From Rules to Rhythms: Raising Children in an Abiding Faith

One of the greatest questions Troy and I have been asking lately is this:

How do we raise our children in an abiding faith instead of a transactional one?

For years, faith often felt like it came with a clear structure.

Read your Bible.

Go to church.

Pray.

Don’t do this.

Do that.

It was measurable.

Predictable.

Intentional.

But as God has been leading us deeper into the reality of grace, I’ve found myself wondering how to model that for our children.

If we are no longer living under the weight of religion, what takes its place?

At first, it almost felt as though something was missing.

The absence of religion created a vacuum that, if not filled by God, could expose our children to something else.

But how do you teach them about God without religion?

Religion has a structure.

Abiding feels… free.

Almost too free.

How do you teach something that is more relationship than rule?

Maybe this is similar to what Israel experienced when they left Egypt.

Egypt gave them structure. They knew exactly when to wake up, what to make, how many bricks were expected. It was oppressive, but it was predictable.

Freedom is different.

Freedom requires learning how to live with Someone instead of simply following a system.

That takes maturity.

Then I realized something.

The structure isn’t disappearing. It’s changing.

Religion is built on rules.

Abiding is built on rhythms.

Those are not the same thing.

Rules ask:

“What must I do?”

Rhythms ask:

“How do I stay connected?”

One is about earning.

The other is about remaining.

That distinction has changed the way I think about everything—even something as simple as our Sundays.

For years it made sense to say, “No video games on Sunday.”

There is nothing inherently wrong with that.

But lately I’ve found myself asking a deeper question.

Why?

If the answer is, “Because good Christians don’t play video games on Sunday,” then we’ve simply traded relationship for rule.

But what if the answer is different?

What if Sunday becomes a day where our family intentionally protects something precious?

Not because God is keeping score.

Not because we are trying to earn His blessing.

But because we are remembering something our hearts are so quick to forget.

That we are sons and daughters, not slaves.

Slaves don’t stop working.

They can’t.

Their worth depends on what they produce.

But sons know the table has already been set for them.

Perhaps that was always God’s heart behind the Sabbath.

Not another burden to carry.

An invitation to rest in what He had already completed.

When Jesus said, “Come to Me… and I will give you rest,” He wasn’t simply giving us another command.

He was becoming our Sabbath.

We don’t rest in order to earn His presence.

We rest because we already have it.

That realization has changed the question we ask as a family.

Instead of asking,

“What aren’t we allowed to do today?”

What if we asked,

“How can we receive today?”

Imagine if our children grew up knowing Sunday not as a day filled with restrictions, but as a family rhythm of receiving.

A slow breakfast around the table.

A walk outside.

A conversation about where we noticed God’s kindness this week.

Reading a story together.

Praying for one another.

Laughing.

Leaving margin.

Not because any of those things make God love us more.

But because they help us notice the One who already does.

I’ve realized that children don’t simply need rules.

They need anchors.

They need rhythms that quietly shape their hearts long before they understand every theological truth.

As parents, perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is not the appearance of having it all figured out.

Maybe they need to hear us say,

“We’re learning too.”

“For years we thought following Jesus mostly meant doing the right things. We’re discovering it also means learning how to receive His love, trust Him, and enjoy being with Him. We want you to learn that with us.”

There is something profoundly freeing about parents who are willing to grow alongside their children.

Because discipleship has never been about pretending.

It has always been about walking together toward Jesus.

As I’ve thought about this, I’ve also realized something about the family vision God placed in my heart years ago for Bramhaven.

Very little of it revolves around religious activity.

It revolves around life.

Meals shared around a table.

Gardens.

Long walks.

Stories.

Hospitality.

Music.

Children laughing in open fields.

Fire pits.

Beauty.

Rest.

Presence.

It looks remarkably like Eden.

And it looks remarkably like the life Jesus lived.

He didn’t build His ministry around endless religious meetings.

He walked with people.

He ate with them.

He attended weddings.

He blessed children.

He made breakfast on the beach.

He entered ordinary life and filled it with the extraordinary presence of God.

Perhaps that is what abiding has always looked like.

Not separating God from everyday life, but inviting Him into all of it.

One image keeps returning to me.

A reservoir.

God once whispered to my heart,

“You are a reservoir.”

A reservoir has structure.

Without banks, the water spills everywhere.

But no one mistakes the banks for the water.

The banks exist to hold and protect the life they contain.

Healthy family rhythms are like those riverbanks.

They create space where Living Water can be received.

Religion often mistakes the banks for the water itself.

Grace reminds us that Jesus is the Living Water.

Our rhythms simply help us slow down long enough to drink.

More than anything, this is the legacy Troy and I hope to leave our children.

Not that we perfectly kept every tradition.

Not that we always had the right answers.

But that our home became a place where it was safe to abide.

Where repentance was normal.

Where laughter was holy.

Where beauty was noticed.

Where questions were welcomed.

Where people were loved.

Where God was not merely talked about, but enjoyed.

If one day our children leave home believing,

“Jesus is safe. He is present. We don’t have to earn His love. Our family knew how to rest, welcome others, laugh, repent, trust God, and receive together,”

then I believe we will have given them something far greater than religion.

We will have given them a glimpse of the Father’s house.

Perhaps that has been God’s invitation all along.

Not to replace one set of rules with another.

But to learn, together, how to live from the rest that Christ has already purchased.

From rules…

to rhythms.

From transaction…

to covenant.

From striving…

to abiding.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be Seasoned with Joy!

Let’s Continue to Go Deeper…