“For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:30
When my girls were barely old enough to walk, our television introduced them to Fred Rogers and his program Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. And even though I later had the chance to meet Fred Rogers in person, I must admit that I couldn’t stand his television show. He acted so meek, so wimpy, so benign. I preferred the Roy Rogers—no relation to Fred—of my youth. Give me Trigger and six-shooters. Forget the zippered, cardigan sweaters, Mr. McFeely, and goofy songs.
In spite of my own biases, however, I noticed that our children were completely taken with Mr. Rogers. His gentleness won their hearts. His lessons made an indelible impression on their minds. His approachability engaged their souls.
I liked Roy. I thought he was cool. But my children loved Fred. They believed ev- erything he said.
As men, our lives are filled with the rush of competition. Our nostrils flare at the thrill of the deal—daring, winning, and profiting. In our experience, weaklings finish last. In the verses preceding the text we read today, Jesus vocally denounced the people who had remained tough and impenetrable, even though they had seen His miracles. He passed unflagging judgment on their hard hearts.
Then Jesus dropped a bomb on His followers, especially those men like me, who would have strongly preferred tough cowboys to meek, soft-spoken guys. “Little children have the answers,” He said to them. “I am lowly and humble . . . and you will find rest for your souls” (v. 29).
As men, this truth must make its way into our minds. God’s power will rarely be revealed to us in the noise and the fury. Instead, His voice will usually penetrate our experiences in a whisper—a gentle tug in our hearts, a quiet nudge.
And as dads, our heavenly Father is telling us something we can never forget about our own children. If we are to love them in a way they understand, we must be willing to stop, to listen, and to be tender and gentle. Sure, our personal style may make us more comfortable shouting orders from the sidelines, like some anxious high school football coach. But God calls us to shed the cleats and slip on the sneakers, delicately winning our children by our compassion and care.
As a grown-up, you may be like me—more of a Roy Rogers man than a Fred Rogers kind of guy. Don’t apologize for that. It’s perfectly understandable. But Jesus reminds us today that His life-changing truth usually comes to us in gentle, unobtrusive ways. Gentle nudges, not violent body slams.
And He tells us that through our tenderness our children’s lives will be touched. Of course, they need the sideline coaching, the course-altering directives from their dad that adjust their performance. But your children must have your tenderness, or you’ll miss their hearts.
Go ahead and enjoy Roy and his shiny sidearms, but Fred’s going to win this one.