The Conversations I’m Having With My Kids About Trump

A guest post from our dear friend Meredith Miller of Kids + Faith

Public Theology is based on the work of Zach W. Lambert, Pastor of Restore, a Jesus centered, justice focused, radically inclusive church in Austin, Texas. Zach’s first book, Better Ways to Read the Bible, will release on August 12, 2025 and is available to preorder today (and get a little something from us in return!). All of the content available at Public Theology is for those who identify as Christian, as well as those who might be interested in learning about a more inclusive, kind, thoughtful Christianity. We’re glad you’re here.

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Today we have a guest essay from our friend Meredith Miller. Meredith is a pastor, writer, and parent who has spent most of the past twenty years working toward helping parents learn how we talk about God, faith + the Bible with kids. Her book, Woven: Nurturing a Faith Your Kid Doesn't Have to Heal From, came out last year and is FANTASTIC (and beautiful!). Meredith has also preached at Restore and hosted a workshop for our parents; both of those videos can be found online if you’re interested.

We are so grateful that Meredith agreed to do this guest essay because the truth is, whether you are a parent or not, the conversations we have with children about faith, politics, and God are so vitally important. In my opinion, no one is helping us do this better than Meredith Miller.

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The Conversations I’m Having With My Kids About Trump

By Meredith Miller

Two days after the inauguration, I was packing to spend the weekend in Canada with a church. It’s the type of travel that’s regularly part of my life now, though heading somewhere international is unusual. As I was double checking that I was packed and had my passport handy, my husband made some offhand joke about being prepared because who knows what Trump will try with the border by the weekend. This is part of how we cope: almost-funny-but-too-close-to-true attempts at jokes. I thought nothing of my kids, who are 9 and 12, being in the room.

That night my 9 year old struggled to get to sleep, his imagination and ignorance combining to make him fear I really might not be allowed to come back home. I could solve the ignorance with a brief explanation of the logistics of international travel, but I couldn’t help what his imagination created based on something he does know: this president is unpredictable in his actions but predictable in his unkindness.

We’ve all seen the headlines proclaiming one executive order after another. We’ve felt the dizzying and disorienting effect of trying to keep up with what’s happening, what’s not happening (yet?) because it’s illegal or unconstitutional, and what’s illegal but happening anyway.

And then we have to make sandwiches for lunch boxes. Grab baseball bags as we head out the door to transport one kid from band on to the first practice of the season (yes, my northern friends, in California baseball practice starts in January). Call the orthodontist because the new puppy somehow nipped the wire of the other kid’s braces and pulled it out.

And then right at bedtime, or in the few minutes you drive to school, your kid asks about him. And if your kid is like mine, the recurring question is ‘Why?’ Why is he doing this? Why would he say that? Why?

What I say, when they ask why, is this:

I say everyone decides who or what they trust most. And someone who trusts power or money to make themself safe, if that’s what they think will help everything be OK, it shows. It shows in how they act, and how they treat people, and how they look at the world. It shows as people become expendable, unless they too, are rich and powerful. It shows as creation ceases to be a joy we’re meant to care well for and becomes a resource we can exploit. It shows as every decision boils down to ‘What’s in it for me?’

I say there simply won’t be a good reason why. That’s not how this works.

And then I tell them Bible stories.

I remind them of Pharaoh. The chaos agent.

Pharaoh went around claiming to be god’s representative on earth. The “Son of Ra”, the one who bears the image of the supreme god and therefore must be appeased, or else their wrath will fall on the people who oppose them.

So when Moses arrives to say that Yahweh – God of the Hebrews – will now challenge Pharaoh – god of Egypt – to a contest, Pharaoh does something interesting:

He creates chaos.

His next move is to tell the Hebrews to make their quota of bricks without straw. This proclamation would incite panic; imagine the pandemonium of trying to figure out what to do now. In fact, inciting panic was the whole point, “You think your God can challenge me? Look at the hell I can make your life. Let’s be clear on who is actually in charge around here.”

Pharaoh is one of Scripture's key archetypes for the forces in our world that stand against God: a chaos agent.

Simply put, for folks in the Ancient Near East a chaotic world is bad and scary, and so, for Hebrew people, Yahweh God is powerful because Yahweh brings order to chaos, good because Yahweh brings order to chaos, and holy – not like the gods of the nations – because Yahweh brings order to chaos.

And, because every person is an image bearer – a representative of God should they choose to receive it – we all get to resist chaos and its evil effects on people God loves.

My kids and I revisit and explore the Exodus story, and talk together about who God was for the Hebrews, and ask what that might mean for us as we try to find our way forward in love. We are learning how we might be steady amidst chaos, by God’s grace. We’re thinking creatively about our own acts of life-giving resistance, like Shiphrah and Puah the midwives did. We are learning what it means to trust the God who is greater than the chaos agents, however powerful they may seem.

I actually asked my kids what else they think might help families who want to talk together about being people who love and trust God right now.

My 12 year old reminded me of two other kings from the Old Testament: Darius and Nebuchadnezzer. The power mongers.

Nebuchadnezzer, too, went around claiming to be god’s representative on earth (it’s kind of a theme for powerful people throughout history). It was obvious – his military victories are proof enough, but hey, why not add a massive statue in to boot? Everyone bowing down to it together would be great for unifying people under the greatness of Babylon. (I think chances are good the giant statue strategy has already crossed Trump’s mind.)

Darius was much the same, needing very little encouragement to enact a binding law that all prayer in the whole kingdom must be solely directed towards himself. (It’s a good thing Trump’s only marketed, but never actually read, the Bible; this idea might be too tempting for him to resist.)

Exile stories – like those in the book of Daniel about these kings – helped God’s people deal with questions like: is Yahweh God still with us, even here? Even now? Will we be ok, somehow, even though things around us are very much not ok? These stories helped the people grapple with their questions about God in the midst of deeply disorienting times.

They also served to offer encouragement. “Remember that time Daniel and the others opted out of the kings’ food as a way to stay faithful to Yahweh? And they were ok. Or that time Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah kept standing instead of bowing down? Or the time Daniel kept praying to Yahweh, despite the decree? There must be ways for us, too, to keep going, keep trusting, and look how God was there, trustworthy through it all.”

Scripture includes archetypes like chaos agent and power monger because the same dynamics repeat throughout history. So I tell my kids these Bible stories because they help us learn who God is, how God has responded in the past, and how we as God’s people can live as we see the archetypes arise yet again.

So mainly, I’m talking to my kids about Trump by telling them Bible stories. Depending on how you were told the Bible works, that may seem somewhere between ‘cute’ and ‘useless’. But it’s been the most helpful thing we’ve done together.

Bible stories help us imagine how we’ll do what we can to be faithful to our God, here and now. Maybe we’ll build houses, plant gardens, and seek the good of the city. And maybe somehow as we do, these little pockets of life that look like God will emerge out of the chaos. What’s really special is that they can become like an oasis for another person who finds themselves weary and disoriented, looking for rest.

Maybe, when the chaos agents and power mongers that show up again and again in the stories from the Bible show up in our own world, we can find our own creative ways–like Shiphrah and Puah, like Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, like Daniel–to hold tight to our trust in God and resist.

Bible stories also give space for my kids’ critical thinking. I tell stories, and they interrupt. A lot. They ask so many questions. I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I don’t want to simply indoctrinate them with some sort of ‘better than those guys’ sensibilities about compassion and justice. I want to give them support for their own journey of getting to know God and figuring out if God can be trusted.

The stories in the Bible are important not because they tell us what to do but because they tell us about who God is and what God’s like. How God has opinions about power, for instance, and also about vulnerable people. What I deeply hope is that these stories, Bible stories, help them learn to discern for themselves the people and things that claim God‘s name, but bear no resemblance to God‘s character.

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Meredith Miller

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