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Yet again, this post is going to be on a similar theme as the last few. This may be a difficult post for those who are not Christians or who don't consider themselves to have a faith relationship with God to relate to. I apologize, but this is what I'm wrestling through right now, which is why there isn't much else I feel like writing about.

I grew up in an extremely dysfunctional and even abusive family which claimed to be Christian. My idea of God was of an overbearing, tyrannical, angry, intolerant, judgemental, demanding, impossible-to-please, punishing Father. Kind of like my own dad.

He ruled by fear rather than by love. I was right with God on the basis of my own works, not by faith in the total grace of God given as a result of the death of Jesus. I could never do enough, never accomplish enough, never be good enough, to merit his favour. Rather, I was sure his wrath was waiting to descend on my head.

When I went away to Bible college, this view of God clashed radically with what I learned there. Particularly from a man who became my mentor and substitute father—a man whose relationship with God was strong and committed and who sought to reflect God's love to me.

But I still didn't quite "get" it.

A few years ago, I was drawn into the charismatic movement. For those who don't know what that means, it's basically a belief that the gifts of the Holy Spirit, including miraculous gifts such as tongues, healing, and prophecy, didn't cease with the apostles but still continue today. The ongoing revelation and activity of God are welcomed and sought out. It's marked by a hunger for God's presence, a desperation for his power, knowing that without him we're nothing. We need him to speak to us, to heal us, to love us, to "show up" every time we pray or gather together.

I was powerfully touched by God, in some miraculous ways. There's no doubt about it; it was strong, unmistakeable, and real. I was not expecting any of it, and it cannot be said that it was psychological. I won't go into details about it, but it was real. I was set free. I soaked in the presence of God. I worshipped, I found a new love for him, I was set free from bondage, I had a power to talk about God and to pray for people and to see his presence touch them. It was wonderful.

Until, old hurts cropped up. And I found myself increasingly dragged down again into darkness, into shutting God out, into anger at him, into isolation, depression, and desperation. A cycle set itself up: God would break into my life, speak to me, touch me. I'd be on a "high" for a little while, but then would start to descend again. Until, after a while, I got so disillusioned and burned out that there was no "high". Just anger, bitterness, and a desperate wish to die.

I knew God still loved me. I knew I was his child. I couldn't escape that fact, much as I wished to. There were still unmistakeable signs of his care. He still spoke to me through other people. He still manifested love and grace and forgiveness, reaching out to me to demonstrate that he still wanted me. If only I would have him, if only I would let him in, he would do anything that I wanted him to. Set me free from fear. Give me the love I craved. Never let me feel alone.

But I shut him out. Disappointment, anger, and despair were too strong to allow me to yield. Stubbornness and a long history of being alone created in me a fear of being vulnerable, of being in relationship, of allowing him inside me to see what was really there. To deal with it. To love me.

Until. God sent along this boy. Who has a passion for God. Who has seen God invade his life incredibly and deliver him from in some ways worse darkness than I've ever seen. And I can no longer run. I can no longer hide. My alienation from God, despite my belief in him, is being forced out into the open. He, both God and this boy, will not allow me not to deal with it any longer.

It's a good thing. But it's hard. So very hard. Everything in me wants to run away. Everything in me wants to hide, as I've always hidden. Everything in me wants to tell God to "F*** off," as I often have, and leave me alone. Everything in me wants to stay stubborn and proud and alone, not to humble myself, not to admit my need, not to ask for his grace, not to allow him to invade me and take over. I don't want to have to talk to other people and admit my need of help. I don't want to have to humble myself.

But I do. And that's causing a lot of conflict right now.

Fortunately, God is very patient. Fortunately, the human agent he's sent seems very committed to this and has the spiritual vision to see the end result. But I still know it's my choice. I still know that in the balance hangs my life, both spiritual and otherwise. I still know that I can turn either way.

But I don't want to. I want to choose life. But it's killing me right now. The habits of a lifetime, born out of hurt and fear and cemented when this girl was very, very small, are hard to overcome. The fear of being hurt. The fear of being vulnerable. The fear of being abandoned, left alone if I show them who I really am.

What's going to happen? Well, God's pretty strong, so I'm rooting for him in this one. But it's not something that I can lie back and passively have happen. I have a part to play, a part in actively submitting to him and seeking out the means he's given me to be made well. That's faith. That's obedience.

For the first time in my life, I think that I need to do it. Praying, that he is going to give me the grace. Because otherwise, I'll cut and run.

Yesterday, I got to thinking about something that, contrary to natural expectation, filled me with such an amount of joy that I was pumping my fist in the air as I ran down a country road. I felt almost like I was flying off the ground.

God has been doing a tremendous amount in my life lately. I don't even know how to explain it. It's like he's broken in, finally, and I'm loving him and enjoying life in him and being filled to the point of bursting by the Holy Spirit. I've had more joy, more closeness to God, more wonder, more breakthrough, more healing, more realization of truth than I think I have ever, ever had in my life before. And all of it came about as a result of the most horrific breakup I could possibly have imagined.

I don't even know how to explain it. The only thing that comes closest to describing it is that magnificent verse in Romans 8, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

That's the only thing that can describe it. God took what was possibly the worst thing that could ever have happened to me, humanly speaking, and somehow has turned it into the absolute best thing that could ever have possibly happened to me, divinely speaking.

I was utterly devastated by the breakup. It wasn't simply a breakup but a betrayal of the highest order. I felt like a nuclear bomb had gone off in my insides, leaving everything flattened, decimated, and destroyed. I felt that renewal would never come. I remember thinking as I lay on my friend's couch, in the darkness of her apartment, "I will never be the same again. This will change me forever."

And it has. But not in the way that I expected. In the manner of a volcano spilling lava and ash all over a landscape, and leaving it in the interim devastated but ultimately enriching the soil so that life forms grow and thrive there that never would have before, God has brought more good out of this incident than I would ever have dreamed possible.

Two days after the ultimate ending, when in hatred he spoke the words that broke off even the possibility of a friendship forever, I went for a walk. I didn't intend to speak with God. I was angry as I could possibly be, I felt hopeless, and I was certain that nothing I did, no matter what it was, would change the situation. Certainly talking to God wouldn't. He was the one who'd put me in this mess, and he wasn't about to get me out of it. I was as desperate as I'd ever been. I was convinced this was the end.

But God met with me. I can't even explain it. In an intangible yet utterly tangible way, in an indescribable, un-understandable, thoroughly mysterious way, such that I didn't even know what was going on but knew only that it was God, he met with me. I felt his presence. I was healed. I walked away having forgiven. I walked away understanding. I walked away able to love the person who'd hurt me the most.

And more than that, I walked away with God.

I have "known God" for a long time. I knew I was a Christian. I knew I was God's child. I knew even, in a distant sort of way, that he loved me. Yet life's disappointments had shut me up to him. I was enclosed within walls and fortresses, and his loving presence was not allowed inside to touch me and to heal. I was too afraid. I'd been betrayed too often. I had too thick a shell, too stubborn a will, to ever yield. Even to love.

As years went by, I despaired. I had prophecies and words spoken of God's love for me, of the purpose he had for my life. I believed somehow that it was true, but if so, why didn't it come to pass? Why did I go to church week after week and remain unchanged? Why did I harden my heart in the message or against prophecies that I knew were spoken directly to me, persuading me to yield? Why did I go weeks, months, years without reading my Bible, without praying, without talking to God except in angry, hopeless desperation? Why did I cry when I was alone, asking him with all my heart to let me die? When was his promise going to happen?

And this. It seemed like the ultimate betrayal, the ultimate trick played on me by a God who was determined to make me suffer. My life had been one long record of suffering, and this one thing, the thing that finally seemed like some good, had turned bitter and sour. It was as if you'd bitten into the sweetest chocolate and found it ridden with the most deadly poison.

But it wasn't. The poison gave way to the healing medicine of God's touch. I had no choice, in that circumstance, but to turn to God. He was literally all I had left. Finally, he got me to the point where even my supremely stubborn will and hardened heart had to give way. I had no other choice. It would have eaten me alive.

And my heart has been set free. I surrendered to God, finally. Laid everything down. Gave myself to him heart and soul. Gave up. Gave in. Allowed him to do what he'd been longing to do for all those years: take me over. And it has been the sweetest thing that I have ever experienced, and my heart is free. I have known his touch, his presence, his voice, and his love in ways that I have never known them in my life before in these last few weeks. I have a renewed thirst and hunger for him, seeking him in prayer, reading his word. I have discovered him to be sweeter than anything on this earth. And I want more.

And not just that. It's spilled over to other people. Last night I had dinner with a co-worker and he bared his heart to me about his recent divorce and how he'd been seeking God. Today, he was in church. His heart was touched and tears spilled down his cheeks as he received prayer. He gave me a hug and thanked me for inviting him. I know he'll be back. And all of that is because, if God hadn't done what he's done in my life, I couldn't have reached out to another.

The preacher in church today told us that our mission is to bless everybody around us. Everybody in our city, everybody in our region. And for that, we need to be filled with the Holy Spirit. And I can testify to the truth of that.

I'm loving God. I'm loving other people. For the first time in my life, I'm loving myself. And I'm free. I'm totally free. The thought that made me pump my fist in the air as I was running, was that absolutely nothing in my life has been permanent. I have shifted around so much, moved so much, changed jobs so much, lost relationships, been hurt by other people—all to teach me the glorious truth that made me so happy: all I need is God. He is enough for me. Nothing on this earth lasts, nothing is reliable, but he is faithful. He is permanent. He will never leave me or forsake me. And his love is the greatest thing I can possibly possess.

I used to never understand the end of Romans 8. It says:

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:
'For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.' No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom. 8:35-39)

For a long time I judged God's love in my life by my circumstances. If I was suffering, surely God did not love me. Now, for the first time, I understand these words. God's love is greater. God's love is greater than my circumstances. It triumphs over any earthly reality, even persecution, suffering, and death. If I have that, I can actually go through anything. It's real. It's great. And it's believable. He is all that I want.

I'm loving this. And for the first time, I make no apologies about being so blatantly "Christian" on my blog. I want everyone else to know this, too. Because if God's done it for me, who was so bitter, so hurting, and so closed against him for so long, he can do it for anyone.

Even you.

A few weeks ago, I went through a crisis of faith.

It wasn't the "do I believe in God or not" sort. But it was a crisis, in the sense of a tipping point.

Personally, in my times with God, I was meeting with him, intangible reality beyond but more real than the physically measurable. I felt like I was filled with his love, experienced his presence, tasted joy, faith, and freedom. But when it came down to practical matters, could and would God act on my behalf? Or were my feelings just that: simply feel-good illusions?

I was facing a need for housing. More specifically, a place to live in the town where I work and spend most of my time, by November 1, within my price range. Scanning the local classifieds and Craigslist brought no success. The few places I'd looked at were out of my price range or unsuitable.

A family in my church had offered to rent their guest room, but I was feeling a "no" on many fronts. They were having relatives over for Thanksgiving and I'd have to vacate it then. That and many other small factors combined to make it undesireable, though I'd determined to move there if nothing else came up.

Then, I happened to be speaking with another family from my church and mentioned my search for a place. "Oh, we might be able to have you," the wife said immediately. "Let me talk to my husband about it and we'll let you know."

I'd stayed with them briefly before, and knew the room they had available was very suitable. In a time of prayer about my need, I'd felt quietly deep in my heart that that was the right place to go, and I'd take it if they offered. But a couple of weeks had gone by without an answer, and my well-spaced calls to find out what was happening were met with, "Oh, we haven't had time to discuss it yet. But we will and we'll let you know as soon as possible."

Finally, I'd had enough. November was rapidly approaching and I had no definite or suitable place to go. At that point I cried out to God. "God, you know I've been experiencing you personally in such a dramatic way. But I need to know if those are just psychological feelings, or are you going to come through for me in an objective, tangible way? If you're God, if you're alive, you can and will provide for me in this area. Do it, God."

For me, this was what it came down to: if God was real, if what I'd been experiencing was truly him and not just a psychological coping mechanism, he'd do something that affected my life. He wouldn't just meet me in my quiet times with him, he'd take care of me. How could he provide for my spiritual needs and not my physical? You can't touch feelings. You can't quantify emotions. But if he came through for me in this area, I'd know what I was experiencing was real. If God was my Father, he had to.

And he did. A couple of days after this prayer, I went for my usual lunchtime prayer walk and poured it all out to God again, letting him know that I needed a place to live. I literally got back to work, sat down at my desk, and the phone rang. It was the lady who'd offered me the place conditional on her husband's agreement, calling to say it was mine. They'd talked about it and agreed to allow me to stay for at least six months, at the same price I had been paying at my previous rental.

I was amazed. And thankful. And a crisis of faith passed with God confirming that he was true. I can't say how big it was: a Father who hugs and kisses and tells his daughter all the time that he loves her, but who won't pay her school fees or make her lunch, is no father at all. I'm glad to know God isn't like that. I needed to know it, personally.

I moved in last weekend. I'm very grateful for a genuinely nice place to live, with people from my church, back in the town I need to be in, at a price I can afford. It's been an enormous improvement. It's tangible evidence, to me, that God hears. And he answers.

Philip Yancey has an excellent article in Christianity Today about wrestling with God in prayer. Why God respects it, how some of the greatest heroes of our faith engaged in it. I highly recommend it.

This morning I came across an article via Fark.com titled "Evangelical Group's Motto: Breed to Succeed."

It's a long article, but for those who aren't interested enough to read it in full, here's a brief digest: a small but growing number of conservative evangelicals, mainly in the United States, subscribe to the belief that a married woman's main function is to bear children. They oppose all forms of birth control, believing that it's "obedience to God" to allow nature to take its course, and, in their view, to allow God to determine how many children they have. Logically, he will then take care of them financially, because if he gives them, he has to provide. Women stay home and take care of the children, including homeschooling, while men are the sole breadwinners. Patriarchalism is a given, with the man the head of the home.

The reasoning behind this? Well, the more children Christians have, the more Christians there will be. Conservative (Republican) voters will be raised up, outnumbering liberals who are disobedient to the God-given mandate to reproduce. A Christian army will be launched who will vote red, fight the culture wars, and take the mission to the next generation. America will once again return to its "roots" and become the godly nation it was intended to be. The growing threat of Muslims, who often have large families, is a stimulus.

This movement is called "Quiverfull", from Psalm 127, which reads in part, "Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them."

This all sounds eerily familiar to me. That's because I grew up steeped in this reasoning, and I watched its effect on not only my family but countless others in our homeschool group and circle of friends who subscribed to this philosophy.

My parents had five children and homeschooled. We were among the smaller families in our group—10 or 14 children was not unknown. Large extended vans with stacking-doll-like gradations of the same physical type spilling out were common. My parents' best friends were a couple, the weary wife-half of which produced a child about every year for as long as I knew them. Homeschooling was a given: if you were righteous you didn't expose your kids to the evils of the godless public school system. You taught them at home where you were free to indoctrinate them as you chose. The assumption was that if you raised them right and sheltered them enough, they'd turn out believing what you believe.

Patriarchalism was also the norm. Men were the heads of their homes, and depending on the man, this could be a good thing or a very bad thing. Taken to its extreme, some men, my father among them, believed this conferred the right to do whatever they pleased to their wives and children—including ordering them around, shouting at them, and beating them. The men worked outside the home, and no matter how financially or materially deprived the family was, the wife never, ever did.

Of course this was all backed up by certain well-worn verses from the Bible, interpreted by the men, and wives believed their duty was to submit.

But I'm not interested in writing a story about my experiences. I'm more interested in explaining why I believe this mentality to be so sadly wrong. I don't write with any rancour against the people who believe this; I'm well-familiar with the reasoning and, at one time, would have swallowed it myself to some extent. However, I believe it to be a radically flawed system based on a very faulty understanding of the Scriptures, and that's why I don't subscribe to it and never will.

Before I begin, a caveat: I realize with any response like this there's a danger of stereotyping or lumping all people in a certain belief system together. I certainly don't believe all "Quiverfull" families are headed by abusive men; or that they're all militant, hyper-legalistic, or naive. I'm sure there are many if not most who are gracious, well-intentioned, and lovely people. However, I do believe the reasoning itself to be misguided at best; and it's that which I'll attempt to address.

The belief that Christian families are required to have as many children as possible and to leave birth control "up to God" is an Old Testament one. In Genesis, Adam and Eve were commanded to "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it" (Genesis 1:28). Abraham was told that he would be the father of nations and his offspring would be as numerous as the stars of the sky (Genesis 15 & 17). Psalm 127, as quoted above, states that children are a blessing and implies that the more one has, the more blessed.

In Old Testament Israel, that was true. The Jews were God's "chosen people" out of all the nations of the world. To birth more ethnic Jews was literally to increase the number of God's people (outwardly speaking, at least). Added to this were the practical implications, not unique to Jews but common to every agriculturally-based society both ancient and modern, that the more children you had, the more labourers to work your fields and herd your flocks. Children were also the ultimate "old-age security", guaranteeing a future of provision when you were too old to take care of yourself.

Barrennes was considered the ultimate curse. In Psalm 113:9, God is praised as the one who "settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children." Barren wives such as Sarah (Abraham's wife), Leah (Jacob's wife) or Hannah (Samuel's mother) were grieved and deeply distressed by their failure to have children. In each case, God miraculously intervened and gave these women a child, sparing them a lifetime of dishonour. Often, however (as with Sarah and Leah), the ancient custom of giving the husband a female bondservant to bear him a child on the wife's behalf was practiced. This was seen as a better alternative than no children at all.

The Jews were not unique in these beliefs and practices. However, one factor unique to the Jews was that the Messiah was expected to be born to a Jewish woman. Every Jewish woman hoped that she could be the one to bear the Messiah, or at the very least, to further his line. She was doing her duty to her people (and possibly bringing great honour and blessing upon herself) through childbirth.

However, all of this radically changes with the New Testament. What was implicitly stated throughout the OT is now made explicit: that membership in the true people of God is no longer tied to ethnicity, but belongs to those who repent and have faith (e.g., John the Baptist's preaching: Matthew 3:9-10). In fact, we're even told that all along this has been the case: not everyone who was born an Israelite was a true child of God, but only those who had the same faith as Abraham (Romans 2:28-29; 4:12). The Jews' idea that by the simple fact of membership to a physical nation they were guaranteed right status with God, was knocked on its head repeatedly by Jesus (e.g., Matthew 8:10-12).

All of this may seem rather pedantic and irrelevant, particularly to those who don't claim a Christian faith; but it's central to the reasoning behind this modern-day movement.

Going further in the New Testament, we nowhere find commands to Christians to "be fruitful and multiply" in a physical sense. We do find very clear and explicit commands to be fruitful and multiply in a spiritual sense. In the so-called "Great Commission" (and in other passages throughout the gospels), Jesus commands us to "go and make disciples of all nations" (Matthew 28:18-20). The people of God are now the church, those who receive the mysterious new birth by the Spirit, those who repent and cast all their faith on Jesus. This people grows not by physically reproducing, but as those who've experienced it go out and share it with others, teaching and proclaiming what Jesus taught, accompanied by physical demonstrations of his power. In this way, the kingdom extends.

If, as "Quiverfull" advocates state, a Christian's main duty is to produce children to grow the kingdom of God, then why is Jesus, the Lord and Head of our faith, completely and totally silent on the subject? He blesses children (Matthew 19:13-15), but never commands us to bear them. Even on this occasion, he uses it to teach a spiritual lesson. One would think if childrearing was a main goal of his church, he would have said something about it somewhere. Something to the effect of, "Blessed are the fertile, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." But there's nothing.

When Jesus does mention offspring, it isn't with the kind of positive spin that the "Quiverfulls'" beliefs would indicate. A sample: "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple." (Luke 14:25-27). Jesus is not talking about hatred in the sense that we normally understand it, but a willingness to put him first, above even our closest family, to the extent that we'll suffer their loss if obedience to him requires it. Surely we'd expect that given Jesus' very limited discussion of earthly families, he'd devote the time he did spend to ideals like having lots of children! Instead, when he does mention the subject, it's to tell us that even this area of our lives is to lie in subjection to him. Jesus is paramount, not procreation.

As we move into Acts and follow the apostles' example, the pattern continues. They go out, preach the gospel, heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out demons. The church grows. No word in Peter or Paul's preaching about the duty to have kids. 3000 were saved in one day as a result of Peter's first sermon (Acts 2)! Pretty effective church growth strategy: it would take a long time to achieve those kinds of numbers through physical birth.

Moving on to the rest of the New Testament, we find nothing, anywhere, commanding Christians to bear children, or to have as many as possible. There are brief commands to women to love their husbands and children and to care for them (Titus 2:4-5); commands to fathers about how to treat their children (Ephesians 6:4); and a command to Christian children to obey their parents (Ephesians 6:1). The New Testament does not direct but assumes that many if not most of the new believers come from families. The kingdom, this new way of life, has its bearing and effect on every aspect of life, including how one treats one's offspring. Family life is important. But considering the proportion of importance the "Quiverfull" adherents give it, there is remarkably little about it in the NT.

Instead, the primary thrust of the New Testament, and most of its commands, is about how we are to treat one another in the church. The church is the family of God. Even single people and widows have their rightful place in this new community. Spiritual ties, our common Father God, our Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit indwelling us, are stronger than physical ties. There are clear warnings to those who neglect their families (1 Timothy 5:8), but the main focus of the NT is the newly-created family of God, made up of Jews, Gentiles, men, women, young, old, married and single. This family is to love one another, care for one another, practice family life as commanded by Jesus, and grow the family by telling others.

In summary, the method of growth for the kingdom of God is this: preach the gospel. Make disciples. Do the works of Jesus. This kingdom will affect how we treat our biological families, but the family of God is our primary allegiance.

But outweighing it all for me, is one striking factor that I can't help but believe the "Quiverfulls" don't take into account: the simple fact that Jesus, our Lord and Master, was single. He didn't ever bear children (extra-biblical speculation like Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code notwithstanding). Paul, the greatest apostle, author of most of the New Testament, was single. Not only that, both Jesus and Paul state explicitly that some will be called to singleness for the sake of the kingdom (Matthew 19:11-12 & 1 Corinthians 7:1-9). Paul even says that if one can accept it, singleness is a better option because it allows undivided devotion to the Lord (1 Cor 7:32-35)! So were Jesus and Paul, and single Christians today and throughout the ages, radically disobedient? Were they missing the purposes of God, not furthering the growth and cause of the church, by not having kids? What would all the churches Paul founded say? What would Christians throughout two millenia of church history, myself included, who have benefited from the fact that Paul was single and free to travel and risk his life to spread the gospel, say?

I think I know. I know what I would say.

There are questions I'd love to ask the Quiverfulls. Like, how can you assume that by having children you'll further the kingdom of God when membership in the kingdom is not by physical birth but spiritual? Can you assume that all of your children will be Christians just because you are? Because you "raise them right"? What if a majority of your children choose to rebel (as so many do), and live their own lifestyle? What if they grow up outwardly conforming but inwardly empty? What if they carry on your values but never know God? How tragic!

What about single Christians? What about Christian couples who are infertile? Are they somehow disobedient to God? What about women whose lives will be endangered if they bear more children? Are they "rebellious" if they undergo tubal ligation? Or should they simply "trust God" and risk major health problems or death?

How are you living Jesus' radical call to leave it all and follow him if your main goal is a steady job and a nice home life for your kids and you wouldn't even consider getting up and going to another nation to give the gospel, perhaps to people who have never heard? How can you justify having little to give because your limited income is stretched to its capacity by the needs of multiple kids? How do you explain the fact that no New Testament command exists to have children?

What about adoption? If the main goal is to raise kids who will carry on your Christian faith, why not make room for those who otherwise wouldn't have a chance by not having so many of your own? Why not show mercy by giving family life and the privileges of education, culture, and health care to a poor child from a third-world country? Why not adopt a child from another ethnicity? If you're white, take in a black, Asian, or Latino child. Why not help those who are already born but destined to a lifetime of disadvantage, rather than producing so many of your own?

Please understand I am not saying it is wrong to have children. I am not even saying it is wrong to have multiple children, if a particular couple feels that is their calling from God and they have the desire, energy, and resources to care for them. I can't help thinking it's excessive and unnecessary, but then, that's my personal opinion. What I am decrying is the notion that equates having lots of children and raising them in a particular way is somehow integral to the purposes of God and advances his kingdom. It's not and it doesn't. It misses the point of the New Testament entirely. It's trying to build a kingdom on earth, and well-intentioned as it may be, it's never going to happen. Not only that, a lot of the kids raised in these families (like myself, my siblings, and many others I know) are going to see the emptiness and fallacy behind this mentality and either reject Christianity entirely, or discover a Jesus whose kingdom is not of this world. Like I, I'm thankful, did.