Don’t let anyone despise your youth, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, and in purity. —1 Timothy 4:12
Long before recycling, my family separated our trash into burnable and nonburnable waste. These went into separate boxes in our garage. When I was a boy, the chore of taking care of this burnable box was primarily mine. I would load it on top of my red Radio Flyer® wagon, making sure it was centered. Then I would carefully pull the load to the burned spot in the field behind our house. There I would empty the box out and burn the paper.
One dry and windy summer day, my little brother came along to help. Dan walked alongside, keeping the box steady. Once the fire was blazing, I got an idea. I wonder what would happen if I took this flaming piece of paper and set it down in the dry grass?
Without saying anything, I picked up a burning piece of cardboard and laid it down in the dry grass. In what seemed like a moment, the wind caught the flame and sent the fire racing like a basketful of snakes set free. I panicked, vainly attempting to stamp out the spreading fire. Seeing her two sons writhing inside an inferno, our mother, standing at the kitchen window grabbed a bucket, filled it with water, and raced to save our lives.
Thirty feet from the fire, she stumbled and fell, the bucket hitting the ground with enough impact to send its contents skyward. Soaking wet, she swept us into her arms, she pulled us from the fire and ran to call the fire department. Twenty minutes later, everything was under control.
That night my dad asked for a full report. “The breeze must have picked up a burning piece of paper and started the field on fire,” I said, lying to my father’s face. “Well, Dan, is this the way it happened?” my father replied. “No sir,” he said. “Robert started the fire himself. I saw him do it.”
I tried to convince my unhappy dad that my little brother wasn’t telling the truth, but he knew better. Maybe it was because Dan didn’t have any reason to lie, and I did. Or maybe it was because of my younger brother’s innocence, untainted by the pride and cynicism that often come with growing up.
The words you read today speak directly to this truth. In fact, as a dad, this text is a blazing reminder—pun intended—that your children may be your best teachers. Their straightforward integrity and innocence can be a guide: “Don’t let anyone despise your youth, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, and in purity” (v. 12).
Having raised two children, I can recall many times when their openness and sincerity instructed me, when their honesty and faith challenged my cunning and fear.
The next time you’re with your family, think of yourself as being in a classroom. You are the student, and there are times when your children are the instructors. This is the way it’s supposed to be.
My brother took a chance that day. If he had joined me in my lie, our dad would have never known. Instead, he walked to the front of the classroom and taught his big brother a lesson. It’s one that my soaking-wet mother, my father, and I never forgot. Children can be the best teachers.