My kids are growing up in a sheltered environment. And that’s just the way I want it. Yes, they play with knives and shoot their arrows unsupervised. They explore the woods until we call them home for dinner. They climb up trees higher than the roof of our 2-story house. They ride their bikes without helmets, and their go-cart on the streets (even without us knowing which way they went). I encourage and train my boys to be wild at heart and brave in battle. Some of it comes naturally to them. With other things, they need a push. Whichever it is, “No blood or broken bones” is not a mantra in our home. A bloody scratch is rewarded, and risk is encouraged. A risk-taking, adventurous spirit grounded in confidence, not in insecurity, is what we’re after. And the way we’re cultivating that is by creating a sheltered environment.
There is a type of assertive brashness that pours out from a pitcher of insecure restlessness. An attitude of having to prove your worth or flex your size, whether it’s in front of others or for your own reassurance, is not one of confident ability. The goal is not to act confident and capable. It’s to be so. We want our kids to be comfortable with risk, adventure, pain, and danger all the way down. You can run into the battlefield because there’s no other choice, and then not be able to cope with the trauma and stress of the situation. The internal processing of fear does not come from simply getting used to the lifestyle. It comes from a deeper sense of security, shelter, and purpose.
The image painted by G.K. Chesteron comes to mind.
“We might fancy some children playing on the flat grassy top of some tall island in the sea. So long as there was a wall round the cliff’s edge they could fling themselves into every frantic game and make the place the noisiest of nurseries. But the walls were knocked down, leaving the naked peril of the precipice. They did not fall over; but when their friends returned to them they were all huddled in terror in the centre of the island; and their song had ceased.”- G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
We want to raise the kind of adults that are fearless from the inside out. The kind that run into the battle without hysteria and panic. We want to be a people that are confident, capable, and calm. The basis, I believe, for that kind of internal fearlessness is a specific type of sheltered environment, one that is rooted in a relationship.
When I would tell my 2-year-old to jump from the top of the high counter into my arms, I settle his nerves my assuring him of my attention and my ability. “My eyes are on you, and my arms are able to catch you.” When I would push my 5-year-old in opposition to his fears to climb the rock wall, I reassure him with my presence and my power. “I am here. And I won’t let you fall.” As their father, it’s my attention and my ability that provides the necessary shelter for them to confront danger. I want them to rest in that knowledge, and to risk because of it.
However, with all the frame my shoulders can supply, my senses are still limited, and my strength is not sufficient for every situation they will be in. And that’s okay, because, although I want them to know about my attention and ability, I am not their shelter. I am at best a fill-in – a finger pointing to where they can find their security. I can provide a small sampling of what is needed. But the relationship that grounds my kids with calmness in the storm is the one with their Maker. Unlike my limited attention, He is omniscient and omni-presence. His eyes are always with them. Unlike my insufficient strength, He is omnipotent. Nothing is difficult for him. I know, because in Him I, too, find my shelter.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” – Isaiah 41:10, ESV
God instructs His people to not be afraid, and assures them of His attention and His ability. “I am with you. I am your God.” We confront our moments of fear with faith in God’s presence and God’s power. As the psalmist writes,
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” – Psalm 23:4, ESV
We don’t know what awaits us tomorrow. We have our plans and our aspirations, and it can all be uprooted in a moment. Without warning, we find ourselves in the valley of the shadow of death, danger encompassing us. And in that moment, our souls are not restless. Our souls are reassured. We fear no evil, because our faith is in the Fear of Isaac. Our God is with us. And He is our God.
The object of our faith is not impersonal. We trust a person. My kids can roam free and fearless, because their father loves them and is able to help. We live with confidence, and laugh with calmness, because we trust the One who is always present and all-powerful. Our problems are not a strain on the Almighty. It is not difficult for Him to give us relief.
But there is a bit of a twist, the knowledge of which boosts our faith even more. When my 2-year-old hears me say, “Jump,” as he stands atop the counter, along with my assurances of attention and ability to catch him, the underlining issue in the situation remains silent. His focus is on jumping, and he’s wondering if he can trust me. But the issue at hand isn’t him having to jump. The issue at hand is the fact that I, the one telling him to jump, was the one who put him on the counter. Before reassuring him, before telling him to jump, I picked him up and put him there.
When we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we do so, ultimately, because God – the one who is present and powerful – brought us there. He is the one who leads us through the danger and the one who delivers us out of it. In the storm, God is our shelter. And, He sent the storm. We trust our Father not just because He is present and powerful, but also because He is the one who put us here.
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