Hopes For My Children

Today, our son Gabriel turned three months old. 

The week before he was born, I wrote this post. It is a little… raw, but, here it is nonetheless.


Soon, my wife and I will be welcoming a second child into the world. Our family will grow; in size, in complexity, and hopefully in love as well.

I have been thinking about the hopes I have for my children and their character.


I hope my kids are kinder than me, gentler than me. I hope they show a grace to others that many will not understand, even find maddening. I hope they have compassion in their hearts, and demonstrate it through their actions.

I hope my kids find thrill in learning, and are eager to try new things.

I hope my kids are stunningly, terrifyingly smart. I hope they are utterly brilliant. But when the times come that they get a sinking, bittersweet feeling, that feeling that they are the smartest person in the room — I hope they have the sense to know it’s time to find a new room.

I hope my kids find value in hard work and leisure alike. I hope they recognize the relationship between effort and reward, while also acknowledging systems that spread rewards with massive unfairness. I hope they can truly relax. I hope they can be comfortable with silence and solitude.

I hope my kids can ignore harsh words. But I also hope that if they are provoked in a physical way, they are able to respond with an efficient brutality.

Selfishly, I hope I have something in common with my kids. I hope I can teach my son a good head fake on the basketball court, or share with my daughter in the joy of a good science-fiction story.

But I also hope my kids develop really weird passions of their own, stuff I know nothing about nor where their interest even stemmed from. I hope they become really talented in fields that I did not even know exist. I would love to see one of my kids get a huge YouTube following for making weird jokes I do not understand.

I hope they can appreciate old things as well. I hope my kids can stand in front of a war memorial and consider sincerely a frame of mind and time they may never comprehend in their own lives. I hope they can still themselves in ancient places, feel the weight of centuries around them.

I hope my children have friends they can confide in, goals they can look forward to achieving, and a vision for things invisible.

I hope their faith forms a solid bedrock for their lives. I hope they look at the Gospel and decide to dive into it — face-first and full-bodied. I hope their prayer is a constant conversation. I hope they practice carving scripture into the roots of their soul. I hope they acknowledge both their sin and their Savior. I hope they serve well and faithfully.

I hope to hear them profess their faith in Jesus Christ publicly. I hope I then have the pleasure of watching them live out this faith in real ways.

I hope they’re just really cool people, and I hope to be overcome with emotion in moments of considering how much they have grown and learned and loved and lived.

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