Why Children Are a Gift From God

The Bible says children are a gift from God.

When I was a new parent, I thought I knew what that meant. Children are a gift because they’re sweet and innocent — brand new little humans handed to us to love. Sure. That’s true.

But twenty-four years into being a parent of three very different kids, I believe something different now.

Children are a gift because they raise us.

They raise us into better human beings — if we let them.

Let me show you what I mean.

She’s Not the Problem. She’s the Mirror.

Your three-year-old melts down in the grocery store. Screaming, on the floor, over the wrong colour cup. Something rises up in you, fast and hot. And the story in your head is simple: she’s the problem. She’s embarrassing me. She needs to stop.

But she’s three. What she’s doing is exactly what three-year-olds do. The part of her brain that calms her down isn’t fully built yet. That’s not bad behaviour. That’s a small nervous system doing what it’s supposed to.

So if she’s doing what’s completely normal for her age — why are you so worked up?

Because her meltdown pressed on something old in you.

Maybe when you cried, you got yelled at. Maybe you were scolded, shamed, sent to your room. You were given the message that good kids don’t “misbehave.” Maybe your parents — who probably learned it from their parents — believed that what they were doing was discipline. That for a child to be “good” meant they had to behave, obey, and submit to authority. To be controlled.

So somewhere in all of that, you learned that big feelings are dangerous. That losing control gets you punished.

And now, when your child loses control, two things surface that have nothing to do with her: how uncomfortable you are when you’re not in control, and how hard it is for you to stay calm when you feel shame — that your kid is having a tantrum in public, which must mean you’re a bad parent.

Your child didn’t create that. She just revealed it.

What Teenagers Are Actually Telling You

The same thing happens with a teenager who pushes back. We call it rebellion.

Usually, it’s information.

He needs more room to be his own person. Your worry is landing on him as control. The grip is too tight, and pushing back is the only way he knows how to breathe.

Kids don’t hand us a report card. They hand us a mirror.

And here’s the holy part: if you can humble yourself enough to look at the mirror instead of the child — if you can pause long enough to ask what they’re showing you — the whole thing stops being a power struggle and becomes a correction. Not of them. Of you.

That’s how you become a better human being, and correspondingly, a better parent.

That’s the gift.

Now Here’s Where It Gets Bigger Than Parenting

What I see again and again in my work is this: how you parent is often how you do marriage.

You’d say you love your partner. Of course you do. But watch your face the next time they tell you something. Watch your tone when they bring up money again. If most of what lands on your partner is disappointment, frustration, correction, and that little sigh — then what they feel is: I’m not good enough for you.

So they stop telling you things. They give the short answer. They keep the peace by keeping quiet.

And then we get upset that they don’t open up. “You never talk to me.” “Why do I have to drag everything out of you?”

But we almost never ask the one question that would change everything:

What might I have done to bring out this reaction in them?

This connects to something I’ve written about before — the way our unexamined wounds quietly run the show in our closest relationships. If that resonates, you might recognise yourself in Your Marriage Reveals Your Wounds.

Your Work This Week

Ask that question. Ask it about your child. Ask it about your partner. Ask it honestly.

Not to beat yourself up — blame is just another way to stay stuck. Ask it with curiosity. Stay grounded long enough to really look.

Because here’s what I’ve found, again and again: the thing that needs fixing is almost always closer to home than we want it to be. It’s usually in us.

And that’s actually good news. You can’t change your partner. You can’t change your kid. But you can change you — and when you do, everyone around you is better for it.

Here’s what I want to leave you with:

• Your child’s meltdown is not a verdict on your parenting. It’s an invitation to look inward.
• Your teenager’s pushback is not disrespect. It’s a signal worth decoding.
• Your partner’s silence is not indifference. It may be a response to something you haven’t noticed yet.
• The question “what might I have done to bring this out?” is not self-blame. It’s self-awareness — and it’s where real change begins.

Your children will learn how to love from watching how you love. Not from what you say about it — from what you do when you’re tired, triggered, and no one’s watching. That’s the lesson they’ll carry into their own marriages one day.

Make sure it’s one worth passing on.