One of the many blessings of being part of a church family is the way everyone rallies to help their own. When my fourth child was born, several ladies of the congregation devised a schedule whereby someone brought dinner to us every night for two weeks. I was blown away by the outpouring of love. 

One afternoon, a woman I didn’t know particularly well was scheduled to come by with dinner. She had never been to my home, so I wanted to make a good impression. She was a little older than me and it was important to me at the time for her to think I was a good homemaker who could handle four children. 

First, I made sure the children were wearing clothes. It was July in Texas, and my daughters preferred to wear their swimsuits all day. My 21-month-old son, if left alone for two minutes, could be found totally naked, running through the house with a piece of bologna stuck to his forehead. He also kept a spare piece of bologna stuck to the door of his room, should he need it later. I removed the bologna, dressed him and plopped him in a chair. I then changed the baby’s diaper, checked her face for dried spit-up, dressed her and put her in her crib. 

Then I looked at the girls’ room. It was destroyed. With precious little time left before our guest was to arrive, I opened the closet door and crammed their toys in as fast as I could. I leaned in until the latch caught and the door stayed closed. All the while my children stood in awe, watching their mom scramble about while huffing and puffing and mumbling things about kids not appreciating all the toys they have. 

With barely a moment to spare, the doorbell rang. I checked myself in the mirror and took a deep breath. The baby started screaming, so I instructed my 8-year-old to let the lady in while I got the baby. As I was distracted with the baby, my daughter let the lady in, showed her where to put the food, and then said, “Come here—I want to show you something.” 

She took the lady by the hand and sweetly led her down the hall to her room. With my calm baby now in my arms, I followed their voices. I rounded the corner to her room just in time to see my daughter open the door to the closet as an avalanche of toys tumbled out into the room.

I was mortified. My overwhelming goal for the day was to impress this lady. My great concern was what she might think about me, while my daughter simply wanted her to see us as we really were. In one innocent move, she cut through the facade as if to say, “I want you to see us on the inside; I want you to see us as we really are”—and then opened the closet door to our hearts and let the junk out. 

I learned something that day. My daughter’s actions reminded me that it is not important what others think about you. What is important is who you really are. Young children seem to understand this better than adults, who tend to be preoccupied with making a good impression, being accepted and fitting in. 

Every moment spent with a child is teaching them something, whether you intend to or not. That day, I modeled a preoccupation with acceptance rather than all of the other things I could have taught them, like the importance of church family, or hospitality or how to graciously accept a gesture of kindness. It was not one of my finer moments, but I did learn a valuable lesson. 

What lessons have you learned from your children? 

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3-4)