“Mummy, will you come and play with me?"
"Not now, I'm too busy."
The child's hopeful request meets the harsh reality of adult preoccupations—a simple scene that captures a common, yet poignant moment. The mother's response, curt and perhaps unintentional in its sharpness, might leave a lasting impression on the young child, shaping their understanding of relationships and availability. It's a small interaction, but it's laden with emotional weight and the potential for reflection on the balance between life's demands and the simple, profound joy of being present with loved ones.
Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Word
“If anyone does not provide for his own,
and especially for those of his household,
he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”
I Timothy 5:8 (BSB).
In my younger days, I was part of an evangelical group that often extolled the virtues of our counterparts in an Asian country. Every week, without fail, we would hear glowing reports of their diligent evangelism, the speakers would proclaim. Their commitment was underscored by those admirable qualities intrinsic to this Asian culture—group harmony, punctuality, and a robust work ethic. These narratives were not merely informative but served as a persuasive tool intended to invigorate and, perhaps, "encourage" the congregants in the West.
I never was influenced by that. There was always time to provide pleasure and time with the children, camping trips, holidays, days out, listening to music and visiting other families with children. And no matter how busy I was, there was always time for a bedtime chat and a story. Sometimes collectively, sometimes individually— depending on the needs at the time. This was the eighties and the popular bedtime stories where those Ladybird books: The Elves and the Shoemaker, Chicken Licken, The Little Red Hen, Red Riding Hood and so on. When they were older, there was looking after their teenage needs. Goodness! I recall driving one of my teenage children to The Island of Bute after school every Friday to spend time with friends and making the three hours round trip again on Sunday to take him home again. Parents in many respects become taxis to take the teens to their get-togethers, but that’s the way it should be and I’m sure many young adults have grown up to appreciate such care.
But returning to the Asian families. Children who are neglected or not properly nurtured will become lost or withdrawn; victims of what I would describe as friendly fire—a casualty of an intense focus on organizational goals over personal and familial well-being. And this is not restricted to religion. It also embraces every walk of life where the temptation to follow your dream underscores love for the children, albeit, not deliberate.
This knowledge serves as a critical lesson: religious fervour, when misdirected, can inadvertently harm those it intends to nurture. The pressure to constantly perform and contribute can eclipse the fundamental joys and responsibilities of parenting—playing, teaching, exploring nature, and simply being present with one’s children. For those feeling the weight of guilt that you are not doing enough for your faith because your family takes precedence, I offer this advice: pause and reconsider your priorities. The scripture in 1 Timothy 5:8 emphasizes, “If anyone does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” This powerful admonition reminds us that neglecting familial obligations in the pursuit of religious accolades is a misstep.
If your religious organization pressures you to the extent that your family life suffers, it may be time to reassess your commitment. Serve God, certainly, but remember that service to God is reflected in how we care for and cherish our loved ones. Let us not be swayed by external expectations to the point where we neglect the essential human connections that enrich our faith and lives. In balancing our spiritual and familial. We will never get it perfect, but we will try.