hebrews 1:1–2 says,

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world.

God the Father has spoken to us in the Son, in the gospel, and in his written word. The Son has sent us the Spirit to guide us “into all the truth” (John 16:13). Christian mom, do you know who made the world? Do you know why the world is full of evil and suffering? Do you know humanity’s biggest problem? Do you know the only one who can save us? You know more theology than you may realize.
Our theology reveals how well we do — or do not — understand the story that we are in. It is as practical as the script and character descriptions in a play. Or a good map on a hiking trip. Or a light in a dark room. Good theology gives us direction for our everyday life. It is not irrelevant or out of reach.

“Disregard the study of God,” Packer writes, “and you sentence yourself to stumble and blunder through life blindfolded, as it were, with no sense of direction and no understanding of what surrounds you. This way you can waste your life and lose your soul” (Knowing God, 19). Good theology, however, opens our eyes to the glory of God in all things, including our calling as a mom.

Holding Class in the Kitchen

As mothers, we speak of God when we fill our children’s bottomless bellies. How do we respond when our children are hungry, again? Sometimes it feels like feeding is all we do! Surely we were made for something more glorious than life as a short-order cook for picky toddlers and teenagers?

And yet Jesus says, “The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (John 6:51). He didn’t just break the bread. He is the bread. He is the one who taught us to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11). In gladly feeding our children each day, we are teaching them about their heavenly Father, who cares for their most basic needs. In giving of ourselves to feed our children, we’re living as disciples of Jesus, who gave his body for the life of the world.

We speak of God when we train our children. Does our average day feel eerily similar to a Calvin and Hobbes comic strip? Does the creative sin of our little disciples astound us? Can it send us into another episode of “little sinners in the hands of an angry mom,” as we add our sin to theirs?

In a fallen world, sin is not surprising. But grace is. What an immense grace that a momma’s calm heart in a tense moment teaches her children true things about their heavenly Father, that he “is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). When we ask forgiveness of our children, they learn to confess to the One who “is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).

“As mothers, we will speak of God truly to our children only if we truly know him ourselves.”

We also speak of God in our suffering. Scripture teaches us that suffering can make or break our faith. Like a sound sailing vessel in a wild storm, sound theology keeps our faith from floundering in the ups and downs of motherhood. When our little ones suffer bumps and bruises, nights of illness or long-term diagnoses, our comfort and care as mothers teaches them about Jesus, who entered our suffering in order to bring “many sons to glory” (Hebrews 2:10).

Our hope in God’s promise of redemption teaches our children that God is good. He turns suffering into glory. “After you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you” (1 Peter 5:10). Our perseverance through trials big and small tells our children that the resurrection is real.

As mothers, we will speak of God truly to our children only if we truly know him ourselves. To glorify God by enjoying him forever, we need to know our God. So, we heed the prophet’s charge: “Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord” (Hosea 6:3). Many moms, however, feel hard-pressed just to get diapers changed and dinner on the table. Asking them to press on into the task of good theology may feel like Pharaoh telling the Israelites to make bricks without providing the straw.

Remember, theology is not optional. If we don’t intentionally speak the truth about God, we will say something false. We will make God in our own image and in the image of the surrounding culture. And our disciples will be with us. So, how can a busy, weary mom press on to know the Lord? It may be as simple as asking a question and repeating the answer.

GOOD QUESTIONS

“Do you feel the world is broken?” “We do!” So, speak the opening lines from Andrew Peterson’s song “Is He Worthy?” The church has been teaching theology to God’s people in this question-and-answer format from the earliest days. The Heidelberg Catechism (1563) begins,

Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A. That I am not my own, but belong — body and soul, in life and in death — to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven; in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.

Regular meditation on that one question would make any Christian mom a deeper, happier theologian. The Protestant catechisms have been a theological guide to the church for hundreds of years. By working through one question a week, how might our theology take root and blossom?

GREAT BOOKS

For those who are willing to commit more time, I recommend making it a goal to work through at least one theological book a year. Knowing God by J.I. Packer, The Knowledge of the Holy by A.W. Tozer, and The Deep Things of God by Fred Sanders are excellent options.

LOCAL CHURCH

A resource even more ancient than catechisms is the gathering of the local church. As Hebrews 10:23–25 exhorts us, “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering . . . not neglecting to meet together . . .” By gathering weekly with the body of Christ to praise God, pray, and hear God’s word proclaimed, we not only hold fast to the truth ourselves, but teach our children to do the same.

WORD AND PRAYER

One final resource available to every mom may be the most underrated, perhaps because it seems the most mundane: God’s word and prayer. Theologian Michael Allen remarks, “Theology should not claim to improve upon Scripture and prayer. Its task is to help return the reader to those primary languages with greater attentiveness and understanding.”

Just like our “ordinary” lives as moms are full of more glory than we see at first glance, so the regular rhythms of Bible reading and prayer are the glorious languages of knowing God. Before we fit anything else into our day, let’s fit in the Bible and prayer. Let our little ones see us regularly looking to God’s word. Let our speaking be guided by God’s voice in Scripture. When we kneel to pray alone, may our disciples be with us, and by God’s grace, may they come to know our heavenly Father as he truly is.

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