Episode 6: SACRED PLAY SERIES pt. 1 | Play Is Holy — Rediscovering Joy in a World That Worships Work

you are made for more than deadlines and dishes. There was a time when laughter came easy, when joy didn't need a reason, but somewhere along the way, we traded imagination for efficiency, and forgot how to play. This episode is an invitation to remember, not just for your kids, but for you. High friends and welcome back to Parent Forward, the podcast for parenting meets spiritual formation. I'm your host Julie Ann Luce and I'm so glad you're here. Today, we're starting a brand new series that feels like a big breath of fresh air, sacred play, because parenting is already heavy enough and maybe, just maybe, God is inviting us into joy, into laughter, into pillow forts and dance parties, and slowing down enough to be a little silly again. This episode is for anyone who's forgotten how to play or feels guilty even trying. Here's what I've noticed. Somewhere along the way, we adults stopped playing. Life just got so serious and play and silliness that just got left behind. And when we do try to play with our kids, it's often through a gritty teeth, or my mind is always somewhere else, or it's just quick five minutes before bedtime, or while mentally calculating my to-do list, it's just not fun anymore. But what if the loss of play isn't just about fun? What if it's also about formation? What if rediscovering play is part of how God shapes us and heals us? A few years ago, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I had really played, like full-out, belly laugh, ridiculous kind of play. There was this interesting moment where my youngest asked me to pretend I was a baby bunny, and I froze. She was dead serious, looking at me with those longing eyes so close to my face or sweet little voice, asking me to do something ridiculous. She didn't twitch or smirk. She didn't think this was a big ask, or a hard ask. She didn't even doubt, I would say yes. But I'm like literally frozen, like deer in the headlights. I didn't want to do it. I felt silly. I thought, "I have things to do, girl." With everything inside me, I knew I wasn't going to do this. I was going to get out of this. I paused here for a moment because I felt some kind of stirring, almost like a disappointment in myself for not being that kind of mom. Or my life must be too serious. I don't even know how to have that kind of abandonment. And something in me whispered, "She's inviting you in." And it totally illuminated my opposition, my avoidance strategy. My sweet girl was inviting me into something here, and I was doing what I often do, making excuses, downplaying the importance, running all the cons without the pros. It bumped up against a bigger truth in me. How often is God inviting me into something that feels ridiculous, and silly, and unrealistic? And I dragged my feet and missed the beautiful adventure. As I think about it now, it made me ask myself right there, "What is she inviting me into that is too hard or too awful?" Nothing. She was simply inviting me into imagination, into playfulness, into a forgotten posture, a flight-heartedness, and fun, and laughter. She had no idea. She was inviting me into a beautifully forming practice of not taking myself too seriously, in the permission that comes with that, of being able to laugh at myself. Now I know this sounds so much more trivial than a child simply asking an adult to pretend they are a baby bunny, but when you realize that parenting is a chance to be formed and influenced by our own children just as much as it is a chance for the opposite, then every moment, even the short-fleeting ones like this, is a chance for my soul to be nurtured, and for a release of all the things that get in the way of my spiritual freedom. So I literally got down on all fours, I twitched my nose, I hopped and squeaked and flopped in the grass, and she laughed so hard she fell over. I don't think I did that very well, she probably couldn't even tell I was a bunny, probably more like an injured crocodile or something, but the delight that came over her was sheer heaven on earth, and as she lay there, belly laughing, I couldn't help but also burst out in an uncontrollable laughter as well. I'm talking the laughing so hard you snort kind of laughter, and somehow, in that moment, I felt closer to her and to God than I had in weeks. In the world we live in, value is often tied to output. We equate worth with productivity. If it doesn't achieve something measurable, it must be a waste of time. But what if play is not a break from the serious work? What if it is the work? Theologian Yurgen Motman challenges this cultural mindset in his book Theology of Play. He writes, "Play is a celebration of life that comes from freedom. It's not preparation for life. It is life." In other words, joy isn't a detour. It's a destination. And in the world of children's spirituality, there are voices that help us see that play isn't just child's play. It's often how children experience God. Rebecca Nye calls children's spirituality a hidden treasure, subtle, overlooked, but full of potential. She writes that this treasure often shows up through imagination and wonder and play. Lacey Finn-Borgo takes us even deeper. When children play, they are practicing presence. This is the same space where they are most open to God. So, when we say play is sacred, we're not just being poetic, we're being practical. Play is a thin place, a holy space where heaven brushes up against earth. In our children, they're already fluent in its language. I heard a story recently that I just can't stop thinking about. It's told by a woman named Caitlyn. During a Sunday service, there was a children's moment before the sermon, a time to ask the kids a simple question about the day's scripture. The passage was Jesus appearing to His disciples after the resurrection. The children's ministry leader asked, "If Jesus suddenly showed up in your house during dinner, what would you ask Him?" As an adult watching the service, she immediately thought of all the heavy theological questions. She'd ask about deep pain or confusion or some of the big theological mysteries that she carries. But the children once said, "Will you stay for dinner?" Another asked, "Will you go outside and have her bugs with me?" And the last one said, "Will you have a tea party with me?" Caitlyn teared up when she heard that. They didn't ask Jesus to fix anything. They invited Him to play. And isn't that what we all want? Deep down. What a witness, right there in front of the whole church, not just learning about God while the grown-ups learned theology, but teaching us about God in ways we would have missed if we just sent them downstairs to play. Turns out, the play was the theology. That's a great story, and you can find the full reference for that in today's show notes. When Jesus said in Matthew 18, "Unless you become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. I don't think he was only pointing to child-like trust or innocence." He was inviting us in the kind of wonder and openness that children naturally embody, especially in play. The God who created sea otters, color, wildflowers, and thunderous belly laughter isn't allergic to delight. The same God who filled the Psalms with dancing and turned water into wine is still inviting us into a kingdom that feels at times like a party full of joyfully messy kids. What if the divine is not found in our striving, but in our silliness? What if play is prayer? What if God is not only present in our quiet time, but also in the puddle jumping, the pillow forts, the cannonballs in the swimming pool, in the tea party with plastic cups and stuffed animals? This is a sacred invitation to play, to laugh, to enter the kingdom with the wide-eyed, joy-drenched posture of a child. So here's your practice this week. Do one thing that feels absolutely useless, but joyful. It could be jumping on the trampoline, drawing with sidewalk chalk, making shadow puppets, maybe acting like a baby bunny, playing an old song and dancing like no one's watching, but my friend. Notice how it feels in your body. Notice what rises in you, resistance, shame, delight, and then ask, "God, are you here too?" Before we go, let's take a moment to breathe. You've been invited into something sacred today, not something extra to add to your to-do list, but something gentle to return to. So, soften your shoulders, loosen your grip. You don't need to be perfect. You are already deeply loved. Let this prayer be a companion on the road ahead, a blessing to meet you in the playful, holy mess of parenting. May you remember this sound of your own laughter, not the polite kind, but the kind that bubbles up unhindered. May you find freedom and holiness in the hop of a bunny, the sway of a dance, the wrestle of a blanket for it being built. May your soul grow young again, not naive, but tender, brave, and wildly imaginative. May your child's invitation be a doorway, and may you have the courage to walk through. And may you discover in the giggles, in the games, in the gut deep laughter, the God who rejoices over you is singing, who delights in your delight, and who never tires of play. If today's episode made you smile or made you think, I'd love to hear your story. You can find me on Instagram at Parent Forward Podcast or visit my website at parentforward.com. And don't miss next week's episode, the neuroscience of silliness. Why being a goofball builds real connection, we'll talk about why play rewires the brain, and how being ridiculous on purpose strengthens your bond with your child. We'll also talk about why silly might just be the sacred work your home needs right now. Until then, keep parenting forward friend, one faithful and delightfully foolish step at a time.