Sunday afternoon, Steve and I, while enjoying our Sabbath rest, were reminiscing.  I’d nearly forgotten a particular incident that took place on a crisp Christmas morning eight years ago.  Our oldest son was five and the proud new owner of a sparkling, red two-wheeler.  Steve and I were tag-teaming our duties as “push-balancers”.  You know the routine: hold on to the bike seat, run behind while panting out “pedal…gasp…that’s right…don’t look at me…I’m still hanging on”.  Of course, the goal eventually is to let go, especially since running hunched over a seat is an exhausting business.  But Kevin was a quick learner.  After several attempts on our carless road and only a few minor crashes, Kevin seemed to be catching on. 

At the time, we lived in a mountain subdivision. While our road was isolated, it was a gradual hill that ended in a sharp right turn onto a street with a steep downhill that intersected with a busy highway.  Perhaps you can imagine what I’m getting at.  Steve ran cheering behind our son, let go of the bike seat, smiled broadly as Kevin pedaled away, only to realize suddenly that Kevin was picking up speed—rapidly!  “Put on the brakes, honey!” we yelled.  “Push your foot back hard on the pedal!”  Suddenly we realized that we’d let him go too quickly.  He knew how to go forward, but we’d failed to adequately teach him to put on the brakes.  Until now, he’d only traveled a few feet before ending in a tumble onto the pavement.  But now our quarter-mile, downhill road loomed ahead and Kevin was accelerating at an alarming rate.  Steve and I are runners, but there was no way we could keep up, try as we might.  All we could do was watch our wobbly bike-rider pull away from us while we yelled directions hoping that he’d hear.  Our neighbor Tom, out watching his daughter test new Christmas skates, saw Kevin fly past.  Realizing the problem, he ran after Kevin, ahead of us.  I breathed prayers, fearful of the broken bones Kevin would sustain if he crashed at this speed, more afraid as he reached the right turn that he would end in the traffic-laden highway.  But just as he started to turn right onto the steep downhill, Kev lost control.  He flew off the paved road and landed face first in a cushiony mud puddle.  Tom was there first.  He picked Kevin up, brushed him off as best he could and yelled “all’s well!”

Proverbs tell us to “train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it.”  We often mistakenly act as if training a child is just setting them on the right path; get them pedaling then let them go.  But training is deliberate and painstakingly slow.  The road we placed Kevin on could have led to his destruction; not because it was the wrong road, but because he was ill-equipped to traverse it on his own.  Our sons are now entering young adulthood and it’s tempting at times to think “Hey, they’re making good choices.  We’ve taught them well. ” But I’ve witnessed the results of that mentality.  The Lord was merciful the day Kevin learned to ride his bike—but there was a crash nonetheless.  Steve and I don’t want to risk our sons’ spiritual well-being just because we occasionally grow weary of “running” behind, hanging on.  While we want to teach them to ride on their own, we don’t want to let go too soon.   While our kids are under our care we’re going to hold tight to their hearts.  We will continue to place God’s Word before them, discuss decisions, monitor behavior, guard against sinful influences, help them resist temptation, and encourage them to love and serve the Lord faithfully.  Setting our children on the right path is just part of the equation.  Hanging onto their “seats” is the other.