The call came at a quarter past eleven on a Thursday night. Ademola was already in bed, and the generator had just gone off for the night. He saw his son’s name on the screen and sat up quickly, because Timi had only been at university for nine days, and a call at that hour usually means trouble.
It was trouble, though not the kind he feared. Nobody had been hurt. Timi was simply overwhelmed. The allowance meant to last him the whole month was almost finished. He had bought a new pair of trainers, paid for a friend’s food more than once, and lost track of the rest. The portal for course registration had closed that afternoon, and he had not known there was a deadline. A bucket of unwashed clothes was sitting under his bed in the hostel because he had never washed anything heavier than a pair of socks. “Daddy,” he said, and his voice cracked, “I don’t know how to do any of this.”
Ademola’s first instinct was to fix it. He would transfer money in the morning. He would call a friend who knew someone in the faculty. He would ask Timi’s aunt, who lived forty minutes from the campus, to go and collect the laundry. He had been fixing things for this boy for eighteen years.
Then, sitting in the dark with the phone warm against his ear, another thought came to him, and it was not a comfortable one. He was the one who had filled in every form. He had woken Timi at half past five every school morning until the boy was seventeen. He had spoken to the teachers, chased the school fees receipts, and argued with the exam board when a result was delayed. Timi’s mother had packed his school bag until secondary school and his suitcase for university. They had done all of it because they loved him. And they had sent him into adulthood without ever letting him practise it.
“I realised,” Ademola told me later, “that I had raised a good boy who had never been allowed to carry anything.”
Responsibility does not arrive with a birthday
Many parents assume that responsibility switches on at a certain age. The child turns eighteen, collects an admission letter or starts a first job, and somehow becomes capable of managing money, time, decisions and relationships. It rarely happens that way. Responsibility is learned the way a language is learned: slowly, through use, with many mistakes along the way, and usually in the company of someone patient enough to keep correcting gently.
Nigerian parents love their children fiercely, and a great deal of that love is expressed by carrying things for them. Some of it comes from real danger. We live in a country where a child sent on an errand across a busy road may not come back, and caution is wise. Some of it comes from our own history. A father who hawked oranges after school to help pay his own fees may promise himself that his children will never have to struggle the way he did. That is an honourable instinct. Yet it can produce a strange result: young adults who have had every comfort and very little practice.
There is an opposite error, and we must name it too. Some children are given far too much. The eldest daughter becomes a second mother before she is ten. The boy in the family business misses school to mind the shop. A child is asked to carry adult worries, adult quarrels and adult finances. That is not training in responsibility. It is a burden placed on shoulders that were never meant to bear it, and it often leaves a wound that lasts long into adulthood.
What children need lies between those two errors: real responsibility, sized to their age, increased gradually, supported by instruction, and surrounded by love that does not depend on how well they perform.
Faithful in that which is least
Jesus spoke a principle that every parent should carry into the home:
He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much. If therefore ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust the true riches ? And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is your own?
The setting is a parable about a steward who handled his master’s goods dishonestly and then shrewdly prepared for his own future. Jesus draws a lesson from it about trust. Faithfulness is not a sudden achievement that appears when the stakes are high. It is revealed and formed in the small things. “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.”
The word least is worth noticing. Jesus does not say that small things are unimportant. He says they are the place where character is tested and grown. A child who learns to return his father’s change correctly, or to finish a small task without being reminded three times, is learning something that will one day matter in a boardroom, a marriage and a church.
Then look at verse 12: “if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is your own?” There is an order here. We learn to be faithful with what belongs to someone else before we are given what is truly ours. That is exactly how childhood works. The house is not the child’s. The car is not the child’s. The phone may have been bought with a parent’s money. These are the “another man’s” things through which a child learns stewardship, so that when he holds his own salary, his own home and his own family, he will know how to handle them.
This means that the small tasks of home are not trivial. A six-year-old who waters the plants, a nine-year-old who sets the table and washes the plates, a thirteen-year-old who manages a small weekly allowance: these are not chores invented to keep children busy. They are the “least” things in which faithfulness is planted.
Training according to the child’s way
The best-known verse on child training is also one of the most misunderstood:
Punchline“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6).
The Hebrew word translated train up is chanak. Elsewhere it is used for dedicating a house when it is first occupied, and for the dedication of the temple. It carries the idea of starting something off well, of initiating it into its purpose. Training a child means more than controlling him. It means steadily introducing him to the life he is meant to live.
The phrase “in the way he should go” can be rendered more literally as “according to his way.” Many scholars understand this to mean that training must fit the child: his age, his stage of growth, even his particular temperament. You do not train a three-year-old the way you train a fifteen-year-old. A toddler can put his shoes on the rack. A seven-year-old can make his bed and help carry shopping from the car. A twelve-year-old can cook a simple meal under supervision, wash his own uniform and keep track of his own school timetable. A sixteen-year-old can handle a bank errand, plan a week of study, and be responsible for a younger sibling for an afternoon. The tasks change as the child grows, and the responsibility grows with him.
We should also be honest about what this proverb is and what it is not. Proverbs describe the ordinary pattern of a wise life. They are not mechanical guarantees. Many faithful parents have trained their children carefully and still watched a son or daughter wander for a season. The verse is not given to accuse them. It is given to encourage the work of training, because the general direction of a well-trained life holds. If your adult child has strayed, this verse does not pronounce a verdict on you. Keep praying, and keep the door open.
Paul gives us a picture of gradual handing over when he writes that “the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant, though he be lord of all; But is under tutors and governors until the time appointed of the father” (Galatians 4:1-2). Paul is making a point about the history of salvation, but the picture he uses comes straight from family life. An heir is not handed the estate on the first day. He is guided, taught and supervised, and then, at the time the father appoints, he takes up what was always meant to be his. Good parenting follows the same rhythm. We hold things for our children until they are ready, and we deliberately work toward the day when we release them.
Your goal is not to carry everything for your child until adulthood. It is to place, one load at a time, what you once carried into hands that have learned to hold it.
Jesus learned in a home
It should humble us to remember that the Son of God grew up in an ordinary household with ordinary responsibilities. After the visit to the temple at the age of twelve, Luke tells us:
And he went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject unto them: but his mother kept all these sayings in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.
“He went down with them, and came to Nazareth, and was subject unto them.” The Lord of glory submitted to the instruction of Joseph and Mary. He learned a trade. When He later preached in Nazareth, the people asked, “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary” (Mark 6:3). For roughly eighteen years after that temple visit, Jesus lived and worked in that home and that workshop before His public ministry began.
Then Luke adds that He “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.” Growth was real. Wisdom increased. The perfect Son of God did not skip the ordinary stages of human development, and the setting in which He grew was a family that worked.
This gives dignity to the humble tasks of family life. Before sin entered the world, “the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it” (Genesis 2:15). Work is not a punishment. It was part of humanity’s calling from the beginning. When we give our children work to do, we are not robbing them of childhood. We are inviting them into one of the ways human beings reflect the God who works.
Children often sense this better than adults expect. Watch a four-year-old who has been allowed to stir the stew or carry the plantain to the kitchen. He stands a little taller. Being trusted with something real tells a child that he matters, that he belongs to the work of the household and not only to its care.
Lions and bears before Goliath
When David stood before Saul and offered to fight the giant, the king looked at him and saw only a youth. David answered by describing his training:
And David said unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father’s sheep, and there came a lion, and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock: And I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he arose against me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living God. David said moreover, The LORD that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the LORD be with thee.
“Thy servant kept his father’s sheep.” Long before the valley of Elah, Jesse had trusted his youngest son with the family’s flock. When Samuel came to anoint a king, David was not even in the house. He was out in the field, because “he keepeth the sheep” (1 Samuel 16:11). It was not a pretend responsibility. Lions and bears were real, and so were the lambs.
On the very day of the battle, David was in the camp only because his father had sent him on an errand, carrying grain and loaves to his brothers and cheeses to their captain (1 Samuel 17:17-18). A father gave a son a task, and the son was faithful with it. “And David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him” (1 Samuel 17:20). Notice that detail: he left the sheep with a keeper. He did not abandon one responsibility to take up another. Faithfulness had become a habit.
The courage David showed against Goliath had been practised in private, in a field nobody was watching. He had learned that God was with him in small dangers before he faced a great one. “The LORD that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine.”
Our children need some lions and bears of their own. I am not suggesting that you send a ten-year-old alone across Lagos at night. Safety is part of loving a child, and there are places and situations where caution must win. But safety limits should not become an excuse for giving no responsibility at all. A child who has never been allowed to speak to an adult on his own, handle a small sum of money, solve a problem with a teacher or recover from a mistake will face the giants of adulthood without any memory of God’s help in smaller battles.
Bearing his own load
Paul’s letter to the Galatians contains two statements about burdens that seem, at first, to contradict each other. In Galatians 6:2 he writes, “Bear ye one another’s burdens.” A few lines later he says something different:
For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden.
The two words are different in Greek. In verse 2, the word is baros, a heavy weight, the kind of crushing load that no one should carry alone. In verse 5, it is phortion, a word used for a pack or a soldier’s kit, the ordinary load each person is expected to carry for himself. Love helps with the crushing weight. Maturity carries its own pack.
This distinction is enormously helpful in parenting. There are weights that children must never be made to bear: their parents’ marital conflicts, the family’s debts, an adult’s emotional needs, the responsibility of being a parent to their own parents. When a child is made to carry those, love has gone wrong. A good father and mother lift those weights off small shoulders.
But every child also has a pack of his own, sized to his stage of life. His homework. His room. His tone of voice. The apology he owes his sister. The consequence of the book he left out in the rain. When parents carry that pack for him, they are not being kind. They are delaying the strength he will need.
Notice also how Paul frames it: “let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another.” Responsibility is learned without constant comparison. Many Nigerian children grow up hearing about the cousin who came first in class, the neighbour’s son who got a scholarship abroad, the church member’s daughter who finished medical school at twenty-three. Comparison does not build responsibility. It builds anxiety or resentment. Let your child prove his own work, and let him have the honest satisfaction of a job he did well, measured against what he was given to do.
The ant that needs no overseer
Solomon sends the lazy man to an unusual teacher:
Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, Provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.
NuggetThe ant works hard, certainly, but Solomon draws attention to something else. It works “having no guide, overseer, or ruler.” The ant does not need someone standing over it. The motivation has become internal.
That is the goal of training a child in responsibility. In the early years, supervision is necessary and right. A parent watches, reminds and checks. But if supervision never decreases, the child learns only to perform when watched. The aim is to move steadily from external control to internal conviction, until the young person does what is right because he understands why it matters and has made it his own.
Many families have found a simple pattern helpful, whatever the task:
- I do it, and you watch.
- I do it, and you help.
- You do it, and I help.
- You do it, and I watch.
- You do it on your own.
It sounds obvious, but most of us skip the middle steps. We either do everything ourselves, because it is faster, or we hand over a task with no instruction and then grow angry when it is done badly. The middle steps take patience. A child who washes plates for the first time will leave soap on them. A child who cooks rice for the first time may burn the pot. A mother who quietly refolds every shirt her daughter folds is teaching her daughter that her efforts are not good enough.
Part of this process is allowing natural consequences. If your son forgets his packed lunch for the third time, it may be wise not to drive it to the school gate. One hungry afternoon may teach more than ten lectures. If your daughter spends her whole allowance in the first week, a gentle refusal to top it up will teach her more about budgeting than a talk on financial discipline. You are not being harsh. You are allowing a small consequence now to spare her a much larger one at twenty-five.
Faithful over a few things
In the parable of the talents, Jesus describes the master’s response to a servant who has been faithful with what he was given:
And so he that had received five talents came and brought other five talents, saying, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, I have gained beside them five talents more. His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
“Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things.” Responsibility is given in stages, and faithfulness leads to more trust. Wise parents work the same way. When a child handles a small responsibility well, enlarge it. Let the twelve-year-old who has managed his own pocket money well for six months begin to manage the money for his school stationery too. Let the teenager who has kept her curfew faithfully have a little more freedom. Trust grows as it is tested.
Notice too that the master’s response includes joy: “enter thou into the joy of thy lord.” Responsibility is not meant to feel like a sentence. It is an invitation into partnership. Children should hear praise when they carry something well, specific praise that names what they did. “You remembered to lock the gate without being told. Thank you. That helps the whole family.” A child who is noticed when he is faithful grows toward more faithfulness.
There is a gospel truth underneath all of this that we must not lose. In God’s house, we serve as sons and daughters, not as hired hands working to earn our place. Our children need to know the same about their place in our homes. Chores are not rent. A child should never feel that his welcome depends on how useful he is, or that a failed task puts his belonging in doubt. He contributes because he belongs. When he gets it wrong, the correction happens inside the family, and he is still a son. Identity comes first. Responsibility grows out of it.
Three areas deserve particular attention, because they are where many young adults struggle most when they leave home.
The first is money. Children learn about money from what they see, and they learn even more from what they are allowed to handle. Give an allowance appropriate to your income and the child’s age, even if it is small. Let them practise dividing it: something to give, something to save, something to spend. Talk honestly about what things cost. Take a teenager to the market with a list and a fixed amount. Let them make small mistakes with small sums while you are still there to help them think it through.
The second is time. A child who is woken every morning by a parent until he leaves home has not yet learned to wake himself. Give him an alarm clock. Let him plan his study for an exam week and then review with him how it went. Help him see that time, like money, is entrusted. Paul’s words about “redeeming the time” (Ephesians 5:16) are not only for adults.
The third is choices. Children need to practise deciding. Start small: which of two shirts to wear, how to spend a Saturday afternoon, which extracurricular activity to take up. Gradually widen the range. When a teenager faces a real decision, resist the urge to simply announce the answer. Ask questions. “What do you think the options are? What might happen with each one? What does the Bible say that might help?” You may still need to guide or overrule, but you have given him practice in thinking. A young adult who has never made a decision without being told will either freeze when he is alone or swing into recklessness, making choices he has never practised making.
Let me return to Ademola sitting in the dark.
He did not hang up and fix everything. Neither did he lecture his son about carelessness at midnight. He prayed briefly with him on the phone. Then he said, “Timi, I am going to send you enough for food until the end of the month. Not more. Tomorrow morning I want you to write down everything you have spent since you arrived, and call me at lunchtime. Then you are going to go to the faculty officer yourself and ask what a student can do when he has missed registration. I will not call anyone for you. If you need help knowing what to say, we will practise it together.”
Timi was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Okay, Daddy.”
He went to the faculty office the next morning, nervous and sweating, and discovered there was a late registration window with a small penalty. He paid it out of the food money and ate a lot of bread that month. He learned to wash his clothes from a roommate from Ondo who found the whole thing very funny. Every Sunday evening that semester, father and son had a short call. They talked about the budget, the timetable, the friend who kept asking for money, and how to say no without losing the friendship.
By the time Timi came home in December, something had changed. He was not perfect. But he carried himself differently, like someone who had discovered that God would help him with lions and bears.
Ademola changed too. His twelve-year-old daughter now makes the shopping list for the weekend market, counts the change and keeps the receipts. She burns the rice occasionally. Her father eats it anyway.
Punchline“The hardest part,” he told me, “was not teaching Timi. It was keeping my own hands in my pockets.”
That may be your assignment this week. Love your children enough to let them carry something. Start with what is least. Stay close while they learn. And trust that the God who taught a shepherd boy courage in a quiet field is able to grow faithfulness in your children too.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- Which tasks are you still doing for your children that they are now old enough to learn?
- Do you tend more toward overloading your children or underloading them? What has shaped that tendency?
- How do you usually respond when your child does a task badly the first time?
- Where could you allow a small natural consequence instead of rushing to rescue?
- Does your child know that his place in your family does not depend on how useful he is?
This Week
Choose one responsibility you currently carry for each child and plan to hand it over gradually this month, using the steps of “I do, you watch” through to “you do it on your own.” Write it down, explain it to the child, and agree on how you will help. At the end of the week, notice one thing the child did well and praise it specifically.
A Prayer
Father, thank You for the children You have entrusted to me. Thank You that You train Your own sons and daughters patiently, giving us more as we grow. Forgive me where I have carried what my children should have learned to carry, and where I have placed on them weights that were too heavy. Give me wisdom to see what each child is ready for, patience to teach slowly, and courage to step back when it is time. Let my children know that they belong in our home and in Your family, and let faithfulness grow in them in the small things. Prepare them for the day they will stand on their own, and let them know You are with them. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.