When Dads Check Out and Moms Pray In (Meet Mrs. Jedidah)

Yesterday in our Soul Care class for pastors, we got into one of those discussions that make pastors smile nervously, the topic of pastors’ kids.

We talked about how sometimes children from “godly homes” end up making very ungodly choices, like Eli’s sons who wore priestly robes but lived recklessly. Then, on the flip side, we looked at how godly children can sometimes emerge from ungodly homes and used Josiah as our case study (considering his father and grandfather were spiritual disasters).

How does that happen? How does a boy grow up surrounded by idols and still become a reformer of worship?

As we were talking, one pastor raised a very good question, he asked, “What about the role of the mother when the father doesn’t step up?” He mentioned Jedidah, Josiah’s mother, whose name is quietly dropped in 2 Kings 22:1–2: “Josiah was eight years old when he became king… his mother’s name was Jedidah, the daughter of Adaiah of Bozkath.”

I’ll be honest, prior to that question, I’d never really considered the possibility of Jedidah’s motherly influence in Josiah’s life. I’ve always assumed Josiah’s godliness might have been a reaction to all the darkness he saw growing up. You know how sometimes when you’ve seen enough evil, you just get tired of it and start craving light?

Yet, after that question in class, I’m started things a little differently. That verse could easily have skipped her name, but it didn’t. Scripture goes out of its way to record her name, when so many others are forgotten, which makes you wonder. Perhaps Jedidah was more than just background detail. Perhaps while her husband, Amon was busy following the dark patterns of his father Manasseh, Jedidah was whispering stories of the God of David into her son’s ears. Maybe when idols filled the palace, she filled Josiah’s heart with truth. Maybe God used a mother’s quiet, stubborn faith to cultivate something strong in Josiah’s spirit.

This hits close to home for me.

I grew up in a loving family. My dad was a good man, hardworking, responsible, and present, but he didn’t surrender his life to Christ until much later in life. My mother, on the other hand, was a firebrand for Jesus. My grandmother too. These women prayed heaven down. I’m talking about 3am prayers that went on well into sunrise. Not only that, in our house, going to church wasn’t optional; it was military duty. As a teenager, I fought it with every ounce of rebellion in me. I grumbled, rolled my eyes, dragged my feet, but at the end of each Sunday, I still found myself sitting in church beside her every Sunday.

My dad, God bless his heart, never stood in her way. In fact, he encouraged us to go with her every weekend, every midweek, every Friday night, and every Saturday morning “special” prayer service. I think dad knew from his own journey what life apart from Christ could do to a man. Looking back now, I see that though I didn’t appreciate it then, those Sundays, those prayers, and those godly examples planted seeds in me that never died. Years later, when I finally encountered Christ on my own, it was their legacy, my mother’s consistency and my grandmother’s intercession that echoed loudest in my spirit.

So, when I think of Jedidah, I see their faces.

Women who stood in the gap. Women who carried faith on their knees when men around them didn’t carry it on their shoulders. Women who refused to let the spiritual torch go out in the family, even if they had to carry it alone for a while.

But brothers, let’s be honest: as much as we thank God for Jedidah and for women like her, her story should not make us comfortable, it should make us convicted. The story of Jedidah exists partly because two generations of men failed. Her husband Amon didn’t lead, and his father Manasseh destroyed the spiritual foundations of the nation. The fact is, the story of many praying mothers exists because too many fathers have gone spiritually missing. Thank God for them.

This should sober us up, men!

The solution to broken male leadership in the home is not more heroic mothers (though we wholeheartedly welcome and celebrate them) it’s restored fathers! If Josiah could become godly with only a mother’s influence, imagine what could happen if both father and mother pulled in the same spiritual direction. Imagine the strength of that kind of legacy.

So, once again, let’s thank God for the Jedidahs, the praying, patient, often-overlooked mothers who keep faith alive when men drop the baton. Yet, let her story call us as men back to the altar of responsibility. Our children don’t just need to hear our sermons; they need to see our surrender. They need to watch us pray when no one’s watching, apologize when we’ve failed, and love their mother with consistency and grace.

Josiah reminds us that revival can begin with one faithful child. Jedidah reminds us that revival can begin with one faithful parent. And perhaps both remind us that, if fathers take their rightful place beside their wives and children, revival doesn’t just visit the home, it transforms a generation.

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