A Place for Men
I had never been so mad at my husband as I was that day in church. I
wanted a measly hour to enjoy the sermon, relax with the foot-tapping
singing, and just for once not be "on call" as a mommy. Was that really
too much to ask?
It began with the coloring books. Our children were 3 and 4, and this
was our first time in church as a family. I admit, we'd let that
particular discipline slip through the cracks during our early marriage.
However, it was something that we had decided was important to the
rearing of our children, if not ourselves, and we were actively looking
for a church family to join.
That Sunday, as we sat down in the pews, I pulled out a coloring book
for each child and an 8-pack of crayons. I wanted to occupy their time,
to make them sit still for as long as possible before the inevitable
shifting and squirming began. I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Put those up," my husband said. I just stared at him. My eyebrows had
not begun to cross over one another yet because I was sure he was just
confused and not being unreasonable at this point. "I'm serious, put
them up. They may not understand one thing about the sermon, but they
will learn to sit still for an hour while the preacher talks about God.
They will learn respect and patience in the house of God."
Now I could feel my eyebrows scrunching together. I hated it when he
used his "man of the house" tone of voice, but it was church and
certainly not the place to cause a scene. I snatched books from
resisting little hands and shoved them back into my bag. I made a point
of not looking at my husband and instead, sat there with arms crossed,
staring straight ahead.
However, all was not lost. This particular church had a "kiddie" church,
and after the singing and before the sermon, all the wee little ones
were invited to leave the sanctuary for their respective classes. I got
up to take the girls out.
My husband's hand reached out to clasp firmly on my forearm. "Sit down,"
he hissed. "They stay with us."
I was livid. It was going to be baloney sandwiches for two weeks, that
was for sure. I never heard the sermon. I certainly couldn't get into
the worshiping, reverential mood I wanted, and on the way home, I
refused to say a word to him. Once the girls had changed clothes and
were shooed to their room to play, we had it out.
I never won that argument. For the rest of their time at home, the kids
sat with us at church. I admit... my husband's and my parenting styles
could not have been more different. At the time I thought that I was
flexible and giving, while my husband was too stern and rigid.
Twenty-five years later, I can admit that my style was wishy-washy and
too lax, while his was right on target.
But it took me 25 years to reach that conclusion.
It happened the other day in church. We were sitting there listening to
the pastor attempt to speak over the noise of the kids coming through
the sanctuary doors from kiddie church. They were loud, rambunctious,
and out of control. He finally just stopped speaking, walked out of the
sanctuary, and put a stop to whatever was going on. He came back in and
resumed his sermon.
But you could see the veins still bulging in his neck. I thought he'd
need dental work if he kept grinding his jaw together the way he was
doing.
That's when it hit me. My husband had been right all along. We alone
were responsible for the rearing of our children and could not put that
off on anyone, not even the church. They learned to behave from us
alone, not any class or teacher they were exposed to.
I was silent most of the way home. Even after 32 years, I found it hard
to eat crow. "You were right," I finally sighed.
He looked at me and grinned. "Well, of course I was... I'm always right.
But please, I get this so rarely, tell me what I was right about." I
stuck my tongue out at him.
"You were right about kiddie church and the coloring books and the
English peas and the dresses and everything else. It's just finally hit
me now that you were raising them to be obedient and respectful, and
that the incidents themselves were not the issue, but the underlying
challenges to authority they represented." (I had to speak
intellectually about the whole affair or he'd really rub my nose in the
dirt...)
He was silent for a moment. I waited.
"Can I hear that I was right one more time?" he finally asked. I punched
him.
I have to give my husband kudos. He's stood up to me for 32 years. Don't
misunderstand, he's not a bully or anything like that, but he clearly
takes his head of the household status very seriously. I guess if I was
the one that would be answering to God about my family one day, I'd be
just as stubborn as he has been in trying to get it right.
And my children have clearly benefited from that. They have jobs,
they're raising families, they're in church, and they're not marching in
an OWS protest every time we turn around. They went to college, made
loans, and are paying them off. They've all had their share of
heartache, but they've come through each incident stronger and better
than before.
That's why it's so heartbreaking to see the absence of the father figure
in homes across this country.
And that absence can still be there even if a man lives in the house.
I think that God is putting out a call to men to return to their
established places in the hierarchy He has established. I think God is
as heartbroken about the several generations of children who are lost
and bereft because clear boundaries and expectations have gone down the
toilet, because we have turned over the rearing of our children to the
state, and because even if we go to church and do all the right things,
we're still turning over the care of our children to teachers,
ministers, and youth leaders who are barely out of diapers themselves.
If you're wondering how we turn this trend around, then you'll want to
read
The Promise of Jonadab: Building a Christian Family Legacy in a Time
of Cultural Decline by E. Ray and Gail Pinckney Moore. In this
book, authors E. Ray and Gail Moore present the reader with one of the
most under-recognized and barely mentioned men of the Bible. In fact,
the authors claim that Jonadab is the greatest dad in the entire Bible
and well worth studying.
Jonadab presents a picture of a faith tradition that is passed along for
generations, how that faithfulness is rewarded by God, and how that
faith tradition impacts a nation. Jonadab's life is a blueprint for
fathers and families everywhere:
- Jonadab believed and trusted God's word
- Jonadab had a zeal for God and His Holiness
- Jonadab structured his family life around the word of God
- Jonadab set standards to preserve his family
- Jonadab received a promise unlike any other man in the Bible
With our world in an obvious spiritual and moral decline, it's
imperative that we seek those answers that will either turn our country
around, or prepare our children and grandchildren to live in that broken
down world as fearless warriors of God. I fear that my children and
grandchildren will not live in a world that resembles anything like I
have experienced. Their world will not be recognizable to me at all. As
King David said in the Psalms, "If the foundations are destroyed, what
can the righteous do?" (Psalm 11:3)
Jonadab is our guide. If you value your family, if you value the faith
tradition that you're trying to instill in your children, then The
Promise of Jonadab is one for the family bookshelf.
Click here to order your copy just in time for Father's Day.
Hanne Moon
Editor
Off the Grid News
PS. Ladies, I would encourage you to help the men in your life find
their voices again as the leaders of the family. For too long we have
taken over that task. It's time we pushed them out into the world and
asked them to fulfill the job that God has set before them. I don't mean
that we do this by nagging and carping, but by loving guidance and
acceptance as to what God has created them to be and what role God has
asked us to fill as we stand by their side.
Order a copy of The Promise of Jonadab for your husband,
fiance, brother, or father today, and watch the beauty of family as God
intended unfold before your eyes.
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