“Mommy, I need you to give me a new heart,” Ambrielle asked. I had just talked to her after she was disciplined for hurting her brother.
I smiled and pulled her onto my lap, brushed the hair from her eyes and said, “Mama can’t give you a new heart. Only Jesus can give you a new heart. You have a yucky heart. Your yucky heart is selfish and doesn’t want to be nice to Elias. God can’t be around yucky hearts. Our yucky hearts deserve lots of discipline. Jesus is the only one who is perfect. He came and lived in our world. He always obeyed and did the right thing. His heart always loved people. But he took all the discipline God was going to give us, and offers us a new heart–a heart like his that can love and obey.
“Yeah, and he’s the king,” Ambrielle interjected.
“That’s right. He’s going to come back and be our King forever, but even now He is our King.”
“Yeah.” Momentary pause. “When I’m big I’m going to be Angelina Ballerina and I…”
This interaction wasn’t all that unique. Most of my gospel conversations with my almost 3 year old go something like the above. She grasps little bits of the gospel. She knows Jesus can give her a new heart. She interjects what she knows when she can, then at some point loses interest and contributes something totally irrelevant to the conversation. And off we go, back to our day, until the next time her yucky heart shows up and we have the same conversation again.
What was unique about this conversation was her initial statement.
Mommy, I need you to give me a new heart.
If only I could! I would in a heartbeat. I wish there was something I could do or say that would make her believe, make her surrender her yucky heart to Jesus and let Him give her a new one.
But I can’t. My job is simply to speak the truth to her, show the truth to her, incarnate the truth to her. A huge task, no doubt. A task I am called to faithfully carry out as best as I can. But a task that requires the Holy Spirit–on my end, to help me in it, and on her end, to woo her heart to Him.
To recognize my human limitation and acknowledge that the one thing I most desperately want for her in life–to believe in, love, treasure, and follow Jesus–is the one thing I can’t give her is downright scary on one hand. It means I’m not in control. It means that no amount of perfect discipline, perfect explanations, perfect anything will guarantee her salvation. It means I have no way of knowing if she will someday call Jesus her Lord.
But it’s also very good news. If it were up to me, it would be a disaster. I can’t possibly give her a new heart when the yuckiness of my own heart is so apparent.
The truth that only Jesus can give my children a new heart, that I am called to a task I can only take so far, should change how I parent. There are three tendencies I see in myself when I start to forget that the Holy Spirit alone can thaw a frozen heart. Here are those three, and how this truth reshapes my parenting.
1) I see obedience as the goal, rather than a means to help her see the goal. When it’s up to me to give Ambrielle a new heart, I’m prone to equate obedience with success. If she’s obeying, it means we’re doing well. If she’s not obeying, it means something has gone wrong. If this is the case, then her disobedience will produce frustration with her and with myself.
What I need to remember: obedience is the gateway to the gospel. God laid down his law not as a standard we were capable of following, but as a standard we couldn’t follow. The law showed the pitiful condition of humanity. The law shows our need for a Savior. In the pursuit of obedience we recognize our need and the solution.
In the same way, having rules and calling my children to obedience will not change their hearts. But it is crucial, however, because that very obedience is the starting point for helping them see their need–and the solution. When I view obedience this way, I have more patience and less frustration and view disobedience as an opportunity to discuss the gospel rather than an obstacle to it.
2) I see prayer for my children as an optional activity, rather than the pillar on which I must lean in every other parenting activity. Ohhhh, how prone I am to this! I do not pray for my children near as much as I should, I am sad to confess. But when I remember their need for a Savior, remember MY need to help them call on that Savior, and remember His sole sufficiency in that task, prayer becomes the most valuable piece of raising my children.
3) I see my sins and shortcomings as a parent as an obstacle to them seeing Jesus, rather than a pointer to help them see Jesus. If it is up to me to save my children, then I must be perfect. I must not fail. I must model righteousness to them. I must have the answers all the time. Every sin and shortcoming is an obstacle, and every show of righteousness is a “success.”
Quite the opposite. If Jesus alone can save them, then my sin and shortcomings are pointers to that reality. Not that I should be nonchalant about my sins. But they become opportunities to point them to Jesus. In the same way, my moments of righteousness and wisdom are also opportunities to proclaim His sufficiency, because I can tell them He helped Mommy act out of her new heart instead of her yucky heart.
I smile when I think back on the day earlier this week when Ambrielle made her statement. I’m glad she initiated the conversation. I’m glad I got to tell her that Mommy can’t give her a new heart. I’m glad I got to tell her there is hope for her yucky heart. And I’m glad her innocent statement was a much needed reminder of my role versus His in my children’s salvation.
How does the knowledge the only Jesus can give your children a new heart shape your parenting? In what ways does it scare you? What tendencies do you see in yourself when you start to think it’s up to you?
