I didn't really care for children’s books growing up.
I didn't experience the joy of reading compelling stories until I was in middle school. However, what I found myself drawn to were the stories I stepped into by happenstance during the holidays.
My aunts, uncles, parents, grandmothers would tell of a past that I enjoyed imagining as I sat on a couch observing with great anticipation to hear which cousin threatened to hurt who. Papa was spied on by the FBI when? Daddy took her to homecoming ? I beckoned at the chance to relive a time filled with such suspense and thrill, though the throes of Jim Crow would hardly be characterized as a time worth reliving.
One thing I garnered from listening to my family’s past were the often-said statements prefaced with the words,
"Papa would always...Mama didn't allow us to...Big Daddy made it a point to...Auntie never let us walk out the house with..."
There were these unknown figures, at least to me, who created such an indelible mark on my elders that long into their old age they still recalled what their elders instilled in them and what they would later try to pass down.
What I didn't know then, and am just now beginning to understand now, is that my elders spoke of a family culture- one filled with standards, traditions, boundaries, and customs.
Fast forward to now, living in my 30s and married with 5 young kiddos.
For a few years, I felt the Holy Spirit impress on me to consider carefully the culture my husband and I were cultivating within our home.
When we didn't have children, my husband and I could binge-watch multiple series on Netflix.
Popcorn and ice cream could suffice for a few dinners.
Carelessly spending here or there could go without much consequence.
And our visions/goals were important but didn't feel quite vital.
When our firstborn arrived, we felt the following verse deeply, "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom (Psalm 90:12)." Some things needed to change.
Why culture?
Culture is a powerful tool.
It can imprint habits within the soul of an individual and thereby mold certain thinking. It has the power to apprehend young maturing souls to establish rhythms and patterns with ease when it is steadily threaded into one's fabric to "just do so."
It's what makes the 80-year-old man take off his shoes when entering anybody's house despite hearing polite pleasantries to not.
It's what commands the mama to cook a pot of black-eyed peas every Jan. 1st, without fail.
It's what obliges the father to watch every single football game of his favorite team, less to do with discipline than nostalgia.
The questions my husband and I needed to ask ourselves were, "What are we trying to imprint and what sort of thinking are we attempting to mold within the minds of our children through the daily rhythyms of our home?"
Like I said, fast forward. My husband and I now have five young children. Life has come at us with lightning speed. Over the years, my husband and I have read the books, made the charts, written down the goals, and at the end of the day, we conclude that we just want our children-and one another- to know the Lord, be known by Him, and be obsessed with His Presence.
So…
whenever I sometimes begrudgingly but determinedly pull out the table cloth for my kids to place their paper plates around our secondhand round table, I do so with the purpose of creating a moment. In time, multiple moments to capture a memory. Memories to thread a story. A story that points to a remembrance of a hoped for future utterance which states, “When we were growing up, we ate together.”
It's the same when I pull out the muffin tins, or bake the sourdough, or stay up late on a Saturday evening prepping for Sunday morning church, or budget for date nights, or say "no" to the multitude of evening extracurriculars to protect our family time.
I desire for my children to recall a childhood filled with inviting smells, good food, healthy rhythms, and moments of pause.
But why do I take such efforts to vie for these things, specifically?
Speaking transparently, I have a bigger purpose than just a home that smells nice and occupies children with full bellies.
As the culture says, I have an agenda haha.
I do these things so that when my children taste and see that the Lord is good, it tastes somewhat familiar.
When they experience sweet intimacy with the Lord, they recall seeing it first between their parents.
When they smell the aroma of Christ, it's recognizable from taking in its whiff from those intentionally placed into their lives.
When they encounter the overwhelming love of God, they harken back to the remembrance of their Mama's embrace.
When they experience the merciful pruning from their Saviour, they don't shudder in shame but naturally welcome its refining due to years of doing so under the care of their earthly father.
And when they feel it's time to be still in His Presence, they've practiced the art in their day-to-day.
Yes, culture is a powerful tool.
My prayer is that my children look back on the years residing in my and my husband's home and can honestly say, "My parents attempted to bring God's Kingdom culture within our home in the midst of the daily."