Rebellion is a part of the human heart. This perspective isn’t particularly popular. But it is honest – and it’s a powerful tool that equips us for the long journey of parenting.

There’s a new game in our house that’s equal parts endearing and exasperating – and it goes something like this:

Our two-year-old daughter spots and then sneaks off with something she knows is off-limits. It might be a phone here, a pair of earbuds there, even a bottle of lotion if the mood strikes. Once the item is in her possession, she’s off and running.

It’s not that Squish sets out hunting for contraband, but the instant she spots it, she knows exactly what to do, making a swift beeline for her favourite hiding spot behind my office door.

There she waits in silence, like a tiny bandit hiding her loot, eyes gleaming, fully aware that her cover is about to be blown.

Then comes the standoff. Squish doesn’t run when we find her – but she doesn’t return the item, either. Instead, she throws it to the floor in protest, as if to say, “If I can’t have it, then neither can you.”

Thus far, all other negotiation tactics have failed. If we reach for the item ourselves, she bursts into tears. If we ask her to hand it over, she flatly refuses.

We’re still figuring out what to make of this. Is it a game? A test of boundaries? A bid for attention? Maybe a mix of all three.

But there’s something more beneath these playful moments. Squish’s antics serve as a mirror into a deeper, universal reality – one that’s ancient and hidden within us all.

The First Forbidden Fruit

Modern parenting philosophies often treat children as blank slates – pure, unblemished beings shaped solely by the world around them. But any parent who’s spent ten minutes with a toddler knows better.

No one taught Squish how to defy our instructions with a grin on her face. No one modelled how to hide behind doors with stolen treasure. And certainly no one demonstrated how to protest, cry, or clam up when asked to make things right.

On the contrary, we’re actively teaching our little girl kindness, respect, and responsibility – habits that don’t come naturally, while defiance and self-will certainly do.

To that end, I’ve been teaching Squish about the account of Adam and Eve – the garden, the forbidden fruit, and the choice they made to reach out and take it despite God’s warning.

This is a story that’s been passed down for generations, but watching my toddler scurry away with pilfered goods makes it feel strikingly relevant.

More than a one-time mistake, the rebellion of Adam and Eve marked the beginning of a pattern – a heart disposition inherited by all their descendants.

The urge to take what is forbidden, to hide when caught, and to resist making peace is now an enduring feature of human nature.

Little Hearts, Big Lessons

This perspective on the human heart isn’t particularly popular. It doesn’t flatter us or offer any quick fixes. But it is honest – and it’s a powerful tool that equips us for the long journey of parenting.

If we expect our children to be naturally virtuous, every act of defiance feels like a failure – either theirs or ours. But when we recognise rebellion as part of the human condition, discipline shifts from control to faithful guidance. We come to see the parenting project as an opportunity to shape our little one’s character over time, one imperfect step after another.

It also reminds us that grace is essential —not just for our children but for ourselves, too. I’ve lost patience more times than I’d like to admit. I’ve been inconsistent, short-tempered, and sometimes spouted off the right words with the wrong tone. Parenting exposes my own need for growth, forgiveness, and grace – just like Squish’s.

As we are confronted by our children’s rebellion, the Bible is like a fresh brook bubbling with wisdom. It calls us to wrestle with sin, extend grace, and embrace the slow, patient work of transformation.

Most importantly, it equips us to parent with hope, patience, and humility – knowing we are all in need of God’s mercy.

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