Sharing faith with our children (Part 1)

How do we share God’s life, our faith, with our children?

First, let me narrow the focus so we’re clear about what I’ll be talking about. I’m talking about how I as a North American Christian father share my faith in Jesus Christ with my three children. That’s my experience, so I’ll say from the beginning that my perspective is carved out from that mold. This does not assume that you must be a father, or American, or even a Christian to be interested in what I’m going to say.

Second, I want to interact with your perspectives as best I can. Your comments will help shape the conversation. In fact, including those not Christians, non-Americans, non-fathers in the discussion helps drill holes in my own arguments, challenges me, redeems any notion that my limited perspective might have twisted.

Third, I’ll also draw from the experiences I’ve had internationally, seeing parenting done by people of at least a dozen other nationalities. They have much to offer my American parenting assumptions.

Fourth, I will trace the path of God’s parenting his people from the beginning until now, how he has been present with his people, nurtured them, mothered and fathered them, and how Jesus has invited us to call his father, “Our Father in Heaven.”

So in most blogs there will be four components. First, I’ll tell you a personal story. Second, I’ll tell you a Bible story about nurturing faith. Third, I’ll bring another perspective to bear on my own cultural assumptions and upon the biblical perspective. And fourth, I’ll hear and interact with your comments and stories.

Today, I just want to share a photo with you. This is Grace and Ross Taylor, my paternal grandparents. They were a strong influence on me, in my formation as a person. No one ever thought Spike Walker, Grace’s father, would become a Christian, until one revival night when Spike gave his life to Christ. Spike was a storyteller, and Grace learned the gift of poetic storytelling from him and shared it with my father and my generation. Ross was a quiet man who loved horses and wore a cowboy hat. He was short but he was ten feet tall in my eyes. They both taught me so much, and I’ll share some of those insights here in coming posts.

People called my grandparents, “Amazing Grace” and “Old Rugged Ross,” pictured above.