I started taking seminary classes during the pandemic in 2020. After not being able to find a Bible study group that fit my schedule, I found an incredible tuition discount at Reformed Theological Seminary and enrolled in two certificate programs—one in Old Testament and another in New Testament.
Thus far, I’ve learned about the historical contexts of Ancient Near East and Jewish-Palestinian culture that provide greater clarity to Scripture. I’ve had space to engage Biblical topics with curiosity, which often means asking more questions. Equally, I have had permission to not know, leaving some areas of understanding a mystery.
However, some of the more surprising learning occurred outside of academia and with no lectern in sight. In fact, the first happened in my living room.
Last semester, I opened an email with a link to the final exam grade. It’s not a favorable sign when the body of the email included a comment that read I was eligible for a retake. I braced myself.
Click … “Oh no!”
My family was aware that I was checking multiple times a day for the grade to be posted. So when they heard my cry, they asked, “What did you get?” My chin and shoulders dropped. My back slouched, and my stomach caved into the chair. I slowly let out, “I got a D.”
One of my daughters sprang from the nearby sofa and sat by me as my hands held up my head. She began scrolling intently on her cell phone, and after finding what she had been searching for, she showed me the screen.
“Mom, look!”
Her voice was energized as I took in her less than desirable quiz scores. It’s like she had been waiting for this moment to reveal her low marks. Had I not been preoccupied with my own disappointment and second-guessing the decision to invest my family and my resources—time, finances, mental and emotional capacity—I would have easily, without thought, questioned my daughter’s performance.
Instead, I found myself saying the unimaginable: “Your grades are better than mine.” I compared; I was jealous.
Then my other daughter, who was also nearby, added, “You are not defined by a letter or a grade.” She spoke the very message my husband and I have been praying she would know and own—I am not defined by my performance, circumstance, or striving. I am instead, defined by my relationships, including my relationship with God and my family.
While responsibility, faithfulness, stewardship, effort, and caring about the tasks you are entrusted with are valuable, my family revealed that my focus was on what was momentary—things that will fade and pass away. And similar to the credit card commercial that ends with the tagline, “Priceless,” I was gifted a priceless moment to bond with my daughter over our shared experiences. I learned that my lack made room for hers. She felt an absence of judgment, condemnation, shame. She felt free to run to me to confess, “I messed up too.” We were able to commiserate, console, and even find comfort together.
The second moment of unexpected teaching happened on my first day of in-person class for the fall semester. I had previously been taking online classes because of the pandemic and scheduling issues. Because my daughters had a few more days of summer break before their official start, they, ironically, sent me off.
They took customary, commemorative “first day” photos while I held up a homemade sign. One daughter made sure I had all my supplies and smiled with reassurance and excitement. My other daughter put her arms around me, looked at me and began a “first day of school” speech. It included all the things we had told them in previous years, sprinkled with some of her own advice—remember who you are; say hi to the teacher; be a buddy, not a bully; make good friends; make good choices; we love you. I laughed, thanked them, hugged and kissed them, and then closed the driver’s seat door and cried. When did we reverse roles?
Later, they greeted me with a high-pitched “How was your first day of school?” question. Their unexpected enthusiasm on my behalf caught me off guard and caused me to pause. Who am I to receive such child-like care, joy, and pride? The answer may be obvious and yet, they gave so freely and willingly which is no small gesture and certainly, not to be taken for granted.
On the one hand, I felt unworthy, but on the other, awe for they embodied a greater reversal. They pointed to Christ, who although “was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself… And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:6-9) Jesus deliberately left his rightful place beside the Father in order to become the final payment for our insurmountable debt—sin. Moreover, He withheld nothing but gave us everything when “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.” (1 Peter 2:24)
It is tremendously humbling to receive from our children what we as parents have naturally provided, especially when they generously initiate. But it is in this earthly role reversal where Christ is imaged, and we are invited to remember the undeserving nature of his grace.
Next time our children celebrate, delight, cheer us on, may we bless how God is using them to be conduits of heavenly kindness and receive graciously from them, the hands and feet of Christ.