Generational Progress

In my 20’s, I underwent several confusing and frustrating experiences. First, I didn’t have a clue how to be be a husband. I met my wife in college and we married before my 22nd birthday. We moved away from our families to start our married life in a new state. Second, a near miraculous chain of events landed me my dream job. The truth is, I was unprepared for such a perfect placement.

All of my previous jobs had been part time, and mistakes came with minimal consequences. At 22, God had blessed me with a teaching position at the best school in the state. I felt every mistake shook the tenuous grasp I had on my career. Various other struggles in my young life included finding friends, deciding on the right church, and learning how to pay off loans. Through it all, one thought persisted: Why hadn’t my dad prepared me for any of this?

Parenting comes with an unending list of responsibilities. Some we consider before our kids are even born, like providing food, clothing, and shelter. Others we could never anticipate until they happen. Apparently, we have a responsibility to teach our children not to lick the floor and not to use rocks to write on the car. But when we consciously consider parenting responsibilities, most of us can clearly see where our parents failed to fulfill their responsibilities.

My childhood is filled with good memories. I never questioned my parents’ love. I had food, clothing, and shelter. My parents prioritized regular attendance at a Bible-believing church, allowed me to have friends over, and supported my interests. Despite all those good things I eventually began to see many areas of life that my dad never prepared me for. In my mid- 20’s as I struggled to be a functioning adult, I began to resent him for it.

Around the same time, I attended a men’s study at my church. The curriculum discussed deficits that all adults have as a result of our upbringing. It was incredibly helpful to listen to multiple men whom I respected describe how God had worked in their hearts to examine their own upbringings and ultimately forgive their parents for any shortcomings. Afterward, these men encouraged me to have a meaningful conversation with dad.

The following summer, while visiting my parents, I resolved to talk with my dad. I asked him this question: “When I was growing up, why didn’t you ever have a conversation with me about anything important?”

My dad’s response humbled me. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

He proceeded to explain how his father, my grandpa, had never talked with him about any important topics either. My dad didn’t realize he was responsible for having these conversations with his son.

Dad went on to share that when he was growing up it bothered him that Grandpa never spent much time with him. So when my brother and I were born, Dad prioritized spending time with his sons. He took our family hiking and camping. He put us on sports teams and even coached some of those teams. He supported our interests. He was a busy man, but he did his best to consistently show up for us. In that way, he attempted to correct a deficit that he experienced in his relationship with his own father.

So I asked the next logical question: “Why didn’t grandpa spend time with you?” Once again, my dad’s response humbled me.

It turns out, my great grandfather walked out of his family when my grandpa was a young boy. His mother worked really hard but couldn’t provide all they needed, so at nine years old my grandpa, during the Great Depression, gathered garbage from the streets and sold it door-to-door to people to use for kindling. As a child without a father, he worked to provide enough money to feed his little brother. My grandpa learned from his own absent father that a dad’s core responsibility is to provide food, clothing, and shelter for his family. And so, my grandpa worked tirelessly to meet the fundamental needs of his children.

My great grandfather was a deadbeat. Grandpa resolved not to be. My dad saw what Grandpa lacked, and he resolved to do better. And there I was, a naive young man who hadn’t even had kids yet, judging two generations of progress. How arrogant?

The lesson was clear. It’s not my place to judge the deficits of my own parents. Instead, it’s my responsibility to honor their legacy by building upon their progress.

My church refers to this as “Generational Progress”.

As I read the books of 1 and 2 Samuel, I am struck by the theme of honor. David honors God, and God honors David. Saul dishonors God, and God dishonors Saul. That type of honor makes sense to me. However, I also see that David honors Saul—the man who hunted David down and tried to kill him multiple times. My arrogant 21st century mindset is incompatible with this type of honor.

In 2 Samuel 1, David hears the news of Saul and Jonathan’s deaths. He understandably mourns for his friend Jonathan, but he also inexplicably mourns for the murderous King Saul. His song of mourning clearly honors both men. In the next chapter, he thanks the men of Jabesh Gilead for honoring Saul by retrieving Saul’s body from the Philistines and burying it respectfully. How could David honor the man who sought to destroy him and whom God rejected?

David understood that honor is a key component of God’s economy. In Exodus 20, God commands us to honor our father and mother. In 1 Timothy 5, we are told that teachers are worthy of double honor. Hebrews 13 tells us to honor those spiritual leaders to whom God entrusted us and to live in a way that is honorable. God puts a premium on honor.

What if our leaders or our teachers or our parents are not honorable? There are those, like Saul, who are in many ways not honorable but who have still conducted themselves honorably in some ways. Saul took the Lord’s calling to be king seriously at first. Saul unified Israel as he led them to victory over the Ammonites. Saul was a catalyst for David’s rise to power. Saul provided a place for David to thrive, and David honored God by honoring Saul.

Does the recognition of God’s command to bestow honor excuse my dad’s shortcomings? No, and it doesn’t excuse Saul’s either (or David’s for that matter). But it frees me from a cancerous resentment because the truth is, my dad simply tried his best. Most parents try their best. Inevitably in their attempt to do so, they fall short. I fall short. You fall short.

My grandpa initiated the first step of generational progress, but not everyone has that type of legacy to build upon. If you find yourself with absent parents or parents who legitimately did not try at all, then you have a unique responsibility to begin the legacy. It’s your job to initiate a process that will transform your family. Will it go perfectly? No. But God seems to enjoy heaping disproportionate blessing onto the smallest bit of faithful obedience.

When my children reach adulthood, I have no doubt that they will be able to see where I failed as a parent. I hope that they bring those failures to me so that I can apologize. For now, I will point my children toward their Heavenly Father who never fails while I do my best to honor the legacy of my own dad and grandpa by continuing to make generational progress.