Last Thursday, my daughter Jarah and I drove to Nashville.
It was the fifth time in four years we’d made that trip. The first time, she didn’t even know what Belmont was. I was just a father wanting to show his child a place I believed might fit her, a Christ-centered university with a statue of Jesus standing at the geographic center of its campus. This last trip was different. This was freshman orientation. Fall of 2026. The dream I’d quietly carried for years was now a packed schedule and a parking permit.
I’m a blessed man. Both my kids attend colleges built on Christian foundations. My son, Dallas, is at Grove City College. My daughter is now a Belmont Bruin. But I want to tell you about the three days in between, because they weren’t all easy, and that’s exactly why they mattered.
A Battle She Carried in Her Pocket
Two weeks before orientation, Jarah’s boyfriend of two years broke up with her.
The relationship was over, but the wreckage wasn’t. Social media kept the wound open. Every notification was a potential ambush. The orientation split parents from students for parts of the schedule, and in those gaps, the phone in her pocket became a portal, the kind the enemy loves to use to launch his quiet, guerrilla warfare against a hurting heart.
I watched my daughter fight that battle in real time. The pull to look. The temptation to scroll back into pain dressed up as connection. I couldn’t fight it for her, but I could pray, and I did, constantly, that God would give me the strength to model something steady in front of her.
The passage I kept returning to was Deuteronomy 6:4-9:
Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down, and when you get up. (Deuteronomy 6:4-9)
When you walk along the road. That’s not poetry. That’s a road trip. That’s a father and a daughter and 500 miles of highway. The discipleship doesn’t wait for a sanctuary. It happens in the car, at the gas station, in the quiet after a hard moment.
The War Paul Knew Well
Here’s what I want you to see, parent. The fight Jarah faced is not unique to a heartbroken eighteen-year-old. It’s the human condition.
Paul named it in Romans 7. He confessed a war inside himself. The good he wanted to do, he didn’t; the thing he hated, he did. Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? He asked the question every honest soul eventually asks.
Without a single bullet or bomb, the world, the flesh, and the devil have launched an all-out assault on everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus. Thomas à Kempis (a little-known author of the classic, The Imitation of Christ) understood it. He confessed that a small matter could make him sad, that a tiny trifle could spark a great temptation, and that the constant assaults were grievous to bear. So he did the only thing that works. He fought on his knees. O Lord, strengthen me with heavenly courage, lest the flesh prevail.
This is the battle our children are walking into, and we are their primary disciple-makers. Not the youth pastor. Not the Christian college, as grateful as I am for it. Us.
But Paul didn’t end Romans 7 in despair. He ended it with a name.
Who will rescue me? … Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!
That’s the whole thing. When David faced Goliath, he wasn’t trembling, because he knew the battle was the Lord’s. Our children face Goliaths every day, the giant of Satan and the giant of self. The best defense against the warring flesh is a good offense: the settled confidence that the enemy is already defeated. The cross of Christ has seen to that. There is nothing like knowing the war is already won to give you the strength to face each daily skirmish.
By the final event of orientation, Jarah walked out happy. Grateful. Confident in her choice. She wanted to celebrate, to hear a country band, eat a Nashville meal, and stroll down Broadway. So we did, and the joy on her face was the joy of someone who had fought a battle and not been beaten by it.
The Flat Tire That Wasn’t a Setback
Then, on the drive home, a flat tire.
Five hours lost on the side of the road. I’ll be honest. That’s the kind of thing that can ruin a trip, but I remembered who was watching. So I chose patience. I chose to make it an adventure instead of a disaster. Because all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).
That flat tire became one more sermon I got to preach without a single verse spoken out loud. My daughter saw her father stay steady in a trial. That’s discipleship “along the road” too.
So here’s the turn, parent.
Your children are in a war they didn’t start and can’t always see. The world feeds them one wolf. The Word feeds another. And you, more than any institution, any program, any screen, are the one God appointed to put His commandments on their hearts. Not occasionally. Daily. Along the road.
You don’t have to be perfect. Paul wasn’t. À Kempis wasn’t. You just have to keep pointing them to the One who already won.
Start small and start now. Fifteen minutes in the Word, together, every day. If you need a place to begin, I want to put a resource in your hands.
Through a partnership between MindWolves and the TFW ministry, two Pittsburgh-based ministries with one heart for the family, I’m able to offer you a complimentary copy of The Family Wins Devotional. It’s built for exactly this: a daily habit that turns ordinary moments into discipleship. It’s blessed my family. I’d love for it to bless yours. Claim your free copy.
The battle belongs to the Lord. He’s already taken the cross to settle it. Now go model that for the children He’s entrusted to you.
Feed the Good Wolf. 🐺