Most fathers, I’m sure, look at their newborn children with a mixture of joy and anxiety. Sure, a new life is the apex of happiness and hope.
But holding that innocent life in your arms also brings a swirl of questions and concerns. A couple of weeks ago, I held my second child — a boy, Emory — for the first time. He did, in the words of Harry Chapin, come to the world in the usual way. And I had, and continue to have, the usual anxieties that accompany fatherhood. But my wife and I, long before his birth, purposed that our home would be a special place for our children to do their growing up. We call this our Greenhouse Idea. A greenhouse is an interesting thing. It does not keep its contents hidden away from the world, nor does it hide the world from the things growing inside. Rather, it provides an environment in which the plants can grow and thrive in preparation for the day they will be transplanted outdoors. We want our home to be just such a place for our children. We want it to be a place where they are, at the appropriate time, made aware of current events, wars and rumors of wars, and even philosophies and lifestyles to which we are adamantly opposed. There is to be no stifling here. It is also, however, not a place for unbridled, uncritical acceptance of all that the world is proffering. Rather, it is a place where our children can grow and think and thrive — a place where they have a chance to enjoy their childhoods and to eventually grapple with the issues of the day safely and thoughtfully. What do I want for my children before they leave the greenhouse and are transplanted in the harsh soil of the real world? Here are a few things... I want them to know how to read well and to love good books (and to know the way to the library). I want them to be friends with people older than themselves — there’s great wisdom in the silver-haired. I want them to love work — not to abuse it, but to understand the natural goodness of honest work and to give it their all. I want them to take a genuine interest in other people and to listen to what they have to say. I want them to learn to use their imaginations, to shut off the TV (and the phone) and get to the serious work of play. I want them to be informed, to know what is happening around them on their street, in their community, and in their world. I want them to love hospitality, to get involved in cleaning the house, setting the table, filling water glasses, greeting guests, and making visitors feel that our home is theirs. And, ultimately, I want them to know who the God of the Bible really is, not the caricature of Him our culture’s media portrays. Will my children be perfect? Trust me, they already are not. Will the greenhouse idea run like a well-oiled machine? Fat chance. But we live in a culture that will, without the guidance and protection of fathers and mothers, eat our children alive. And I want to do all I can to help my children avoid being eaten. As I hold my little boy in my arms, I am concerned about what his tomorrows hold, what his world will be like. But I am also heartened to think that he will have a fighting chance. My dear boy, buy the truth, and do not sell it (Proverbs 23:23).
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AuthorTy Perry is a writer based in metro-Detroit. Archives
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