The Car Seat Sermon: Tieri’s Prayer, Acknowledging the Source, Honouring the Channel

Tieri came home from daycare with a new obsession: an island his teacher had described so vividly it sounded like a promise. In the car, he kept repeating it: “Daddy, I want to go. I want to see it.” He described it like someone who had already been there.

His mum, calm and practical, said, “Maybe for your 5th birthday. Pray for Daddy. Pray for Mommy. Pray that we will be able to take you.”

That conversation lasted minutes.

We got home. I unbuckled him to lift him out of his car seat, and there he was: small hands folded, eyes shut, face set with a seriousness that belonged to an elder.

“Tieri, we’re home.”

No response.

“Tieri, we’re home.”

Still nothing.

I touched him gently. He opened his eyes just enough to answer, almost offended that I would interrupt something so important:

“Daddy, I’m praying. Mommy said I should pray to God. I’m praying that on my 5th birthday you will take me to the island.”

I said, “Amen.” And I meant it.

That moment preached to me.

Children do not struggle with belief the way adults do. They do not negotiate faith into exhaustion. They simply trust, especially when what we teach them is not theory, but practice.

And this is the heart of it: this was not Tieri’s first time hearing the word “pray.” In our home, prayer is not an emergency ritual. It is a relationship. We want him to know, early that Daddy and Mommy are not his source. We are channels. God is the Source.

That distinction matters. It reshapes a child’s confidence. It builds an inner life that does not collapse when circumstances change. It teaches a child where help ultimately comes from, and where gratitude ultimately returns.

I think of George Müller, the man known for caring for orphans and teaching them to pray, not by recitation alone, but by bringing God into daily needs and watching answers arrive. He trained children to look beyond the human hand that served the meal, to the God who provided it.

I also remember a story shared around my wedding: a young boy struggling in school, found praying on his own. When asked why, he replied with a child’s unanswerable logic: “Because you and Mommy pray when you need help, and God answers. So I’m praying too.”

That is what Tieri did in the car seat: he treated God as real, near, and involved. No performance. No noise. Just communion.

And that matters too: the posture of his prayer matched the posture he sees. In our family, we don’t shout at God as though He is absent or deaf. We speak to Him as Father, because prayer is communication, not theatre.

One definition has stayed with me, from my sister, Melony Ishola: prayer is “putting in a word for yourself in the heavenlies.” Not begging like an orphan. Not panicking like a powerless person. Putting in a word, confident that Heaven listens.

As a father writing this, I use the language of Father, but I mean the work of parents, because children first learn what authority, love, safety, and consistency feel like through the home we build together.

Parenting has taught me a sobering truth: before a child can explain theology, a child can already interpret God through us. The earliest “sermon” a child hears is not from a pulpit; it is from presence, tone, patience, truthfulness, and restraint. If the first authority in a child’s life is harsh, absent, unpredictable, or unsafe, then trust becomes complicated, faith becomes work. But where a child experiences steady love, truthful speech, fair correction, and reliable care, the word Father becomes less frightening and more believable.

That is why we take prayer seriously, not as noise, not as performance, but as relationship. We want Tieri to know that Mommy and Daddy are not his source; we are channels. God is the Source. We serve; He supplies. We guide; He governs.

Christy Essien-Igbokwe captured the weight of this in “Seun Rere,” speaking with a child’s clarity: “You parents, you are my God on the earth.” And that is exactly the point: children often meet “God” first through the way we show up. So, we must represent Him with integrity, not as tyrants, not as absent rulers, not as unstable moods, but as parents whose love is firm, whose word can be trusted, and whose authority is exercised for the child’s good.

So, Tieri’s prayer is more than a cute story. It is a mirror, a warning, and a direction.

Teach them to pray, not as a slogan, but as a way of living.

Teach them that parents are helpers, not gods.

Teach them that God is present in the ordinary.

And then live in such a way that “Father” becomes a word they can trust, both on earth and in heaven.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.