This little basket represents my fresh resolve to build culture here in my home.
I don’t mean “culture”, as in raised-pinky at teatime and season tickets to the Lincoln Center. I mean culture as in who we are. What makes us us?
I am mulling this over in the back of my mind, somewhere in that jumble of dinner plans and potty reminders and school schedules. It would be easy to just assume that my kids will somehow take on the loves, passions, and priorities that I want for them. To put all my stock in my good example — if they see me reading the Bible, loving people, welcoming the new baby, or just taking time over the from-scratch meals, they’ll “get it.”
The example counts, it sure does.
But it’s not everything.
There is also the teaching. The intentional passing of culture. Taking them by the hand, drawing them near, and explaining the why. Doing it alongside them. Showing them the rhythms, the way, the heart.
Weighty thoughts, ruminating.
This basket, it’s a start. It’s me saying, My girls aren’t going to love reading just because their brothers do. If it’s important, it is worth my time. I need to draw them into that love.
Funny how God can use a stack of favorite children’s books to stir and lead.