In my pre-parenting days, devoting two hours daily to reading, meditating, reflecting, and going on prayer walks in the woods was practically nonnegotiable. Today, with toddlers, it is practically unimaginable.
Contemplative reflection? An admirable aspiration. Silence? My daily request to the Lord. Solitude? Of course, but who will write the check?
The tension of being a young dad with young kids doesn’t bear out only in spiritual matters. I feel it when I drive by a soccer field and wish I had time for a men’s league. When I hear about couples our age going out for a night of trivia. When a friend texts about getting together, and I look at my merged Google calendars to plan something two months from now. I especially feel the tension when I see the vestiges of a life I used to have in the experiences many of my Millennial peers seem to be enjoying. And I cannot deny that a piece of me misses those days.
But at the bottom of this discontentment is a lie: Providing for a family is beyond my capacity and a threat to my happiness.
Danger: Anxious Toil
The lie is particularly sold to young men. This two-pronged narrative discourages us from the pursuit of marriage and children, and it discourages us in our fulfillment of duty as we serve and provide for our young families. Alongside discontentment, there’s also the danger of desperate drudgery. Psalm 127:2 warns that those who labor in their own strength “rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil.”
I get “anxious toil.” Having been in school full-time, in ministry most-time, and a husband and dad all-the-time, I have become familiar with the frenetic pace described in Psalm 127:1–2:
Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.
It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep.
What could motivate a man to labor at such an exhausting pace? Well, perhaps young kids who love early mornings and a lower wage-earning capacity due to his place on the career totem pole. The young dad is at a pinch point where it seems like his hours and effort make the smallest dent: with his job, he earns less money, and with his kids, their needs are endless.
My morning prayers often take stock of the needs I have to meet, the resources I expect to have, and the great disparity between them. Every day, I take these to the Lord and ask for help. Psalm 127 gives two reminders that turn my tone from anxious and discontented to grateful.
Our Daily Reward
First, children are a good gift.
I ask God for blessings for my kids. But how often do I thank him for the blessing of my kids? I look forward to a season of greater financial bandwidth. I look forward to a day when the kids aren’t so utterly dependent — or I at least hope for a day when we don’t have to cancel the fourth date in a row because someone has diarrhea again. But my children are — here, now, in this precious, singular, unrepeatable stage — my gift:
Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
the fruit of the womb a reward. (Psalm 127:3)
This is comfort for any parent, but especially for young dads when we look at the next verses:
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
are the children of one’s youth.
Blessed is the man
who fills his quiver with them!
He shall not be put to shame
when he speaks with his enemies in the gate. (Psalm 127:4–5)
There is a special glory to having kids while you yourself are still in your youth. This decision will pay dividends later, true, but it is also a dividend already. I would not trade these years. I want to wrestle with my oldest until he’s into his teen years. I want my daughters to see dad as a strong and vibrant protector. I want my wife and I to have energy to serve and enjoy not just our kids but also their kids, if they also heed Psalm 127. The children of your youth are difficult. And they are delightful. I am so thankful for this reward, this dividend both expected and enjoyed.
Our Nightly Rest
Second, the antidote for anxious toil, according to the psalm, is sleep: “He gives to his beloved sleep” (Psalm 127:2). Sleep, that daily dose of finitude, that metaphor of divine affection.
The name “beloved” shakes the anxiety out of my bones. Who is the beloved? Further: Whose is the beloved?
Ah, what a foundation for rest. What a good reason to enjoy a day off. What a motivation for going to bed at a good time (when I can!). I am the beloved of the Lord.
In the car, in the stroller, in the daylight, in the dark — when my kids hear their little bodies say, “Time to sleep,” they heed the call. They do not think, “But how will I get home? How will I get in bed? Who will park the car or unload the groceries?” They go ahead and rest their heads.
And do I, as their father, stop them, drop them, shake them, or mock them? Do I go to sleep myself, since they’re at their leisure? No — I take care of all their needs. If we take care of our own kids while they sleep, how much more will our heavenly Father take care of his beloved?
Lord, teach us the sleep of trustful rest.
Sons and Fathers
I have neglected to mention who wrote this psalm: Solomon. His authorship is significant for two reasons.
First, Solomon was not just a father but also a son — specifically, the first son God promised in 2 Samuel 7. He was God’s first answer to David’s prayer to establish his house (2 Samuel 7:25, 29): The Lord built the house (the temple) through Solomon’s labor.
From this perspective, the psalm is an expression of gratitude. The Lord built the house, the temple. And the Lord watched over the city — he gave Israel rest from enemies during Solomon’s reign (2 Samuel 7:11). So, Solomon can hope as a father because he’s seen God’s faithfulness to him as a son. Perhaps we young dads should take note and praise God as sons before we petition him as fathers.
Second, Solomon was not only the man who built the physical temple. He was also the first brick in the spiritual temple — the first brick in the House of David, the first layer laid in the lineage that would lead to Christ.
When we read this psalm through the lens of Christ, we can see God’s covenant faithfulness displayed through the greater house of David built through the greater Son of David. We have in Psalm 127 not only a hope for our own households because of God’s general sovereignty; we have a hope for a better house because of Jesus, God’s Son.
Do I aspire to eventually own a home? As a divinely deputized provider, absolutely. But I rest in a Messiah, not a mortgage. I rejoice that he has built his house and prepared a place for me there. As much as I look forward to building a place for my children, far more do I look forward in hope and faith to greeting them at the door of my Father’s house and saying, “Welcome home.”
Blessed Be Your House
If sleep is the antidote for anxious effort, grateful toil is its antithesis.
The carpenter does not abandon his project, nor the security guard his post; they do their work gladly, grateful for the opportunity to build and protect. Grateful toil starts with acknowledging God’s good provision. We begin with trust and work with gratitude. Our work rests on his.
Young kids during my own youth are God’s greatest gift to me. If he has given me the greater gift of children, I can trust him for the lesser necessities. But even more than this: Fellow young dads, if you are discouraged at the daunting task of building your own house, rejoice that God has built his. If he took care of his Messiah, he can take care of his Millennials. So, pursue marriage, count children as blessings, work heartily in all your efforts, and eat the bread of grateful toil.
