Appoint for yourselves three men from each tribe, and I will send them out. They are to go and survey the land, write a description of it for the purpose of their inheritance, and return to me. ~Joshua 18:4
When you stop and think about it, our children have no business referring to the place where they sleep and keep their stuff as “my room.” In fact, as parents, we’re at fault because from the time we first brought them home from the hospital and laid them down, we called the nursery “the baby’s room.”
Come on. Seriously? How much of a contribution have these children made to the mortgage? And what are your expectations for their help with the utilities over the next few years? In fact, we call their space by their name even before they can pick up their own socks and toys—if they ever do! Does this make any sense, and is this right?
Yes, and absolutely yes.
Joshua had the job of assigning land to the Israelite families. Like our own forefathers who set the boundaries between states, counties, and cities, he drew boundary lines in the land and told each clan, “This land belongs to you. You are a part of the whole nation, but you still own something that’s truly yours.”
This is a story about acres of land. It’s also about the square feet of your home. Like these Israelite families, our children deserve their own territory. But the story is also an account of emotional ownership of private space. This is a critical thing for us to understand.
If you’re the father in your house, you technically have the right to go anywhere you want. After all, you own the place. But because you’re a good dad, you don’t go anywhere you want. You knock on a closed door. You ask your child’s permission to enter. And you only come in when that clearance is freely granted. You honor this sacred boundary.
In the same way, as the dad, you might have the right to push your way into your son or daughter’s life, but you don’t do that either. You tenderly honor your child’s right to privacy—to only allow you into the areas of their lives that they have invited you to freely enter. Their confidence in your love for them earns you entrance. However, if you try to force your way in, you will pay a dear price.
I love the picture of Joshua, standing at a map of Canaan, awarding land to each member in his huge family—honoring them by declaring it “their own land,” despite the fact that they didn’t actually pay anything for it. I also love the picture of you and me, giving our children their own safe place in our home. Something that is their own or to share with a sibling. A physical and emotional territory with their name on it.
Another way of saying this is that we are not our family’s landlord. Instead, you and I are their shepherd.