The sun warms them. They play, as small children do, in an imaginary world bigger than their own, inspired by the lure of the few simple objects in front of them. I love how children–some–can make a world out of a stone, a stick, a small beetle passing by. I pity those who cannot.

I watch closely, knowing human nature, noticing the trend, wanting the truth. I am right.

Bored with her own, she takes his toy. He asks for it back, nicely, as trained. She says no and that it’s hers. He asks for it back, not so nicely, training slipping. She sits on it, her stare daring him. He screams, training gone. I’ve seen this before, throughout the afternoon. It’s what comes next I wonder about–the knowing.

Her mother: “Well, he sure is emotional.” She and her husband exchange looks, their parenting skills once again proving superior. The knowing I seek is not there.

I want to tell her. I want to say that her angelic baby has been pushing him and testing him and trying him and manipulating him. I want to tell her that he is a fallible human being, a man-to-be, yet in the making. I want to assure her that we are aware of his weakness and are training. I want to tell her a lot of things, not the least of which is the danger growing in the heart of her daughter.

But I don’t.

“My son,” I confess, “needs a little more training.” An understated truth.

I rise to go to him. The movement startles the angelic girl, who hastily shoves the toy back at my boy, now sobbing, over-reacting, broken over the treachery of a pretty girl. She looks at me, faux-innocence on her face. I look back, knowing on mine.

“Come, Elijah.”

I take his hand and we go, he not wanting to because he is (sniff) havin’ (whimper) fun (sob).

There is more training to do. Training in how to respond when the nice does not work, training in Christ-like behavior, training in letting go, especially when life is not fair.

There is much more training to do. Training in what–and Whom– to look for in the heart of a woman.

Charm is deceitful and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

My daughters know it, recite it, try (though fail, as does their mother) to emulate it. Now he, not yet four, must know it too.

Lord, grant eyes that see where my children need Your guidance, wisdom to lead them to Your Word, and a strong jaw to bite my tongue in a blind world. Make me–despite all–an example to my children. Give my children Godly friends, and prepare for them Godly spouses with hearts directed toward You. Perhaps strangers to us now, prepare their hearts and ours in Your ways. Guard hearts, guide footsteps, and let all feel Your arms holding us close. In Christ, Amen, let it be so.

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