“Spiritual warfare conducted from a minivan”

There are moments in fatherhood when you feel like a wise, steady patriarch leading your household with strength and conviction.

Then there are moments when you are standing in the middle of your living room that has Pokémon cards scattered in every corner like you started a humane society for abandoned Pikachus and Squirtles..

No one tells you that you have to explain to your two-year-old daughter why it is not appropriate to ask the HVAC men what "parts" they have. Then explain that she needs to be content with what "parts" God has given her.

Fatherhood today is strange. The world keeps telling men to be softer, quieter, less certain, less assertive. And somehow also more involved, more available, more successful, more patient, and capable of dissembling a bunk bed without losing their sanctification.

Good luck with that.

A father is one of the first pictures a child gets of what strength looks like. What safety feels like. What discipline and forgiveness should look like when they live in the same house. What love looks like when it has to go to work tired, come home sore, and apologize when it loses its temper.

That is a terrifying thought when I consider the raw material involved.

Because I know me.

I am a father of four, I haven't had a clear thought since 2019

I also know my impatience. I know my selfishness. I know how often I want quiet more than I want to build character. I know how fast I can correct a child's attitude while completely ignoring my own.

Fatherhood has a way of exposing you like that.

You think you are a patient man until your seven-year-old and your four-year-old are arguing about whose turn it is to exist. You think you are generous until your two-year-old asks for the last bite of your dessert and looks at you with those eyes. You think you are mature until you find yourself in a legitimate argument with your five-year-old boy about whether his toots actually stink. And the two-year-old just watched the whole thing belly laughing.

Spoiler: they do.

James 1:4 says "let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." I am fairly certain James wrote that after spending an afternoon with small children. Because nothing tests you like someone who loves you completely and has absolutely no filter.

Maybe fatherhood is not just about raising children. Maybe God uses children to raise fathers.

Because every single day those four little booger faces push me toward something better than I would naturally choose to be. More patient. More steady. More willing to die to myself in small, ordinary, completely unglamorous ways that nobody sees and nobody applauds.

Nobody writes songs about the dad who checks the locks, cuts the grass, pays the insurance on time, disciplines with love instead of irritation, and lies awake quietly wondering if he is doing any of this right.

But it matters.

Psalm 127:3 says "behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward." Not a project. Not a burden. A reward. On the hard days I have to remind myself of that. These four are not obstacles to the life I planned. They are the reward I was asking for.

My girls are watching how I speak to their mother. My son is watching how I handle it when things go sideways. All four of them are watching what I do when I am wrong. They are watching whether my faith is something I put on Sunday mornings or something that actually shapes the way I live when the house is loud and the money is tight and I am out of patience and we make it to church only to find out the cat is in the car.

Ephesians 6:4 tells fathers not to provoke their children to anger, but to bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Two things in the same verse. Do not crush them. And build them up in truth. That is the whole job description right there. Somehow firm and gentle at the same time.

And it matters more now than it ever has because the world is discipling my children whether I participate or not. Through screens and songs and algorithms and a culture that is more than happy to tell them who they are before they are old enough to tie their own shoes.

So no. My job is not just to keep them alive until adulthood.

Although some days that genuinely feels like a major accomplishment.

My job is to help them know what is true. To teach my son that strength is not cruelty and compassion is not weakness. To teach my daughters that their worth is not measured by attention or approval or what confused people on the internet think of them. To teach all four of them that God made them, Christ loves them, sin is real, grace is greater, and truth does not stop being true just because the world rolls its eyes at it.

Proverbs 22:6 says "train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."

This verse is as true as any promise God makes. There is a way to raise my children so that when they reach adulthood they remain faithful.

So I am holding onto that promise on the days when I feel like nothing is getting through. The work is not wasted. The table talk, the bedtime prayers, the corrections, the apologies, the ordinary faithful showing up. It is going somewhere even when I cannot see it.

Fatherhood. It is eternal work. It is spiritual warfare conducted from a minivan. It is building souls and sharpening arrows.

So here I am.

Tired. Outnumbered. Frequently humbled.

Blessed beyond anything I deserve.

I am not struggling.

I am being sanctified.

Love you dearly.

Jacob.