The Worst Part About Being a Christian Husband and Father
One afternoon behind a lawn mower reminded me that peaceful homes don’t happen by accident.
I was finishing up mowing the backyard this week when God interrupted my train of thought.
If you mow your own yard, you probably understand what I mean. There is something about mowing that clears my head. Maybe it’s the rhythm of walking back and forth. Maybe it’s seeing the neat lines appear behind you. Maybe it’s the instant gratification of taking something that looks a little wild and making it look cared for again. Whatever it is, I do a lot of thinking while I’m mowing.
This particular afternoon, I shut the mower off and just stood there for a minute. The yard looked good. The deck looked even better. I’d finally gotten around to staining it, and it looked brand new. Karen’s gazebo was sitting on top with the lights hanging around it, the couches I’d built were in place, and the landscaping project I’d been working on was finally starting to come together. I still want to add some decorative bracing to the gazebo, but for the first time in a while, I looked around and simply enjoyed what God had allowed me to build.
Whenever something like that happens, I’ve developed a habit over the years.
I thank God.
I don’t say that to sound super spiritual. Most of the time nobody is around to hear me anyway. It’s simply become something I intentionally do. When I notice something beautiful, when I see one of God’s blessings, or when something makes me smile, I stop and thank Him.
So that’s exactly what I did.
I smiled, shook my head, looked around one more time, and quietly said, “Thank You, Lord.”
As I stood there, my mind wandered like it usually does. My newest book (Built to Last) had just released, and the response had been better than I ever imagined. New writing opportunities have been opening up lately, and every time one does, I’m reminded that none of this is because I’m especially talented. It’s because God has been incredibly gracious.
Then I looked across the yard and saw one of my kids riding his bicycle.
Like every parent, I could make you a list of things they do that get on my nerves. Four kids under one roof can make enough noise to convince you the house is being remodeled. They fuss with each other sometimes over the dumbest things, and they things that should cause a fuss are ignored for whatever reason. They eat like a plague of locusts has descended upon the pantry. They leave cups in places that seem to defy the laws of physics.
They’re kids.
But then another thought crossed my mind.
Whenever we’re out in public, people constantly tell Karen and me how respectful they are. They’ll carry on conversations with adults. They have manners. They’re genuinely enjoyable to be around.
More importantly, every one of them has trusted Christ, and each of them is growing in their faith in his or her own way. I have never had to sit them down and convince them that church matters. They want to go.
Then I thought about Karen.
Some men use mowing the yard as an escape from what’s waiting inside the house. They’ll stay outside just a little longer because the garage is quieter than the living room.
Not me.
Don’t get me wrong. I like mowing. I like working outside more than a lot of my household chores.
But I love walking back through the door.
I love my wife.
I love my kids.
I love the life God has given me.
That’s when I believe the Lord planted the seed for this article.
It wasn’t an audible voice, but the thought was so clear it may as well have been.
“Well, Maury...this home you’re leading is partly your fault.”
I laughed.
Then I shook my head again.
Because He was right.
Walking Through the Door
I stepped inside, and Christian worship music was playing through one of our speakers. Nobody had been told to turn it on. Nobody had been forced to listen to it. Somebody in our house simply wanted to hear music that pointed their heart toward Jesus.
That made me smile.
Karen was in the kitchen making banana pudding because I didn’t get much on Father’s Day.
Our locusts...I mean, our kids...had made sure of that.
I started getting hamburgers ready for the Blackstone because I’d promised everyone burgers for supper. Every one of the kids has a favorite cheese, and after all these years I know which slice belongs on which burger without having to ask. Mine is pepper jack and cheddar.
I had even timed supper so Brighton would be getting home from work just as everything was ready.
Earlier that afternoon I’d texted him and asked if he’d grab me a Coke.
When he walked through the door, he held it up and grinned.
“Do you know how much this was? Three dollars,” he said.
“I’ll pay you back.” I walked over and handed him twelve quarters.
A few weeks earlier he’d bought a video game online and paid me back the exact same way. Turnabout’s fair play.
It wasn’t really about the Coke. It was about the relationship.
I’ve realized lately that something is changing between Brighton and me. He’s still my son, but we’re slowly entering that season where we’re becoming friends too. I don’t dread my kids growing up the way some parents do. Honestly, I look forward to it. It’s like reading a really good book. Every chapter gets better than the one before it.
The house just felt...
Peaceful.
Not silent. Four kids live here.
Peaceful.
Karen eventually stepped back inside after sitting on the deck for a while and smiled.
“That backyard is my happy place,” she said. “Thank you for making it so pretty.”
I don’t think she was really talking about the deck. I think she was talking about the life we’ve built together.
Standing there with hamburger grease on my hands, I quietly thanked God again. Then another thought hit me. Maybe none of this happened by accident.
Peace Is Cultivated
Karen has a saying that I’ve heard her repeat more than once when we have led marriage studies.
“As the husband goes, so goes the household.”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized she’s probably right.
Homes don’t naturally drift toward peace. They drift toward chaos. Peace has to be cultivated.
The atmosphere inside our home didn’t magically appear one Tuesday afternoon. It has been built over thousands of ordinary moments that nobody else will ever see.
Every conversation.
Every apology.
Every prayer.
Every hug.
Every family dinner.
Every bedtime Bible reading.
Every decision to leave work at work.
Every one of those moments has quietly shaped the culture of our home.
Then it hit me.
The atmosphere inside our house is, at least in part, in fact my fault.
Not because I’m perfect. Far from it.
But because fathers are culture builders whether we realize it or not. For better or worse.
That got me thinking about the “bad side” of being a Christian husband and father.
You know...
The terrible burden of actually having to live like one.
The Bad Side #1: Somebody Has to Go First
Nobody told me that becoming a Christian father meant I’d actually have to open my Bible instead of just owning several of them.
I really do have several.
There’s the King James Bible I received for Christmas in 1989. Every Christmas Eve I still read Luke 2 from that same Bible before our family goes to bed. I have my Tony Evans Study Bible that I carry to church every Sunday. The spine is beginning to fall apart, which tells me it’s being used the way it was intended. I have other Bibles that people have given me over the years, and many of those have now been passed down to my children until they received their own.
Next to my bed is a prayer journal. It’s filled with prayers, answers, and praises. Lately God has been answering so many prayers that I almost can’t keep up with writing them down. I pray for my wife. I pray for my daughters. I pray for Brighton’s future career and for the young woman who will one day become his wife.
He hasn’t met her yet.
But Karen and I have already been praying for her.
I did the same thing before I met Karen. I’m awfully glad I did.
My kids know where that journal is. My sermon notebooks are sitting out too. In fact, my daughters eventually asked for notebooks of their own because they wanted to take notes during church just like Dad. Brighton carries a composition notebook with him every Sunday.
Nobody made that happen. Nobody was told they had to do it.
They watched.
Just today, Brighton came home excited to tell me what he’d been studying. He had been reading about David after Absalom’s death and told me how David’s grief reminded him of God’s love for us. Even after Absalom rebelled against his father, David still loved him. Brighton saw a picture of God’s heart in that story.
I never had to ask if he’d spent time with the Lord.
His excitement answered the question before I ever could.
Children rarely become what we demand.
More often, they become what they see.
The Bad Side #2: You Have to Keep Dating the Same Woman
Poor me.
I have to spend the rest of my life with the same beautiful woman.
The one who’s gorgeous, smart, funny, and somehow still likes me after all these years.
Life is rough.
Karen still comes over, grabs my arm, and throws it around her shoulder. Then she’ll smile and ask, “You still like me?”
I always answer, “I think so.”
Our kids see that. They see us hold hands. They see us hug. They see us laugh.
They also see that we’re on the same team.
Whenever one of the kids tries to play the odds by asking the other parent after already receiving an answer, the response is almost always the same.
“What did your Mama say?”
Or...
“What did your Daddy say?”
We stand together.
Karen has made me a better man. Truthfully, I think I crave her respect even more than her love. Knowing she loves me is easy. Respect has to be earned, and she respects me in a way that makes me want to become an even better husband tomorrow than I was today.
I’ve realized something else over the years.
I might be the chisel that knocks off some of the rough edges around our house.
Karen is the polisher.
She’s the one who smooths those edges until they shine.
That’s one of the greatest gifts God ever gave me.
The Bad Side #3: Somebody Has to Protect the Atmosphere
I work from home now, so technically I don’t come home anymore.
I clock out.
The funny thing is that my kids know exactly what time that happens. Within minutes somebody usually appears in the bonus room.
“Daddy...are you off?”
Usually a hug follows along with a “Yes!” Sometimes with a request.
Usually both.
I don’t mind.
Actually, I invited it.
Even when I’m writing, one or two of them are usually sitting beside me asking what I’m writing about or whether they’re in the story. They love it.
Life wasn’t always like that.
When I worked retail years ago, I had an hour commute one way. Karen had already left for work before I woke up, and by the time I got home around nine o’clock at night, she was exhausted and so was I.
We weren’t angry.
We were just tired.
We felt like two ships passing in the night.
I hated it.
Around that same time, I made another decision.
Growing up, I didn’t always enjoy when my dad brought work home emotionally. I remember how that felt.
So I decided my wife and kids would never become the dumping ground for my bad day.
If somebody at work frustrates me...
That isn’t my family’s fault.
They’re my refuge.
I want to be theirs.
My kids joke that I’m Batman.
I don’t think they’re talking about the cape.
I think they’re talking about the calm. And the fact that I have a complete Batsuit hanging in my closet, but I digress.
When something goes wrong, I want them to believe Dad has a plan. Sometimes I’m already on Plan C because Plans A and B have completely fallen apart, but they don’t need to see my panic.
They need to see my faith.
When storms come, I want my family to think, “If Daddy isn’t worried, maybe everything’s going to be okay.”
Not because I’m fearless.
Because they know I trust the One who is.
The Bad Side #4: They’re Always Watching
Children are incredible observers.
They notice far more than we think they do.
My boys know they’re called to be gentlemen, even when it’s difficult. They’ve watched me try to treat people with kindness, even when those people haven’t always deserved it.
Unfortunately, they’ve also inherited my sarcasm.
We’re still working on proper timing and audience. Progress is being made.
They’ve watched me stop to help people.
They’ve watched Karen quietly serve people.
They’ve watched us apologize to one another.
They’ve watched us forgive.
Being a Christian has never been presented as something we do on Sundays.
It’s simply who we’re trying to become.
The Bad Side #5: Sunday Has to Survive Monday
Church isn’t just somewhere we attend. It’s where we gather with other believers before going out to be the Church the rest of the week.
Prayer isn’t reserved for bedtime and meals.
Forgiveness isn’t just preached.
It’s practiced.
Serving isn’t divided into “Mom jobs” and “Dad jobs.” We simply serve each other because that’s what families do.
Our children need to see that following Jesus works just as well on Tuesday afternoon as it does on Sunday morning. Otherwise they’ll eventually notice the difference.
The Bad Side #6: You’re Building More Than a House
As I stood in the backyard that afternoon, admiring the freshly stained deck, God reminded me that I’d spent one afternoon improving a backyard.
God had spent twenty years building a home.
I spent one afternoon staining a deck.
God has spent twenty years staining a husband.
One project made the backyard beautiful.
The other made coming home beautiful.
Every prayer.
Every apology.
Every date night.
Every Blackstone burger.
Every bedtime Bible reading.
Every Coke paid back in quarters.
Every decision to leave stress at work.
Another coat.
Another layer.
Another brick in the culture of our home.
One day my children will have homes of their own. My prayer isn’t that they copy my furniture or my landscaping.
I hope they build a culture where worship music plays because someone wants to hear it.
Where husbands and wives still laugh together after decades.
Where children know they’re safe.
Where prayer is normal.
Where God’s Word is open.
Where peace has been cultivated.
Maybe one afternoon they’ll finish mowing their own yard. Maybe they’ll stop, smile, shake their head, and thank God. And maybe the Lord will whisper to them what He whispered to me.
“This home you’re leading is partly your fault.”
I hope they smile.
Because that may be one of the greatest compliments a Christian husband and father could ever receive.
So yes, there is a bad side to being a Christian husband and father.
You have to go first.
You have to pray first.
You have to forgive first.
You have to love first.
You have to protect the atmosphere of your home.
You have to build the culture everyone else gets to enjoy.
Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Except it isn’t. It’s one of the greatest privileges God has ever entrusted to a man.
So don’t just build a nice house. Build a peaceful home. Be the kind of husband your wife is thankful to see walk through the door. Be the kind of father your kids are excited to interrupt because they know Dad is “off work.”
Leave your stress on the porch whenever you can. Your family didn’t cause your bad day. In many ways, they’re God’s gift to help you recover from it.
Be their refuge.
After all, that’s exactly what our Heavenly Father has been for us.
And if one afternoon behind a lawn mower reminds you to stop, look around, and thank God for the life He’s given you...
Don’t be surprised if He reminds you that the peace inside your home didn’t happen by accident.
It was built one faithful day at a time.
If that’s the fault God wants to lay at my feet, I’ll thank Him for it every single day.
Thanks for reading Grit & Wit. My hope is to encourage husbands, fathers, and families to follow Christ with grit, grace, and a little humor along the way.
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