Column entry: The Wisdom of Children
Column Description: Pride is the childish pursuit of making the world, our family, friends, colleagues, and strangers small so that we can become large and more important. In this column, I focus on pride’s opposite: humility. In contrast to pride, humility is being in right proportion with the universe. Humility is the childlike pursuit of choosing to become small, so the world, our family, our friends, and everyone can become large to us again. By choosing to become small, we can live in a joyful state of awe at the tremendous world around us. This will inspire our curiosity and wonder because we want to know more about this awesome world, son, daughter, friend, colleague, or stranger before us. Practicing the virtue of smallness leads to a heart of worship and adoration, love and gratitude, joy and contentment.
April 2026 | February 2026 | September 2025
The Wisdom of Children
It was nearly 15 years ago when I thought it was a good idea to bring my firstborn son, Isaac, to a high school play when he was only one-and-a-half years old. Obviously, I was not following any guidance on what was developmentally appropriate for my son. My only defense is that babysitting options were limited that night. I was a youth pastor, and I guess my desire to please others was worth the risk to see if Isaac could sit through a 90-minute play. That’s right, 90 minutes.
Before the play started, Isaac tried to go under our seats and talk to other people. He became louder and louder, exploring the space more and more. Just as I came to my senses and was about to abort my plan, the lights went out, and the music started. It was the Nutcracker.
Luckily, my wife had been listening to the soundtrack with Isaac, so when the music started, he was hooked. Now that I am 15 years older, I can appreciate the miracle of his behavior. If I had any reservation believing in God, I didn’t after that night.
After the play concluded, I visited with some of the actors and actresses who were students in my youth ministry. By the time we were going to leave, my son was very tired. I picked him up and headed out of the theater. As we were walking outside, getting close to the parking lot, my son, who I thought was almost asleep, nearly shot out of my arms with excitement: “Daddy! It’s the moon! It’s the moon!”
Isaac saw the moon live, in person, for the first time.
He gave the moon a round of applause as his eyes grew wider. In his two-year-old smallness, Isaac modeled to me what it looks like to be rightly sized before God and His world, and we shared a beautiful moment of awe and wonder together.
It was a beautiful night in Southern Michigan. The moon was very bright and almost full. The stars seemed extra bright that night, and there were some scattered clouds throughout the sky. Some of the clouds seemed to frame the moon just right.
A deep sense of gratitude toward God, His world, and my son enveloped me, because I felt like I was seeing the moon for the first time, again.
Of course it was not the first time I saw the moon, but since Isaac was born, my wife, Ingrid, and I moved to a different state where we didn’t know anyone, were getting used to being parents, and I started a very busy youth pastor position. As soon as I started my new position, I let the demands of my job keep me away from home for much of the week. Even when I was off, I had a hard time turning my brain off to be present with my family. I was so focused on me and my schedule that I was becoming too large for God, His world, and my wife and son. I forgot the lesson my son taught me about remembering what’s truly important, the truly ‘big’ things in the world.
Even though I would say I love you and give them hugs, my actions communicated that my wife and my son’s value was instrumental to me. Their value was measured by how they helped me accomplish my goals. The result is that my wife and I agree that this was the most stressful and difficult time in our life together.
I wish I could say that ever since my son woke me out of my large and very important sense of self, I have not struggled to keep my childlike curiosity, but I can’t. However, I have worked on making my relapses into self-importance less frequent. I have learned the best way to do this is to allow my children to guide me.
When my almost 10-year-old son, Wesley, asks me to kick a soccer ball around, I’m reminded that breathing fresh air, getting out of breath (because he’s good), and laughing with my son is priceless. When my 14-year-old son, Jonathan, invites me to play Monopoly, I’m reminded how much I enjoy “wasting” time with him. I never regret playing (especially, when I win). When my 12-year-old daughter, Lily, wants to share her day with me, it reminds me how much I enjoy being involved in her life. When my almost 17-year-old son, Isaac, says, “Dad, can I show you the video I made?” I remember how cool it is to see my son create things. Plus, we usually enjoy watching a few silly trending videos that make us laugh.
Whenever I accept my children’s invitations to play, listen, laugh, love, and experience life together, I realize that I’m putting the virtue of smallness into action. I now understand the message my son Isaac sent me 15 years ago when I held him in my arms. When he shouted, “Daddy, look! It’s the moon! It’s the moon!” He was pulling me close and whispering, “Dad, come down here. Come on. Look. Everything is amazing when you’re small.”
And he’s right, the view is much better down here.
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