Tim Kimmel once wrote that the number one reason Christian kids walk away from faith is because they never saw it actually matter in their parents’ lives. Ouch. That one landed somewhere between my heart and my coffee mug.
So here’s where I’m at: I’ve decided my life is the curriculum. Not a polished workbook with fill-in-the-blanks but more like a lived-out, slightly chaotic master class in “Here’s what it looks like to walk with Jesus while juggling carpool, deadlines, and the occasional emotional meltdown in the Target parking lot.”
I trace His hand in my past stories—yes, even the messy ones—and I point out when prayers get answered. I show them provision and make sure they know where the credit belongs (spoiler: not me). I try to live my faith out loud… obviously loud enough so no one can miss that Christ is the center of our home. I want Him to be too real to deny. Like, can’t-unsee-it real.
Here’s where I get tripped up: my attitude. Not because I’m trying to be perfect—perfection left the building somewhere around child number two and a half—but because if I let exhaustion, hormones, or frustration (by something… or dare I admit, someone) take the wheel, I risk misrepresenting Jesus to the very people I’m trying to lead to Him.
So I press into God. I ask for His strength and try to let Him fill the gaps between my emotions and what’s actually appropriate to say out loud. Also—I attempt to get enough sleep (cue laugh track from all moms everywhere). Because when I respond in my flesh, the results usually involve tears and maybe someone hiding in the pantry with M&Ms.
But even then—especially then—Jesus still gets to be seen in the comeback. And here comes my all-time favorite catch phrase: “It’s all about the rebound.” If I’m quick to drop the pride, ask for forgiveness, and let redemption have the mic, it speaks volumes.
One day, I hope the stories my kids pass down will read like little parables of God’s fingerprints all over their lives. I hope they talk about the realness of Jesus in our home—not just because I told them about Him, but because they saw Him in the way we lived, failed, rebounded, and kept moving forward.
A little imperfect. A lot surrendered. And hopefully unforgettable.
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