Skip to content

Shepherding a Child’s Heart

There’s actually a lot in Tedd Tripp’s book I agree with. The chapters on communication were the strongest parts of the book. I completely agree that communication with your kids is a “dialogue,” not a “monologue,” and it’s “not only the ability to talk, but also to listen.” Amen!

But there is also a great deal in his book I take issue with. None more than Tripp’s allegation that “our culture’s interest in the equality and dignity of individuals is not rooted in Scripture.” I re-read that sentence about 10-15 times to make sure I wasn’t misreading it. I wasn’t. However you interpret that sentence, it’s troubling. Very troubling.

More generally, Tripp takes too narrow a view of what it means to pursue “man’s chief end,” which is to “glorify God and enjoy him forever.” For Tripp, to glorify God means to obey God and to obey authority—and little else. In reality, while obedience is one component of glorifying God, God’s glory goes far beyond, and is much richer, deeper, and more meaningful than mere obedience itself. By over-emphasizing obedience above all else, Tripp leaves no room for other crucial values that kids need, namely the ability to think critically, to reason, to understand the why behind behaviors and choices, and ultimately to make choices for themselves.

For instance, in Tripp’s view, if a parent gives a child oatmeal for breakfast, the child is to eat that oatmeal “without challenge, excuse or delay.” The way of the wicked is to say, “You don’t want the oatmeal I have prepared; would you like something else?” Such a question undermines the authority of the parent.

This is a false and unnecessary choice between two extremes. There is another way. When I feed Audrey breakfast, I usually ask her in advance, “Audrey, do you want oatmeal or cereal for breakfast today?” She gets to pick between those two options. Notice, she can’t eat candy for breakfast. And if she chooses cereal and I make it for her, she can’t then change her mind. But at the same time, she’s empowered to make a decision and live with the consequences of that decision. As she gets older, she’ll eventually learn how to make her own breakfast. If she rejects my choices and wants scrambled eggs instead, she can make it for herself. But she would still not be allowed to choose candy. Eventually, the goal is for her to understand that candy shouldn’t be eaten for breakfast—not because it’s “not allowed,”—but because it’s not good for her. As a parent, I’m equipping her to become healthy in a self-sufficient way.

I’m pretty sure Tripp would reject my breakfast approach out of hand. He may even call it wicked. But what Tripp doesn’t understand is that obedience and empowerment aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s healthy to nurture both obedience and critical thinking in a child. It’s unhealthy not to.

Tripp also has a severely misguided view of self-esteem. In short, Tripp doesn’t believe in self-esteem or self-worth. He equates self-esteem with “pop psychology” and “manipulation” of others. He asks rhetorically, “How can you teach your children to function in God’s kingdom, where it is the servant who leads, if you teach them how to make the people in their world serve them?” and “Are there any passages that make the development of self-worth a biblically mandated goal?” [Answer: Yes!]

Tripp’s disregard for self-worth simply isn’t biblical. God actually calls us to a very high sense of worth, of ourselves and others. Rooted NOT in our own achievements or egos, but in our identity as beloved sons and daughters of the most high God. Christ values us so highly, that he died for our salvation. This knowledge should build UP our self-esteem, not knock it down.

Tripp wrongly assumes by having a lower self-worth, we will esteem others more. In reality, the opposite is true. Those who think lowly of themselves tend to have low esteem for other people, while those who have a healthy self-worth tend to have higher esteem for others. Tripp’s approach is not only misguided but dangerous. It could lead to devastating insecurity and shame within a child.

Finally, Tripp has too dogmatic of a view of spanking. For the record I’m actually not—NOT—against spanking, if done appropriately. And to his credit, Tripp lays out a sensible and well thought out approach to how parents should spank their kids. The problem is, Tripp over-reaches by suggesting that parents must spank their kids and that spanking is the only way to practice biblical discipline.

Proverbs says “Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him.” (22:15) On the one hand, Tripp doesn’t interpret this verse literally—he doesn’t suggest parents need to go find an iron rod to do their business. He is conceding the verse should be read metaphorically. But he never goes on to explain why spanking—a technique used on children only starting in the 1800s in Victorian Europe—must be the ONLY way to interpret this metaphorical instruction.

Instead, Tripp concludes, “You do not have the right to substitute what God has commanded with the popular ideas of the culture. God calls parents to spank their children.” No! Wrong! God doesn’t “call” parents to spank their children, at least not in the Bible. Rather, spanking IS a “popular idea of the culture”!

Overall, Tripp seems to have the right intentions, and the central theme of his book—that parents have a duty to shepherd their child’s heart—is absolutely right on. But becayse if his dogmatic and often unbiblical assumptions, he comes to a very narrow view of what shepherding a child’s heart actually means. If he were just to broaden his understanding of God’s glory and our role as parents, he wouldn’t as be as dogmatic. I come away from the book wishing to tell him: “Loosen up! God will still love you!”

The First Bible

Expanding on my prior FB status, lately Audrey’s taken a strong interest in The First Bible, a children’s Bible that Jane and I have been reading to her regularly. Here’s the thing–the Bible doesn’t translate well into a children’s book. It just doesn’t. I dare you to try turning Genesis 19:1-8 or 1 Samuel 18:25-27 into kid friendly picture books. It’s a bit like trying to transform the movie Pulp Fiction into a Sesame Street skit. The Scriptures may be the word of God, but make no mistake—the Holy Bible is decidedly rated R.

Which, to me, makes a lot of sense. The central message of the gospel is that God redeemed us from our sinful nature through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. And in order to have redemption, there must be something to be redeemed from.

Take the story of Moses leading the people of Israel out of Egypt, perhaps one of the most important historical stories of both the Jewish and Christian faiths. A story that’s been retold over thousands of years. It may be easy enough to depict the wonder of how God miraculously parted the Red Sea to allow the Israelites to cross into safety. But how do you explain to a two year old that God also killed every first born male in Egypt? And about that parting of the Red Sea, most children’s Bibles don’t depict the part where God wipes out Pharaoh’s entire army by drowning them. (Ex 14:28: “Not one of them survived.”)

On its surface, it might make sense to place the “Children’s Bible” under the same umbrella of children’s literature as, say, Good Night Moon or The Very Hungry Caterpillar. But in my view, that doesn’t give the Bible or God himself enough credit. The Bible is nothing like The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Even if you try to sanitize it or depict it using cartoon people, you can’t remove the gospel’s essence, which is that fallen man needs a redeeming savior. No right thinking parent would willingly allow his two year old to watch Schindler’s List or Saving Private Ryan. You don’t see picture book versions of Lolita flying off the shelves. But the Bible depicts these kinds of events and more, often in graphic detail. So when I read “The First Bible” to Audrey, I’m necessarily introducing her to a whole new level of depravity, far beyond even The Giving Tree. I’m not saying we shouldn’t read children’s versions of the Bible to our kids, but what I’m saying is that we shouldn’t do so lightly.

For me, this means being prepared to discuss the reality that people die (see my last post) and that sometimes people do bad things to each other. But also emphasizing the fact that God loves us, that he knows what’s best for us, and he wants us to be well. That’s where picture Bibles can work well, at presenting the reality of God’s grace and love for his people. The hope is that the love of God a concept that a child who feels loved by her parents can grasp.

“Batteries are not people!”

Audrey has been in full-on “why” mode for quite some time now. Her questions often leave me searching for answers. This past Saturday in the pool, she asked me the biggest stumper to date:

A: What happens if I stay underwater for a long, long time?
Me: Then you won’t be able to breath.
A: What happens if I don’t breath?
Me: Then you would die.
A: What happens if I die?
Me: Then daddy would be very sad.
A: Why would you be very sad?
Me: Mmm…

I make it a point to try to answer all of Audrey’s questions at all times. I feel it’s important to make her feel heard. But this time around I felt unprepared to explain the full contours of “why I would feel sad.” So I ended up changing the subject without really addressing her question. Then the next day, while Audrey was playing with a flashlight, we had this brief exchange:

Me: Audrey, we have to turn off the flashlight now.
A: Why?
Me: Because otherwise the batteries might die.
A: Silly daddy, batteries are not people! Hah hah hah hah.

Wow.

According to experts, toddlers under age five don’t have the cognitive ability to appreciate the permanence of death. But clearly Audrey is onto something, and she’s expressed curiosity about learning more. As a parent, I feel it’s my responsibility to talk to Audrey about the nature of our mortality. Inevitably we will all have to say goodbye. And every single day, I am grateful that we haven’t lost someone we love. But that can change any moment. So when is the right time to talk to our kids about dying? And what should we say?

Lately, before bed, I’ve been asking myself how I would feel if this had been my last day on earth. As “lofty” as this might sound in theory, in practice it comes down to reviewing the small and mundane decisions I’ve made throughout the day. For instance, the other night I asked myself, did I want to volunteer for a project at work that would “pad my resume” or would I rather spend that time reading about college football? I opted for college football. Not exactly an “inspired” choice. But once I made the decision, I was able to read all the college football news I cared for while in the office, freeing up extra time at home to spend with family. It turns out that family and football is what I wanted all along.

I suspect that Audrey will tell me when she wants to know more about death. Rather than forcing an awkward conversation on her before she’s ready or interested, I’m hoping to wait for her cues and introduce the topic in baby steps. Sometimes in little Q&A exchanges like we had above, or as she gets older, through more extended conversations. It doesn’t need to happen all at once. But next time around I would like to feel more prepared to know what to say.

Tiger Mom Redux

Amy Chua is obsessed with achievement. On page 193, she says, “Winning prizes gives you opportunities, and that’s freedom.” For her, “winning” is much more than a twitter tagline. It’s oxygen, without which she can’t survive. It defines everything she is, and is the only thing that matters. For her, and for her kids. You probably know people who are like this. Maybe you are one of them.

Taking nothing away from the very real differences between Western and Chinese parenting styles—a vibrant theme in Chua’s book—I’m of the view that obsession with achievement transcends all races and genders. Remember Michael Jordan’s infamous Hall of Fame speech? Here is a man who is not only the greatest basketball player of all time, but one of the greatest athletes in history. But he still has something to prove, still has a chip on his shoulder, still has to show the world that he’s the best. MJ’s rural North Carolina childhood couldn’t be more different from Chua’s traditional, Chinese upbringing. Yet both Jordan and Chua share a powerful need to win.

So what exactly motivates super achievers? In my prior post, I suggested that Chua was ultimately driven by fear of losing her upper class status. In a hypercompetitive world, the fear of downshifting is a common one shared by many American families. Cf. Race to Nowhere.

But it turns out I was wrong. Chua is motivated by fear, but her fear runs far deeper than just losing her prestigious life. Near the end of her memoir Chua’s sister Katrin is diagnosed with an aggressive strain of leukemia. Watching her sister struggle with cancer, Chua knows that no matter how many prizes she collects, she will never be able to overcome death. Perhaps what motivates Chua to be so hyper-obsessed with achievement is a fear of her own mortality, her complete impotence against it, and a desire to leave a lasting legacy after she is gone.

On page 229, Chua says, “Given that life is so short and so fragile, surely each of us should be trying to get the most out of every breath, every fleeting moment. But what does it mean to live life to its fullest?” It’s a question she leaves unanswered. Personally, I think she has no idea. Chua seems to live her life in a vacuum of uncertainty that she tries to fill with worldly success and achievement. Success is what she thinks will “give you opportunities, and that’s freedom.”

But is it? Is it really?? Not to sound cynical but if we are nothing but accidental life forms spinning around a ball of gas in an ever expanding universe, I’m not sure that winning another prize is really going to matter.

It’s pretty clear from this post that I disagree with Chua’s worldview. But it’s much easier to knock something down than build something up. I talk about “values” a lot in this blog, but up until now I’ve been coy about stating what mine are exactly. So, while not exactly earth shattering news, for the record, here’s what I believe: Love God and glorify him, love my family and friends, and love my neighbors.

Do I live out these values perfectly? Hardly. Just ask Jane if I do and she WILL laugh out loud. I fully admit I can be prone to competitiveness and materialism or just tempted to live a selfish life. To quote Samuel L. Jackson from the classic Pulp Fiction, “The truth is, you’re the weak and I’m the tyranny of evil men.” But in the movie’s pivotal turn, Jackson goes on to say, “But I’m trying, Ringo. I’m trying real hard to be [like] the Shepherd.” I’m not particularly obtrusive about my values–to which I credit my own parents in large part–but what I can say is that when I make decisions based on them, I’ve generally found it’s led to a more centered, less stressful, and more peaceful existence.

Cradle Song, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger;
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.

My very vocal daughter

“I have a tremendous mouthful of blueberries in my little tin pail.” (Inspired by Blueberries for Sal.)

“I can’t give halmoni [grandma] a hug because I have poop in my diaper.”

“I love you Audrey.”
“I love you too, daddy.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”

Awesome.

Transition Defense

Audrey doesn’t like transitions. Anytime she is in the middle of doing something — say, playing in her playroom — she resists transitioning to doing something else, such as eating lunch. She sometimes resists even if the next thing is something fun that she’d otherwise want to do. In these situations, we typically end up bargaining. One effective and oft-used carrot is, “You can play for three more minutes, and then it’s time to go.” Another good one is, “Why don’t you pick two toys to bring with you?” That one works especially well if we are trying to get her upstairs to start her bedtime routine.

It probably comes as no surprise that Jane and I opt for negotiating more often than sheer force or threats of discipline (although we’ve tried all three). I read in a parenting book once to never “negotiate” with your children. But when you have to slog through transitions day-after-day, you learn to pick your battles. Is this the right approach? Should we be demanding greater obedience? Audrey has been clearly testing limits recently. Like all parents, we’re making it all up on the fly.

But my gut sense is that the way we’re tackling this aspect of parenting IS the right approach for us for many reasons, and not just because it works. First, Audrey is generally a good rule follower. She knows that she only drinks her chocolate milk in a box when she’s in the car, and not when she’s at home. She knows not to touch the portable heater in her room. I’m not at all concerned that she is an out of control problem child, and neither is anyone who knows her. Second, Jane and I try to modulate our approach depending on the kind of mood Audrey is in. When she’s tired or cranky, she tends to be more obstinate and will require more discipline. If she’s sick or had a horrible night sleep, she may be extremely unruly, and in that instance we may need to just pick her up by force. Usually those situations also require changing our schedule for the day. So it’s not a one size fits all approach. Third, I think there are actually positive benefits to negotiations. It can be a teaching tool. In the course of negotiating with Audrey, we’re opening the channels of communication, and also helping her to understand the reasons behind decisions that are made. In my view, the danger to a strict obedience-only approach is that it closes off opportunities for dialogue and listening. “My way or the highway” might create an impression of authority, but in reality it undermines obedience by creating resentment and silent hostility, as well as blocking self-awareness.

There’s one other reason I believe negotiating works that has nothing to do with Audrey. And that’s simply that it’s a style of parenting that I’m more comfortable with. That being said, if and when we have a second child, and that individual tends to be more disobedient, or equally critical, if Audrey herself becomes more disobedient as she grows older, then I’ll need to have a firmer hand. The true test will be whether I’m able to adapt my parenting style to meet the needs of a changing environment when that day comes.

On Superior Chinese Mothers

Much has been made of Amy Chua’s recent WSJ article, “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior.” In a nutshell, Chua, a Yale law professor, embodies the parenting assumption that it’s “better to be feared than to be loved.” Says Chua, “You have to be hated sometimes by someone you love and who hopefully loves you.” Her parenting techniques are overtly transactional and mean. She forces her kids to practice piano for long hours, calling them lazy and pathetic until they get it right. Getting a “B” in school would result in a “screaming, hair-tearing explosion,” and working with the child through “hundreds of practice tests for as long as it takes to get the grade up to an A.”

I do agree with Chua in principle that discipline is a necessary ingredient to success, and parents have a responsibility to instill discipline in their kids. But beyond that general principle, Chua’s approach is not reflective of my own, at least to date. It’s clear Chua’s article has touched a nerve amongst the chattering class. Not least of which because she explicitly claims that her method is “superior”–making Westerner’s methods inferior. Also, her column once again raises the racial stereotype of Asians as the “model minority.” But while Chua’s parenting technique makes her an easy target of criticism, few people seem to be discussing the motivation behind her approach.

You may disagree with Chua’s approach to parenting–the insults, threats, coercion, the hundreds and hundreds of drills, forbidding kids from participating in the school play, or playing any instrument other than the piano or violin–but ask yourself why Chua chooses to raise her kids in this way? To what end? Is Chua really out to deliberately harm her kids? Quite the opposite, she probably genuinely believes she is doing right by her kids. But again, what does “doing right by her kids” mean exactly?

In a column in response to Chua’s article, Judith Warner writes, “The terror of losing ground is the ultimate driving force in the middle- and upper-middle-class American family today.” According to Warner, “however obnoxious and over the top her attempts to cope, Chua is hardly alone in believing that, in her carefully considered ministrations, she will find the perfect alchemy that will allow her to inoculate her kids against personal and professional misfortune.” Chua herself admits this in her own words. She writes that “the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they’re capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away.”

Notice the use of the phrase “protect their children.” In other words, it’s not about letting children see what they’re capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits, and inner confidence as an end in itself. Rather, these are tools to be used as a means to safety. There is a palpable fear underlying Chua’s parenting choices. A fear that her kids will not enjoy the same prestigious, upper class lifestyle she enjoys. Or more cynically, a fear that less-than-perfect children will make her look bad. Whatever the case, I don’t think Chua’s fear is all that different from the fear faced by Western parents, even if their styles may clash.

So are parents–East or West–right to be scared? And is this underlying fear a legitimate driver of parental choices? The reflexive answer is no, but to be honest I’m still thinking through this issue myself. In other words, I’d like to think that the answer for me would be no, but I haven’t fully articulated to myself the concrete reasons why that is the right answer. Stay tuned.

Children’s Books – A Rant

Audrey loves to read. Correction: Audrey loves to be read to. Both Jane and I (but especially Jane) try to accommodate her insatiable appetite for reading, spending hours and hours a day reading to her. At last count we have close to 200 children’s books in our home. Books and books and books and books. Audrey also loves to “read.” That is, she’ll sit by herself with a picture book in her lap, staring at the pictures and carefully turning the pages on her own. It’s a joy to watch. Sometimes (like last night), she’ll “read” herself a book to sleep.

That said, I have a vociferous complaint about children’s books in general and picture books in particular. They’re stuck in a different time. I can’t tell you how many picture books I’ve read featuring chickens, cows, ducks, farms, or barnyards. Audrey probably knows more about ducks than I will in my lifetime. Picture book authors and illustrators seem to think the world stopped turning shortly after Of Mice and Men. Walk into the children’s section of any bookstore or library and you’ll find this to be true. How many books will you find where a group of schoolchildren go to visit the “zoo”? How many books will you find on variations of “Let’s Look Around the Farm”?

But here’s the thing — while you’re at the bookstore, try to find a picture book that is set in a city. Not a farm, not a suburb, but an honest to goodness city. You’ll find them, but you have to hunt and peck for a while. While I’m at it, guess how many picture books I’ve seen (not bought, not read, just seen) featuring a cellphone? Or a laptop? Or a satellite? Zilch, zero, nada. Even the lowly desktop computer makes few if any appearances in picture books. On the very rare occasion you see one, it’s the antiquated cathode-ray tube monitor of the 80s and 90s. Ironically, the most urban, technology-oriented picture book I’ve ever found is Richard Scarry’s “Best Word Book Ever” which was published in 1963!

Of course, most Americans today aren’t farmers, and haven’t been for a hundred years. Most of us live in urban settings. Most of us spend all day with our laptops and smartphones, and the only cows and pigs we see are sitting on our dinner plate. So why do we relegate our toddlers to learning about horses and hay? Some might say that we’re protecting our little ones from the inevitability of cell phones, video games, and multi-tasking that will come in a few short years. Maybe — but willful blindness is not particularly useful preparation for an incoming deluge of information technology. Others might suggest that toddlers are too young to understand books about complex technology. I’d disagree completely. If you’ve ever seen a two year old deftly handle an iPhone, you know that’s not true.

In reality, the idea of writing a picture book featuring laptop computers might just seem . . . weird. Plus, it’s just much harder to write about the modern world than it is about farms. Sure little baby ducklings are cute, but anyone can write a word book called “Let’s Look Around the Farm.” How many people can write a word book featuring the components of a modern day laboratory?

But in my view, we’re doing a major disservice to our 21st century children if we are only teaching them 19th century technology. You might think that it doesn’t matter what they are reading so long as they read, but even at 2 years old, kids soak up an incredible amount of information. Why not a book called “Let’s Look Around the Hospital”? Why not a book about schoolchildren on a field trip to an hybrid car manufacturer, rather than the zoo? It will come as no surprise to you that I’ve spend hours trying to find a single picture book about the stock market, and have come up empty handed.

However, there is hope out there for those of us who want our kids to learn about the world as it is today, and not as it was in 1900. Below is a list of books that Jane and I have found that features urban settings and the modern environment. I’d highly recommend, in no particular order, any of these “needles in the haystack” (pun intended).

I Live in Brooklyn, Mari Takabayashi
Good Night, California (or any in the Good Night series — not to be confused with Good Night Moon)
This is Paris (or others in the This is.. series)
Clang! Clang! Beep! Beep! Listen to the City, Robert Burleight
Most Richard Scarry books
Our California, Pam Munoz Ryan
The Name Jar, Yangsook Choi
Uncle Peter’s Amazing Chinese Wedding, Lenore Look
The Snowy Day, Ezra Jack Keats
Olivia, Ian Falconer

Any other recommendations would be gladly welcome. :)

The Giving Tree


The Giving Tree remains one of A’s favorite books. She loves looking at the pictures of the apples, the tree, and the boy. We’re very grateful for our dear friend who gifted this book to A, and the many hours of joy it’s brought her and us. The book’s forty-plus years of success also stands as a testament to its emotional resonance with parents and children alike. It’s useful, though, to remember that the book was always meant to be a cautionary tale, despite the fact that many readers seem find the book “inspiring” and “uplifting.” Most critics of the book focus on the boy and how selfish and demanding he is. But as a parent, I’m more critical of the role played by the tree. She seems to be fatally flawed in several ways. Specifically:

1. The tree has no appreciation of the boy’s true needs

If you think about it, in some ways the giving tree is as selfish as the boy. Notice how every time the boy comes around, the first thing she always says is, “Come, Boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches.” As much fun was this was for the boy as a child, as he becomes a teenager and later a grown-up, it just doesn’t offer the same happiness it once did. Of course the tree truly wants the boy to be happy. But to the very end, the tree treats the boy like a child, and calls him “boy,” long after he’s become a man. She just doesn’t want him to grow up and lose interest in playing on her branches. The tree wants things to be the same as they were, and can’t transition alongside the boy’s development.

2. The tree fails to teach the boy independence

The tree also seems wholly unable to teach rather than merely give. Instead of giving the boy what he needs—the skills to live life on his own—she gives him whatever he wants, whenever he asks. Instead of wanting the boy to grow up to become an independent, self-actualized human being, all the tree wants is for the boy to come and play. As a result, the boy’s outside life is broken.

3. The tree is overly dependent on the boy to meet her own needs

Finally, the giving tree is a very lonely tree, and overly dependent on the boy to fulfill her own personal needs for community and belonging. Notice that the tree is not alone. She lives in a forest (“The forest is my home.”). Presumably, she’d be surrounded by other trees, plants, and animals to play with. But rather than helping the boy grow towards independence and self-sufficiency she’s fixated on this boy to meet her own wants and needs.

At the end of the book, the boy comes around one last time, and by then he doesn’t have any more needs other than to sit and rest. It’s implied that the story ends just before the boy (and possibly the tree) is about to die. In my view, Silverstein did not mean this book to be about parenting at all but an allegory about the environment, where the tree is the earth and the boy is humanity. Read in this light, the story is just as powerful and meaningful, not as an inspiration but rather a tragedy. I still enjoy reading this book to A, but more as a reminder about what to avoid rather than what to follow.