I was talking with my mom recently about how we are making it a priority to be part of our church community, not to mention our neighborhood, especially so that our son is surrounded by friends and not isolated in any way as an only child. She highlighted our dedication to church and how much he loves going there, plus his attendance at a Christ-centered daycare. "He's growing up in the church," she told me. I realized she was right, and what a special gift it is.
I didn't grow up in the church. My great-grandfather was a Lutheran minister, but I wouldn't call ours a faithful family -- not back then, anyway. We were more what some call Creasters -- going to church mainly on Christmas and Easter. It just wasn't a high priority.
That all changed the day my grandmother began a relationship with Jesus more than 30 years ago, however, and the testament of her faith continues to ripple through the extended family. I don't resent my rocky formative years, as they built my character and set me up to eventually seek God for myself as a result of her testimony.
Now, as a follower of Jesus, I have the choice of how to help my son understand who God is from an early age. I consider this a blessing and a privilege, but of course it's also a big responsibility because his first experience with Christianity is watching me live it out every day. Chances are he'll see how imperfect I am, but that's okay. My hope is to see him experience the unfathomable love of God.
