– AND Let Them Know It!
YES, it is absolutely right to be proud of your children. Not a quiet, passing smile that disappears as quickly as it came, and not a hidden thought kept tucked away where no one can hear it. But something spoken. Something visible. Something that reaches them. A kind of joy that settles into their bones because they saw it in your face and heard it in your voice.
They need that. They need to know they are seen.
Not just for the finished result. Not just for the moment that others applaud. But for the hidden places, the effort when no one is watching, the slow growth, the choices made in quiet, the character being formed where there is no audience. When a parent says, “I’m proud of you,” it does more than encourage. It connects. It steadies. It gives the child something solid beneath their feet. It lets them taste something sacred, a delight that does not depend on perfection.
And yet, many parents hesitate there. Especially believers. There is a carefulness, almost a fear, that if we speak too much affirmation, we might raise children who think too highly of themselves. So instead of risking pride, we lean into silence. But silence, when a heart is longing to be known and affirmed, can wound just as deeply. Sometimes more. Because a child will always interpret silence. And often, they interpret it as absence.
There is a lie that has quietly settled into many hearts, the idea that confidence and arrogance are the same thing. But Scripture does not teach that. There is a holy confidence. A grounded confidence. And our children are meant to encounter that first through us.
The Scriptures draw a distinction that is both subtle and powerful. In Hebrew, the word ga’ah (גָּאָה) carries the sense of rising, of being lifted up. It is used of YHWH in beauty and power, as in Exodus 15:1: “I will sing to the LORD, for He has triumphed gloriously…” That rising is pure. It is rightful. It is anchored in truth. But when that rising turns inward, when it becomes self-exaltation, the word shifts into gaon (גָּאוֹן). Now it speaks of swelling, of lifting oneself in a way that disconnects from the Source. The difference is not in the height, but in the direction.
Children are not born swollen with pride, prejudice or hate. They are born open. Receptive. Ready to believe what is spoken over them. If what fills their world is silence or constant correction, they will either shrink inward or learn to perform outward. But when delight is spoken plainly, when love is expressed without hesitation, they learn something different. They learn how to receive approval without chasing it. Without building their identity on it.
Yeshua Himself shows us the pattern. At His baptism, before a single miracle, before the crowds gathered, before anything that the world would call achievement, a voice came from heaven: “This is My Son, the Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” The word agapētos (ἀγαπητός) means deeply loved, cherished. And eudokeō (εὐδοκέω) goes beyond approval, it is delight, a deep pleasure, a joy in what is seen. This was spoken before the public ministry. Before the works. The Father did not wait for performance. He gave identity first. He covered His Son in affirmation before the world ever responded to Him.
That sets the pattern.
Our children should hear our voices before they earn anything. Before the report cards, before the recognition, before the visible success. Because when affirmation comes first, then success no longer becomes a way to earn identity. It becomes an overflow of something already rooted.
But the concern remains, and it is not unfounded. Pride can turn. It can distort.
Yeshua made that clear in Luke 18. The Pharisee stood and recited his righteousness, lifting himself in his own eyes. The word hypsoō (ὑψόω), to exalt, to lift high, becomes dangerous when the elevation is self-directed. It creates a height with no foundation.
Meanwhile, the tax collector stood at a distance, aware, grounded, honest. And he went home justified.
So the question is not whether we lift our children. The question is how. Where does the lifting point? What direction does it move? Does it anchor or inflate? We are meant to lift our children, but not to disconnect them from the ground. We are meant to bless them, but not to sever them from the Source.
Paul understood this tension well. In 1 Thessalonians 2:19, he says, “What is our hope, our joy, or the crown in which we will glory… Is it not you?” The word kauchēsis (καύχησις), often translated boasting, is used without shame. But it is not self-glory. It is gratitude expressed toward God for what He has done in others.
Imagine a child hearing something like that: you are part of my joy before God. I see Him in you. I thank Him for you. That does not inflate. It roots.
So when we recognize gifts, when we celebrate success, we do not deny it or minimize it. We trace it. We gently connect it back. God formed this in you. God gave you this ability. What you have done matters, and it belongs in His hands.
Because the place where humility and confidence meet is surrender. That is where Yeshua stood.
In John 13, it says that Yeshua, knowing the Father had given all things into His hands, rose and washed the disciples’ feet. Knowing who He was did not make Him rise above others. It made Him able to kneel. That is true confidence. That is what we want to form in our children.
The Psalms echo this same kind of joy. Psalm 127 says: “Children are a heritage from the LORD… blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” That is not quiet acceptance. That is visible delight. That is a kind of holy boasting, not in self, but in what God has entrusted.
We are not simply raising children. We are stewarding souls. And our words carry weight. They can either press a child down into false humility or lift them into grounded truth. They do not need to hide their gifts. They need to learn how to carry them.
So we speak. Often. Clearly. Not only when they succeed, but when they try. When they choose kindness and mercy. When they forgive. When they rise again after falling. We say: I see you. I am proud of you. And I thank God for who you are becoming. And in that, we give them something lasting. A reflection of the Father’s heart.
There is a moment in the book of Ruth that carries this quietly.
After loss has already hollowed everything out, Naomi stands with nothing left in the world’s eyes. No sons. No visible future. And yet Ruth speaks those words of covenant loyalty, choosing to remain.
Naomi does not respond with outward celebration. She does not overflow with visible praise. But her silence is not empty. It is full. She receives the love. She allows Ruth to stay. And in doing so, she allows herself to be honored. That matters. Because later, when Ruth returns from gleaning, Naomi begins to speak again. She says, “Blessed be the man who took notice of you.”The word baruch (בָּרוּךְ) carries the weight of divine favor. She is not just acknowledging. She is invoking blessing.
And then something shifts. She begins to speak identity. Direction. Future. This is not bitterness speaking. This is recognition. This is a quiet, rising pride, not in herself, but in what she sees in Ruth. Faithfulness. Strength. Courage. She trusts her.
That is another facet of this kind of pride. It is not always loud. Sometimes it is expressed through trust. Through giving responsibility. Through seeing and naming what is forming in someone.
Ruth, in turn, does not swell. She remains sheltered. The word chasah (חָסָה), to take refuge, shows her posture. She stays under the covering of YHWH even as she is seen and praised. And the result is legacy. Not just for them, but for generations.
This is what we pass down. Not pride that isolates, but joy that recognizes the work of God in another life.
Then we come to Mary, Yeshua’s mother.
There is a stillness around her. A quiet depth. When the angel speaks, she does not run to be seen. She receives. She asks. She yields. The word charis (χάρις), grace, favor, is placed upon her, not earned.
And yet she sings. “My soul magnifies the Lord…” The word megalunei (μεγαλύνει), to make large, to exalt, reveals her posture. She does not shrink from what God is doing. She names it. She acknowledges it. She says all generations will call her blessed.
But she does not magnify herself. She magnifies Him. That is the pattern. She holds moments in her heart, diatēreō (διατηρέω), preserving them carefully. She watches. She remembers. And when the moment comes at Cana, she acts. Quietly. Confidently. “Do whatever He tells you.” She believes in Him before the crowd sees anything.
That is another facet. Pride expressed as trust in who someone is becoming. And then at the cross, she remains. Steady. Present. Loving. Her pride was never in the outward works. It was in Him.
That is what we give our children. Not applause that fades, but presence that remains. Pride that is not tied to performance, but to identity.
Paul brings us back again to balance. In Philippians 1:3–5, he speaks joy over the believers. He celebrates them. He names their growth. And yet in Romans 12:3, he calls for sober judgment, a clear seeing of self that is anchored in God’s grace. He holds both.
And that is what we must hold. We celebrate. We affirm. We speak life. And then we gently point upward. Always upward. Because when pride is rooted correctly, it does not inflate. It strengthens. Like a tree with deep roots, it allows growth without collapse.
So when that feeling rises in you, that deep sense of joy and recognition for your children, do not silence it. Shape it. Let it be filled with gratitude. Let it be directed toward God. Let it be spoken clearly and often.
Say it. And when words are not enough, hold it, like Mary did. Treasure it. Let it deepen. Because one day, long after everything visible has passed, what will remain is this:
They will remember your voice. They will remember your joy. They will remember that they were seen. And they will remember that the pride you carried for them was never about lifting them above others, but about anchoring them in the One who made them.
And that kind of pride is not something to fear. It is something to pass down.
✝️ ✝️ ✝️ ✝️ ✝️
If this message blessed you, please leave a comment. I would love to hear from you.
© 2026 AMKCH – YWPMI
AI-assisted images created with DALL‑E 3
✝️ ✝️ ✝️ ✝️ ✝️
.
.
.