“Showing grace is fine, until your child acts up . . . then you’ve got to lay down the law.”

An older man in our church said that to me after I preached a sermon on parenting by grace. His voice had a tone of gruffness.

Is that true? Is grace the starting point, but law is where we go when things really get tough?

The Apostle Paul wrote the book of Galatians in part to address this question. The Christians in Galatia had started their new life with God well—by grace. But not long after, they began trying to find significance through performance.

Paul uses the word “flesh” to describe how we try to find significance in our own strength, apart from God. To live by the flesh is to focus on laws, rules, and performance.

The contrast to living in our flesh is living by grace. To live by grace is to know that you fully measure up to God because of Jesus’ life and death. It’s no longer about how well we perform, behave, or produce—God has freely given us his love and acceptance.

So, back to our question: Should we ever lay down the law?

The answer depends on what we want for our sons.

Let’s think about this together. Setting boundaries and consequences are vital. Loving parents discipline in order to teach and protect their children. But, when this man used the phrase “laying down the law,” I pictured a father who gets mad, hands out strict rules and expectations, and then stands off to the side, ready to strike when lines are crossed. I hear control and dominance in that phrase.

This approach to parenting certainly holds the power to influence behavior and performance. Thousands of children have brought home good report cards because they were afraid of their dad’s wrath.

But there’s no joy in that life. No peace. No deep and lasting sense of relationship. There’s just a focus on self and what we can do in our own strength. Paul says that this self-focus produces things such as, “envy,” “impurity,” “jealousy,” and “anger.” (Cf. Galatians 5:19-21)

Is that what we want for our sons? Do we want to develop a deep, lasting sense that they only measure up when they do well? Do we want them to focus on their performance, and how they compare to others?

Or, do we want them to know that they are deeply loved and accepted no matter how they perform? Do we want them to focus on their hearts—their relationship with God—and what the Spirit wants to do inside them? Paul says this focus on God and his grace produces things such as, “love,” “joy,” “peace,” “patience,” and “self-control.” (Cf. Galatians 5:22-24)

For a father who hopes to help his son experience the grace of God, and the power and joy it produces, “laying down the law” would be taking monstrous steps in the wrong direction.

For a FREE download of Chapter One of Zeke’s book, Man on the Run, click here!

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In a day when ship captains push aside women to leap into lifeboats, and when leaders of universities sit on their hands when they hear about the sexual abuse of children, and when CNN’s debate moderator John King, the poor chap, gets derided for making the outrageous assumption that a presidential candidate’s personal morality is relevant . . . it’s refreshing to find a good example.

It’s refreshing to find . . . but not easy. You tell me—where’s an eight-year-old boy, with his cardboard coat of armor and a sword he carved from the bough of the mulberry tree, supposed to turn to find someone to imitate? I mean a genuine, bona fide, do-as-I-do, masculine hero?

Believe it or not—and I can certainly appreciate the irony—my son’s found such a person in the realm of professional sports.

While much of the nation is taking pot shots at Tim Tebow for praying in public and opposing abortion, my son has locked his sights onto this orange-and-blue-clad football stud, who’s even a bigger stud when he’s not taking snaps.

A couple weeks ago, shortly before the captain didn’t go down with the ship, sportswriter Rick Reilly wrote an op-ed about Tebow. Reilly described how, for every game—home or away—Tebow picks a person who is “suffering, or who is dying, or who is injured,” and he flies that person to a Broncos game. Tebow takes care of everything—the car rental, hotel room, 30-yard-line tickets, and all the meals. Then, after the game, while the rest of his team showers and heads home, he hangs out with the guest of honor. Tebow does all this to make that one person feel special, if just for a day.

And the humility. Oh, the humility. Get this: when Tebow heard about how one terminally ill young woman called her Tebow Day the best day of her life, he was flabbergasted. Reilly quoted him as saying, “Why me? Why should I inspire her? I just don’t feel, I don’t know, adequate.”

Who talks like that today? Especially on the artificial turf, where virtually every player has his own icky version of the Ickey-shuffle.

When I read Reilly’s article to my son, Aidan, I could see in his eyes that he was defining greatness for himself. It feels almost electric when a vision lands, takes seed, and begins to grow. In that moment, while reading Rick Reilly’s piece on Tebow, my son shaped and determined the direction of his ambition.

Not two hours later, without being asked or prompted, Aidan cleaned the kitchen for his mom as a surprise. He unloaded the dishwasher, loaded it back up, and wiped off crumbs from the counter. When Jamie saw what he’d done, she gasped, hugged him, and asked, Why’d you do it?

Aidan said, I wanted you to feel special, Mom.

I’ve had a song in my head the entire time I’ve been writing this blog. It’s Bonnie Tyler’s hit from 1984, Holding Out for a Hero. The first line of that song asks, Where have all the good men gone?

What a fair question for today.

And I’d like to thank Tim Tebow for not leaving us without any answer.

Friends, you can attack this young man for his public prayers. You can disagree with his politics. You can call him a spiritual show-boater all you want. But when push comes to shove, I think most of us would agree that we’d want someone like #15 standing at the helm of our cruise ship.

(For more information on Zeke and his writing visit www.zekepipher.com)

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“Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and truth.” (I John 3:18)

Each day is full of teaching moments. Moments when our sons do something, or say something, that doesn’t quite live up to who they really want to be. I know my son—he’s earnest and he aspires to become a good man. I’ve seen it in his soul.

But he doesn’t always make the best choice, and he had such a moment today. It wasn’t a big deal, or a large breach of integrity, or I wouldn’t be mentioning it here. He simply broke a toy that he’d been playing with and then presented the moment in a slightly less-than-honest way. When his mom asked him about how his action-figure lost its arm, he said: It just fell off.

It just fell off. That’s not a lie, per se . . . it just wasn’t the most truthful way to describe what happened. (The little army guy broke when Aidan performed a WWF move on it.)

George Sanchez once said, “Hold a crown a couple inches above their heads and encourage them to grow into it.” That’s what I tried to do today with Aidan. I explained to him that I understand the desire to self-protect—and how I’ve done the same thing hundreds of times. Yet, I explained, an honorable man presents the truth plainly, without word-smithing in order to try and control others’ opinions.

I held up the crown, just above his head, and told him that he’s not that far away. He just needs to make slightly different choices.

This was a tiny little moment. I don’t think I sounded scolding, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t feel badly about himself. These little teaching moments don’t need to feel, as my parents used to say, heavy. We dads can just talk about ways for our sons to stretch a bit to grow into their crowns.

Be sure to visit me at my website at www.zekepipher.com.

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Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.—James 5:16

Never does the human soul appear so strong as when it forgoes revenge, and dares forgive an injury.—E.H. Chapin

What makes a man weak or strong? Dads have a strong desire to get this answer correct because they hate seeming weak to their sons.

One way that we often get it wrong is in how we handle our blunders.

Many dads see apologizing to their children as a sign of weakness. Inside, they know it’s an admission of failure. They also know that if they stay quiet, their children will often assume that they made the mistake. So many dads stay quiet, let the child think it was his or her fault, and then hope it just goes away.

That’s not strength—that’s cowardice. A strong father is humble quick to admit his mistakes.

I saw a father get a bit growly with his eight-year-old son once. He was tired. His son was being loud. The dad barked a few insensitive comments, and his boy ran off crying.

There’s nothing unusual about that scenario; all of us blow it from time to time.

What was extraordinary was how the father handled the situation later on. Many dads would leave it there, knowing that their sons wouldn’t bring it back up. But not this dad.

About ten minutes after the father hurt his son’s feelings, he got up from the table, went into the other room, and sat down on the couch beside his son.

I heard him say: “I was wrong to be rude to you. You didn’t do anything wrong . . . I’m tired and I blew it. Will you forgive me?”

The son, who had been sitting stiffly a couple feet away from his father, shifted over and melted into his dad’s side. They hugged for a few minutes, and then the son bounded back into the dining room happy.

This is strength.

One of the best skills we can model and teach our sons is how to deal with blunders head on, with courage, gentleness and humility. There’s nothing “strong” about a man who ducks and dives to avoid apologizing. Instead, true masculinity is displayed when a father goes to his son, admits what he did wrong, and asks him for forgiveness.

Our sons are going to struggle with pride and a desire to cover up their blunders. We did . . . and they will too. Dads, we have an amazing opportunity to model humility and strength when we go to our sons and ask them to forgive us.

It’s not easy . . . but that’s one of the reasons it displays strength.

Question:

Have you “blown it” with your son lately? How did you handle it? How do you think your son would respond to you asking him for forgiveness?

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Last year a friend of mine, Bryan, told me about a “tradition” he’s kept with his three daughters.

When his girls were young, he began asking them on one-on-one daddy-daughter dates to go Christmas shopping. They’d walk around the mall for a couple hours—the girls would buy presents for their sisters and mom—and then grab a happy meal or a kid’s cone.

I asked Bryan why he started that tradition. He said, “I wanted them to know that their dad loves spending time with them.”

Twenty some years later, it’s safe to say it’s worked. Bryan’s three daughters absolutely adore their dad. They’re in their mid-twenties, and they still count on these evenings together every year.

When I heard about this idea last November, I adopted the tradition. I’m in my second season, and I just got back from a date with my 10-year-old daughter tonight. We walked around the Grand Island mall, looking at earrings, pillow pets, and monster trucks.

Kate even got me to cross the threshold into the land of a thousand fragrances—Bath & Body Works. She grabbed my hand, flashed her big blue eyes at me, and that was all she wrote. We finished the night eating California rolls and crab rangoon with chopsticks at her favorite Chinese restaurant.

My son’s outing is this coming up Thursday. He told me before bed tonight, Dad, I’ve been looking forward to this night all year. I can’t believe it’s almost here! When I asked him what he wanted to talk about, he said: I want to know when dinosaurs lived and whether or not they were on the ark.

Hmmmm . . .

I’m so thankful to Bryan. If he hadn’t shared this idea with me, I’d be missing out on what has become one of my favorite Dad-moments of the year. This tradition is so simple and so easy, but accomplishes so much.

Dads, there are exactly five days between now and Christmas—plenty of time to sneak in a father-son adventure of your own. Merry Christmas and happy shopping!

Question:

Do you have any traditions with your children? Leave us a comment and let us know if you do something special with your sons around Christmas.

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Last week I blogged about being careful to not make our children deal with images and ideas from our past that could hurt them. If our transgressions have been removed from us as far as the east is from the west, we must be very careful about dredging them up and making others think about them.

That being said, parents who walk by grace will regularly share their neediness for the grace of God with their children. One of the great goals of parenting is to help our sons realize they need the grace of God, and that they can depend on the Holy Spirit for their strength, wisdom, and encouragement.

One of the best ways we can help them live by grace is by joining them in the journey. And we join them by sharing how we need God’s grace and help.

This past Sunday was a rough day for me. I was feeling stressed and a bit discouraged. Some Sunday sermons almost preach themselves. This past one was not one of those—it was work from the moment I walked into the church. The rest of the day also presented challenges.

Later that evening, Aidan sat down by me on the couch. He said, “Dad, are you okay? You don’t look happy.”

I replied, “Not having a great day, Buddy. I’m struggling.”

I explained how I felt discouraged by a few things I’m walking through with other people, and I’m also discouraged by a few things I see in myself that I don’t like. I didn’t go into detail. I didn’t give him concrete images. I just told him that I feel worn out and like the great enemy of my soul is taking advantage of that by making me feel discouraged.

My eight-year-old son rubbed my back and asked me if there was anything he could do for me. I asked him to pray for me that God would give me strength and encouragement.

Peter wrote in I Peter 5:6, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.”

This humility that Peter is encouraging involves admitting our need for God. I mean, think about it . . . we need everything from Him. Breath. Joy. Energy. Food. Water. Community. Encouragement. Strength. Spiritual vitality. Hope. Rest. Everything! This is why humility is so appropriate as a posture before God—we are so utterly and completely dependent upon Him for life.

And our sons need to see this and hear this humility in us. When a son hears his dad say, I’m struggling. I’ve got some serious needs that only God can meet. Will you pray for me?, the son not only gets to see a dad who depends on God . . . he gets to see a God who, in real and personal ways, cares for his dad.

The next day, Aidan asked me if I was doing better. And I was. God ministers to us in our sleep, and by the time my alarm went off the next morning I was feeling encouraged, ready for Monday.

There are few things that we can give our kids that will be more vital to their joy and peace than a picture of how it looks to lean fully on Jesus and watch Him care for us. Our transparency is a part of the way we journey with them in this walk of grace.

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“For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.”

—Psalm 103:11-12

I’ve got one of those “colorful” testimonies. I tell my story in my upcoming book, Man on the Run; Helping Hyper-Hobbied Men Recognize the Best Things in Life.

Before I met Jesus, I partied hard, chased glory through sports, and made very poor decisions with respect to my dating relationships. My life as a young man was empty and yet filled with embarrassing, shameful moments.

Then I encountered the grace of God. A friend shared with me how Jesus lived a perfect life, and how if I put my faith in Him, His perfect life is credited to me. He also told me that Jesus died on the cross to atone for my sins, and if I put my faith in Him, I would receive complete forgiveness. That news was like offering a man dying of thirst a cool glass of water—I had to have it. I prayed, put my trust in Jesus, and twenty years later, I’m still amazed by the grace of God.

My son is starting to ask questions. He’s curious about what I was like when I was his age, and a bit older. He wants to know what I cared about, what I did with my friends, and what led me to become a Christian.

He’s not aware of the deep issues he’s raising in my mind. How much do I share? What categories do I discuss with him? How “authentic” should I be with him?

As I’ve thought about this, Psalm 103:11-12 continues to frame my thinking. Specifically, I feel very cautious about sharing too much because, if God has utterly (as far as the east is from the west) removed my transgressions from me, what business do I have bringing them back . . . and then forcing my son to think and deal deeply with them? I don’t want to keep secrets from my son, but I do feel responsible for guarding his mind and helping maintain an appropriate innocence for his age.

There is such an emphasis today on sharing, emoting and telling all. We do put all of this under the noble-sounding label of “authenticity.” But the more I think about what it means to be a “new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17), who has had his sins removed, and is now characterized by “life and peace” (Romans 8:6), the more I’m realizing that we need to be wise when discussing the details of our past.

Dads, we need the wisdom of God on these things. There is likely not one, easy, summarizing answer to these questions. We must pray and sense what God would have us share or not share. I just wanted to throw out a counter argument to the popular approach of “telling all in every circumstance” that we see today. The most loving, helpful, approach might be to edit quite a few of the details from our story as we answer our sons’ questions.

What do you think?

Leave a comment and let us know your approach to sharing your past with your children.

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A truly good book teaches me better than to read it. I must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint. What I began by reading, I must finish by acting.

—Henry David Thoreau

We finished scarfing down dinner and washing the dishes by 6:30 last night, two hours before our kids’ bedtime. What to do? What to do?

We put a match to the newspaper and kindling in the fireplace, and then I read out loud three stories from Grimm’s Fairy Tales and a chapter from The Last Battle.

When I read to our children, I give each character in the story his or her own voice. I inevitably flub it up—I’ll give Mole Ratty’s voice, or worse, sometimes, poor Eustace ends up sounding like Piglet. My kids are unforgiving with such blunders—they stop me, make me back up, find the voice, and do it over again. And I do . . . and the story goes on.

It’s hard for me to talk about being a dad without talking about reading to my three children. Our family loves books. Short stories or long ones, epic adventures or fantasy, we love to read and be read to. Especially in the winter—winter is the time for enjoying soup, fires in the fireplace, and tales of good barely triumphing over evil.

I carry a deeply held belief that when a mom or dad reads great stories to their children, their children learn to live in great stories. They learn to dream, imagine, and create. They learn to recognize small stories—tales of poor choices, dull consequences, and absent protagonists—and they form deeply personal goals of finding bigger and better options from the choices they’re presented with each day. I really believe that children who grow up loving big stories are less likely to choose a small story for their life.

This makes reading to our children one of the best things we can do as dads.

Dads, having a bad day? Feeling uninspired? Wondering how to spend time with your son in a way that will count down the road? Pick up a great book and read to him. Make a fire, or take him out for hot chocolate, and work your way through a chapter of Winnie the Pooh.

You don’t even have to assume different voices—although I guarantee you’d be at least as good at it as I am. All you have to do is choose a good book, and begin working your way down the page.

Book Suggestions:

If you’re looking for a place to start, here are a few book recommendations:

Winnie the Pooh (great for practicing voices)

The Jesus Storybook Bible

The Chronicles of Narnia

Little House on the Prairie

Little Britches

The Wingfeather Saga

The Wind in the Willows

Dads, what have you read your children lately? Do you have any other recommendations besides the ones I mentioned?

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Needing challenged as a father?

The Apostle Paul is always willing to oblige. There’s a passage in his letter to the Ephesians that can be applied to fatherhood. But, I’ll warn you, it’s a tough one.

In Ephesians 4:22-24, Paul encourages us to “put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires.” Once you’ve thrown off the old self, he says, “ . . . put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.”

He’s saying, Get rid of the old stuff, the old way of doing life, and put on the new!

And then he gives us five specific ways that we should think and act differently if we’re walking with God. Let’s look at these five qualities as they relate to parenting:

1. Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth in love (vs. 25a): Paul is addressing more than simply telling lies—“falsehood” involves anything that’s not fully true. Our son watches to see if we stretch the truth, tell little white lies, or use our silence to give a false impression.

Speaking falsely is always motivated by selfishness . . . either the desire to self-protect or self-promote. That’s who we used to be before Jesus. Now, as dads who love God, we get to show our sons what it looks like to “speak the truth in love,” even when it cost us.

2. Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger (vs. 26a): Paul doesn’t say that we shouldn’t get angry; he knows that anger is an appropriate response to sin and hurt. As dads, though, we must not rest in our anger, holding grudges or punishing others. Our sons need to see us be quick to show and receive grace. When we walk in grace as dads, our children see a picture of our Heavenly Father. What a vision to impart!

3. Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need (vs. 28): This verse isn’t primarily about stealing—although stealing isn’t fitting for a follower of Christ—it’s about working with integrity so that we can be generous. Our sons need to see us work hard so that we have resources to contribute to those in need. It’s not enough hand down a good work ethic . . . as dads we have the opportunity to show our sons what it looks like to be generous, compassionate, and other-centered.

4. Let no corrupting talk come from your mouths, but only such as is good for building up (vs. 29a): We often give ourselves permission to gossip, make fun of, or slander other people when we’re in the privacy of our homes. But this type of hurtful talk is “old self” stuff. Our sons need to see us be kind to others with our words, even when others aren’t around.

5. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God (vs. 30a): If you’ve trusted in Jesus, then you have the Holy Spirit living inside you. The Spirit illuminates God’s Word, convicts us of sin, and shows us as dads how we ought to live. But here’s the thing . . . we can listen to the Spirit . . . and then still choose to go our own way. This is called “grieving the Spirit.” One of the best ways that we can point our sons to Christ is by following His lead in our lives. When we choose faithfulness, we teach our sons how to walk with God.

Paul gives us five tough, practical challenges in this passage. We’re not going to get it right every time, are we? This is why we need to stay tapped into the grace of God everyday ourselves.

I’ll pray for you, if you pray for me.

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Zeke & Aidan in the kitchen

I’m a foodie.

I often wake up thinking about what I’ll make myself for breakfast. This morning, before my feet touched down on the carpet, I’d decided that I’d make myself an omelet with the tasty bacon that a friend gave me yesterday. (October was Pastor Appreciation Month, and one farming family in our church gave us a packet of fresh, thick-cut, bacon . . . the kind that doesn’t shrink when you prepare it.)

I showered, got dressed, and walked out to the kitchen. Aidan was sitting at the island. He jumped up, hugged me, and said: “Are you going to eat that left-over bacon from last night . . . or can I have it to make myself an omelet?”

“Are you serious? That’s what I was going to do.” I paused, gave him my best growly old dog look, hoping he’d back away from his idea before anyone got hurt.

“How bout we split it, Dad?”

I realized something that moment. My son is not only going to be a foodie like me, but he’s often going to have the exact same designs as I have for the food in our refrigerator.

Now, you might be thinking . . . Good for you guys! That’s great. That’s something that you and Aidan can share together.

I understand that thought. But, here’s the deal: This bacon was like quarter-inch thick . . . you can’t purchase bacon like this in a store. I . . . didn’t . . . want . . . to . . . share . . . it.

That was my first thought this morning when my plan crashed into my son’s in our kitchen.

My second thought was: Oh, man . . . I guess this is where the rubber really hits the road with this other-centeredness thing.

As I was staring at a medium-sized strip of bacon, I thought of Paul’s statement to the church in Philippi: “ . . . but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Colossians 2:3b-4).

My mind began trying to escape that verse. Surely that doesn’t apply to an issue as small as who gets this piece of pork. And . . . I can “look to Aidan’s interests” just as soon as I finish my breakfast. (With that thought, I remembered how all those flight attendants say: “Fasten your mask securely to your face before you help others.” Can that strategy apply to this moment, I wondered.)

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get away from that verse. As a dad, I know that it’s in the everyday decisions, little and big, that I must make the choice to be like Jesus and put others first. Even my son. Even at breakfast. Even when the decision involves bacon that good.

We pulled the bacon out of the refrigerator, dropped it onto a cutting board, and began sizing it up. Aidan got out a steak knife and cut it up into equal parts. We shared . . . and both ended up with an amazingly good omelet.

Dads, how do you do little and big things to show your son that you are putting him first? Have you seen your son do this for others, as well?

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