The “flock among [me]” occasionally felt overwhelming in Africa. Need was everywhere. Where did my “flock” start and stop?

But the quote from 16-year-old Abby Farran, in her post “4 Things M Kids Won’t Tell You”, hit me between the eyes like a rogue tennis shoe:

“[M kids] feel guilty asking for more time from their parents, even though that’s all they really want. They feel like they’re asking their parents to choose between God’s calling and their own kids. Oftentimes, this guilt leads to MK’s resenting their parents’ ministry.”

It’s easy to see how this could happen, right?! With another occupation, we might label this level of priority as workaholism.

It’s tricky when your work involves a broken person at your door. Or a person who doesn’t know Jesus. Or language involving “seeking first the kingdom of God.”

Yet when these sacrifices become consistent, third-culture kids may learn their needs must be subservient to the mission. That saying “yes” to themselves may cost too much. That as constant examples of Jesus, misbehaving could be costly, so we’d better behave.

Paul cautions, “if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever” (1 Timothy 5:8).

What I didn’t want to happen: for my own children to develop a spiritual or emotional poverty because of neglect “in the name of Jesus.”

It helped me to think of my ministry as having concentric circles. In the innermost circle was the work only I could do; the people who depended on me almost exclusively in my role: my spouse and my children.

Chances are, when I moved ministry into that innermost circle, I was occasionally responding to dark questions of my own identity.

Behind overwork “for the sake of the Gospel” was often me thinking more highly of myself than I ought (Romans 12:3). Attempting to do more than the good works God had prepared (Ephesians 2:10) out of a heart of unbelief. Occasionally neglecting faithfulness to my own pastures: “Exhausted Mommy” didn’t always look as much like “Jesus-filled Mommy” as I hoped.

The Gospel in my home matters deeply: the laying down of our lives for one another; the acceptance by God apart from what we accomplish.

Sometimes trusting God to accomplish in our absence could mean the world to that child who will remember us at his soccer games, or will fall asleep tonight after we read a story, wearing a tiara.

Our kids witness God’s presence through our attentive, all-there presence.