When my parents answered God’s call to start a church, our home became a place of meeting for a season. Saturdays were for cleaning. Our crumb-laden, toy-strewn home transformed into a tidy space for our church gathering; my bedroom became the nursery and our family room for corporate singing. My mom managed to open her home weekly with my 2-year-old sister in tow, who was surely pulling books off the shelves and de-organizing the tupperware in the kitchen drawers. The rest of us—ages 8, 6, and 4—worked alongside my mom, but the result of a clean home was certainly a product of her rather than us.
As our church worshiped it outgrew our small home and soon began meeting in a rented space. Our weekends transitioned from preparing our home to preparing our hearts. These mornings were a dash to tame my unruly curls and slip into an outfit that wasn’t deemed ‘every day.’ They were cold-bowl-of-cereal and buckle-your-shoes-in-the-car type mornings. They were a happy, exhilarating rush of being included in preparing for our church gathering. Alongside other church members my age, I set up chairs, folded bulletins, organized the coffee cups, and snuck 1 or 2 (or 6) sugar cubes.
My parents’ commitment to the church wasn’t something that came easily, perfectly fitting in their schedules. Our church grew and friendships deepened because of their obedience to God’s call for believers to gather together, bringing their tired selves each week and allowing God to work. Sundays came after a week of homeschooling, my mom chauffeuring us to various soccer games and piano lessons, providing us with three meals a day (plus at least that many snacks), and grocery shopping in an age with no grocery pick-up.
We saw that the church was a people who worshiped and worked, who knew the joys and sorrows that occurred that week, prayed, sang, and sat under Bible teaching—together. We were a church family. These friends whom I served alongside weren’t only seen on Sundays, our families often shared meals during the week or met for family bike rides during summer evenings.
As I look back on my childhood, I see how my parents’ faithfulness and their inclusion of me and my sisters in God’s calling on our lives left an imprint that has forever shaped my view of church membership. As a mom now myself, I know the struggle of arriving at church on time. Too often my son’s nursery number flashes on the projection, leaving me to rescue and chase him in the foyer. I frequently think of streaming the service; my son wouldn’t miss his dearly-needed nap, and I could absorb the sermon.
But then I’m reminded of what it means to be the church. Even when my time in corporate worship is short, or when my mind is half-working from being up most of the night, my heart still is nourished by hearing brothers and sisters sing truths and lifting my voice to the Lord. I see dear friends, and we share about our week. But just as importantly, my son also experiences this time. As he grows, he will see the fruit of Christian community in our lives. What would it look like for a church to have no babies and toddlers?
We see the church’s strength when it is mobilized to soothe distraught babies for exhausted parents and to teach the gospel to curious young minds. It is vibrant with tiny voices singing along with much older ones. The youth of the church often reminds me of the essentialism of the Christian community. I recall two students’ testimonies during baptism: they articulated how the church shaped their love for Jesus and expressed their faith in a way that renewed in my heart the wonder and beauty of Christ.
I want my son to know that our heritage and calling are the same as the men, women, and children of the early church. Today we still say:
“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near” (Hebrews 10:23-25).
The church is not merely some ancillary part of life, it is central to our lives, the very heartbeat of the Christian walk. She has met through persecution, war, plagues, and peace. I want my son to see our family follow suit, to treasure obedience over convenience.
We don’t need Sunday mornings to be picturesque with a warm breakfast and an (actually) hot cup of coffee while our babies sleep. We ought to do what it takes to arrive on time—eating a cold breakfast and bringing ourselves to the fellowship when we are weary. We want our churches enriched by membership of all ages. Our children’s time in nursery isn’t just about being occupied long enough for teaching time (or getting them sick, again). Those other little kids will hopefully become like my childhood friends, providing friendship with whom they will serve, share meals, and learn to love our God, together.
Perhaps those cold-cereal-breakfasts provided the greatest nourishment of all; there is a treasure of babies at church.
I grew up in a home where I was a pirate and princess; running barefoot with my sisters outside in our imaginary worlds. I grew in a home of blankets and books, table work such as math and dictation. I was in a home where I learned to care for my younger sisters, where I watched my mother nurse, nurture, and change our sheets after potty or vomit accidents in the middle of the night. I learned to (mostly) land the dry ingredients into the mixer and how to arrange cookies on a pan.
Evenings were my favorite. I loved the smell of onions sautéing on the stove; of the scented candle, my mom certainly had burning. I loved that my dad was coming home. And that we would set the dinner table where we would eat and talk and learn. The rhythm and coziness to our lives seemed to me, as a child, so simple and perfect. Now as an adult – venturing on building my own home – I realized how all of those simple, beautiful tasks were purposed.
By age eight, my parent’s felt God’s call in their lives to start a church. I remember the chaos of Saturdays; alongside my mom, my sisters and I picked up, dusted, and vacuumed. After all, our bedroom became the nursery and our family room where we gathered to sing. After working his teaching job all week, my dad locked himself in his room to study and prepare to teach the word of God. The large oak desk purchased for his studies became the focal point of their room, which actually represented how the mission for our family took precedence in our lives; it was messy and chaotic, but sturdy to grow and yield a precious community and deeper love for God.
My husband and I are learning that this family-effort towards the ministry God called my family to growing up is not unique to pastors’ families. Every choice we make reflects an underlying world view; our choices show our priorities and values. How we orient our family tells the world what we think about our purpose. Are we always saving for the next vacation, working every spare moment for the sake of career advancement, or always relying on Netflix to distract from our own exhaustion? Being an expecting mother has opened many conversations on how to organize life and balance childcare, home, and work in the years ahead. I am realizing the bigger question to ask myself is not, how will we balance life logistically, but, what is the purpose of our family and my role in it. If our choices point to what we believe and hope for our family, this question is worth the pause and the pondering. As I think back to my parent’s home, they understood their vision and mission for our family, which brought clarity to their roles, and therefore their choices. Living our lives to magnify and point others to Christ is how God works in the hearts and minds of people, and is a purpose meant for each of us.
Partnership
Without ever speaking on the topic, my mom taught me the power of a wife’s role in marriage. In marriage, husband and wife exemplify aspects of both Christ and the Church. When in step, their dance of leading and following showed me how both roles are equally vital in accomplishing something greater. A complementarian understanding of scripture comes with great challenges and also misconceptions. As Kathy and Timothy Keller write in their book, The Meaning of Marriage: “The basic roles – of leader and helper – are binding, but every couple must work out how that will be expressed within their marriage” (187). God’s call in my mother’s life contains beauty that reached beyond the cheapened and ordinary label of homemaking we often see. It’s not about the fact my dad mowed the lawn and my mom did laundry or a plethora of other gender stereotypes. It is about the purpose of their family and propelling that purpose in how God created each partner to equally participate. Embracing these aspects of our position – even when it is unnatural and hard – reflects part of the character and person of God.
In obedience to Ephesians 5, I saw my mother gladly submit to my dad’s leadership; just like Christ submits to the Father. I now see the beauty in this comes from wives’ equal intelligence, strength, and worth – just like Jesus is fully God – and in that strength, willingly submits to God’s plan. Christ’s submission to God’s plan delivered the world and we can trust God’s work as we submit to His design for us. My dad taught me through his life how Biblical leadership is a sacrifice that truly requires all of yourself. Watching him live out sacrificial love for my mom and our family does not make me covet his position. Men are called to be like Christ; as Christ is the head of the Church, men are to be the head of their family. But this position is not about extra freedom. It is about being like Christ – who is responsible for making us right with God and pointing us to Him. Men have the weighty responsibility of answering for the direction of their families. They have the responsibility of being like Christ, who died to accomplish God’s plan. Husbands do lead through decisions, but as I have learned through observing my dad, his decisions don’t cater to him but to those he is called to love and lead. I also see in retrospect how his perseverance for our family is equally credited to the strength of my mom; each of them embracing the harmony of God’s design.
My mom’s successes are not measured by salary, 401k contribution, an Instagram-worthy home, or vacation destinations. I know it by the love I experienced in her home, the love and respect between her and my dad, and her actions for a continual and lasting purpose. There was no ‘her thing’ and ‘his thing’ in our home, it was together.
Parenting
Just as God has specific designs for two people in marriage, he also has equipped us uniquely for what is often the natural outflow of marriage – children. Secular outlets will tell us that our bodies provide no significant direction or evidence to our true selves.
Nancy Pearcey writes in Love Thy Body, “The biblical view of sexuality is not based on a few scattered Bible verses. It is based on a teleological worldview that encourages us to live in accord with the physical design of our bodies. By respecting the body, the biblical ethic overcomes the dichotomy separating body from person. It heals self-alienation and creates integrity and wholeness…It fits who we really are” (30).
The uniqueness inherent in my genetic makeup was of no accident or inconsequence; it is specifically part of how God calls me to relate to and participate in the care of the world. Women’s bodies are how God gives new life. This baby boy inside me is equally the makeup of me and my husband – yet I will experience him more than my husband ever will. Women know baby’s routines of kicking and tumbling; we feel the pain and stretching of baby’s growth. What our bodies touch and intake, so do theirs. Our choices directly concern people we have never seen. Our womb is our baby’s home and an avenue for oxygen and nutrition. We endure and embrace painful hips and tender breasts and easily decline our favorite foods and drinks because we know the purpose and goal: to nourish and protect our tiny human. The uniqueness of women to nourishing life does not end in utero: the incoming of milk after delivery makes it clear that babies are meant for their mothers. The task of mothering is unique, beautiful, and miraculous that God gives to women.
This embracing of a role again reflects part of Christ who meets all our needs physically, spiritually, and provides us new life. The story in John 21 displays Christ’s care for us in a simple, everyday task so beautifully. Jesus appears to the disciples as they are fishing and provides them with an unprecedented catch. When the disciples came to shore Jesus had a fire going with fish and bread ready; inviting them to a prepared breakfast. Here Jesus had just defeated death for us, providing us direct access to God, and yet he made breakfast. He is the bread of life. He is everything we need spiritually and he does not forget that God made us physical beings. His love and care for us can be shown in nourishment, which points us to Himself – who sustains us.
As much as children are meant for mothers, so they are for fathers. God’s design is equally specific to men. His presence filling our home was marked by teamwork, by my mom’s joyful devotion to give my dad the capacity and freedom after exhausting days to embrace us as she did. I am thankful he gently covered my small hands with his much larger ones and taught me how to pray; he sat across from us at the table, and while we buttered bread he asked us about who we were, through simple questions touching on what we loved at the moment, what we remembered from our day, and the most pressing issues in our hearts. Our conversations, bits and pieces here and there were the foundation for my worldview, the bones of my faith, where I saw what he believed in the mundane everyday.
I hear the road hum during drives, where he guided my faith while I questioned and doubted. I can still see the pile of used tissues as he wisely talked me through agonizing conflicts. How blessed I am to have a father who has shown me the detailed care for my life – each giving of himself in little moments a tiny piece of our heavenly Father’s own love and care for his creation.
Prayer
As I write, now 20-something years old, I still hear my mother’s narration of history, science, and novels. I feel her stroke my hair late at night as she listens to my swirling thoughts and counsels my heart and mind. Her parenting didn’t end with potty training and it didn’t start mattering when I could critically think; it has been present in every step of my life. I see my parent’s partnership, their work, and know its treasure: It is what God has used to shape me and stir my heart with hopes for my own family.
Lord, let us dance harmoniously as wife and husband as we expand our roles to mother and father. Grant us the grace to faithfully steward our son’s life. Help me not forget a mother’s influence to nourish and counsel, to foster creativity and learning, to treasure your word, to make a home. Let home be a cherished space where my husband can lead in our lives and father our son to love you. Remind my heart that my success is not measured monetarily – it is found in working, helping, loving, and obeying you in a work that has a continual and lasting purpose.
Reflections of Terror and Beauty 