Theological Scribbles

Parenting Failures and Discipleship Lessons

One of the most precious things I own brings me a pang of shame and deep joy every time I look at it.

I have a few parenting memories that shame me. I suppose most parents do. Mine are of moments when I overreacted to children too little to understand what they were doing. But this memory is unique because it produced an artifact that taught me something beyond my need for temperance. I carry it with me every week.

It was 2009. We were new missionaries in Arequipa, Peru. We had moved into our first apartment on Calle Ugarte. It was a small space, just enough for me, Megan, and our almost two-year-old, Ana. There was no space for an office, but I bought a desk anyway and crammed it into an alcove off the hallway between our living room and bedrooms. It was, in other words, not behind closed doors.

I came home one day to find my desk in disarray—Hebrew vocab cards scattered, books unshelved, and worst of all, Bible graffitied.

I did not take it well. I could blame exhaustion or culture shock. But that wasn’t it. I just lost it. I’m sure I raised my voice. I’m sure I dealt out punishment. I’m sure I was an ass. If there’s any doubt—if you too value good order and the sanctity of books—here’s the culprit:

But let’s layer shame onto shame. Honesty, after all, purifies the soul. It took me a long time (I don’t remember how long, but too long) to realize what that beautiful mess meant. My sweet little girl had seen me at that desk, pencil in hand, marking up that Bible. She was following my example. I punished her for it.

It hurts me to remember that. But I feel such joy when I look at those scribbles today. I don’t know what her inheritance will be, but theological scribbles are among the little I’m sure to leave behind. If the tendency to make a mess at work over Scripture is among what she or her siblings receive, so much the better.

These days, I’m far more worried about the bad examples I set. But when it comes to anything that resembles imitation of my better moments, I’m careful to embrace them and celebrate. Disciple-making is like that. It messes up our tidy spaces. It sometimes provokes the worst of our character. It demands repentance. It surprises us, sooner or later, as the grace of God at work in others finally makes itself clear to us. And it brings us great joy, not because of what we did but because of what God was always doing.

As it happens, Ana has grown into an artist. When she was baptized, I requested a wide-margin Bible for her (as our church has the custom of gifting the newly immersed with a Bible), trusting that she would enthusiastically interact with Scripture. Here’s a glimpse of what it looks like today:

I asked for this picture. I’ve caught sight of the pages of her Bible, but it’s not something she shares with others. This reflects her relationship with God through Scripture (and it’s far lovelier than my scribblings!). I’m so proud and so grateful that my stupid reaction didn’t deter her. And there is a final lesson: our failures do not outweigh God's grace. To him be the glory forever. Amen.