Last night, our house was full of noise, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of youth—my kids had a sleepover. It’s a tradition I both love and… well, let’s say “tolerate.” Don’t get me wrong—I love seeing my kids having fun, building memories that will outlast the pizza stains on the couch and the crushed chips in the carpet. But let’s be honest: sleepovers turn your home into a strange mix of joy and tension. You start to feel like a guest in your own house.
At the heart of it, I think what I struggle with most is the sudden change in how we live our lives inside these walls. My home is usually a sanctuary for my boys and me. We’re comfortable—maybe too comfortable. When it’s just us guys, we’re a bit more casual. Bathroom doors are often left open. Conversations are light, sarcastic, sometimes a little weird, and very real. There’s an unspoken code that allows us to be ourselves completely—no need to walk on eggshells or filter every word.
But when a sleepover rolls around, that all changes. Suddenly, I’m double-checking that the bathroom door is closed and locked. I’m filtering jokes. I’m overthinking my tone. I don’t want to make another kid feel uncomfortable, and I certainly don’t want to be the dad that accidentally sparks a text home about how “so-and-so’s dad said something weird.”
As awkward as it can be, I let it ride. Because even if it means sacrificing a little comfort, I can see what it gives my kids. Their friends pile in, cracking jokes late into the night, falling asleep on couches, video game chairs, and the floor. These are the kind of memories that glue friendships together for life.
And I’m reminded that parenting often means choosing discomfort today for joy tomorrow.
Proverbs 22:6 reminds us, “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Sometimes that training includes allowing space for our kids to stretch, grow, and experience life in the community of their peers—even if it makes things awkward for us as parents.
Our job isn’t just to raise obedient kids who make their beds. It’s to give them space to grow into kind, courageous, well-rounded humans. That often happens in the chaos. And yes, sometimes it even happens when the bathroom door gets locked for the first time in a long time.
Truthfully, these sleepover nights highlight how fleeting this season of life really is. The day will come—and sooner than I want—when our house will be quiet again. There won’t be Nerf darts stuck in the ceiling or snack wrappers under the couch cushions. There won’t be giggles echoing from upstairs or the creak of the fridge door opening at midnight.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”
Right now, our season includes noise, clutter, and lost sleep. And I’m learning to see all of it as a blessing. Even if I grumble when I trip over a sleeping bag on the way to the coffee pot, deep down I know—I’ll miss it.
Sleepovers are one of those small things that build the big things. They teach our kids hospitality, how to get along with others, how to share, how to negotiate what movie to watch. And they teach us as parents how to flex, how to protect the atmosphere of our homes without clinging too tightly to our preferences.
Romans 12:13 encourages us to “Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.”
Now, maybe the kids at my house aren’t in material need, but they’re in need of a safe place. A place to laugh, to belong, and to be kids without pressure. And if that means I have to skip my nightly bowl of cereal to avoid walking through a minefield of preteen feet and spilled soda, then so be it.
I’ll lock the bathroom door. I’ll tone down the jokes. I’ll let the awkwardness sit beside me on the couch.
Because one day, when the house is quiet and my boys have moved on to college or careers or families of their own, I’ll remember these nights. I’ll remember the laughter, the door slams, the midnight snack runs, and the way the whole house felt alive.
So, for now, let the sleepovers roll on. Let the boys make memories. Let the living room be a campsite. Let the home be full—even when it’s a little uncomfortable.
At the heart of it, I think what I struggle with most is the sudden change in how we live our lives inside these walls. My home is usually a sanctuary for my boys and me. We’re comfortable—maybe too comfortable. When it’s just us guys, we’re a bit more casual. Bathroom doors are often left open. Conversations are light, sarcastic, sometimes a little weird, and very real. There’s an unspoken code that allows us to be ourselves completely—no need to walk on eggshells or filter every word.
But when a sleepover rolls around, that all changes. Suddenly, I’m double-checking that the bathroom door is closed and locked. I’m filtering jokes. I’m overthinking my tone. I don’t want to make another kid feel uncomfortable, and I certainly don’t want to be the dad that accidentally sparks a text home about how “so-and-so’s dad said something weird.”
As awkward as it can be, I let it ride. Because even if it means sacrificing a little comfort, I can see what it gives my kids. Their friends pile in, cracking jokes late into the night, falling asleep on couches, video game chairs, and the floor. These are the kind of memories that glue friendships together for life.
And I’m reminded that parenting often means choosing discomfort today for joy tomorrow.
Proverbs 22:6 reminds us, “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Sometimes that training includes allowing space for our kids to stretch, grow, and experience life in the community of their peers—even if it makes things awkward for us as parents.
Our job isn’t just to raise obedient kids who make their beds. It’s to give them space to grow into kind, courageous, well-rounded humans. That often happens in the chaos. And yes, sometimes it even happens when the bathroom door gets locked for the first time in a long time.
Truthfully, these sleepover nights highlight how fleeting this season of life really is. The day will come—and sooner than I want—when our house will be quiet again. There won’t be Nerf darts stuck in the ceiling or snack wrappers under the couch cushions. There won’t be giggles echoing from upstairs or the creak of the fridge door opening at midnight.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”
Right now, our season includes noise, clutter, and lost sleep. And I’m learning to see all of it as a blessing. Even if I grumble when I trip over a sleeping bag on the way to the coffee pot, deep down I know—I’ll miss it.
Sleepovers are one of those small things that build the big things. They teach our kids hospitality, how to get along with others, how to share, how to negotiate what movie to watch. And they teach us as parents how to flex, how to protect the atmosphere of our homes without clinging too tightly to our preferences.
Romans 12:13 encourages us to “Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.”
Now, maybe the kids at my house aren’t in material need, but they’re in need of a safe place. A place to laugh, to belong, and to be kids without pressure. And if that means I have to skip my nightly bowl of cereal to avoid walking through a minefield of preteen feet and spilled soda, then so be it.
I’ll lock the bathroom door. I’ll tone down the jokes. I’ll let the awkwardness sit beside me on the couch.
Because one day, when the house is quiet and my boys have moved on to college or careers or families of their own, I’ll remember these nights. I’ll remember the laughter, the door slams, the midnight snack runs, and the way the whole house felt alive.
So, for now, let the sleepovers roll on. Let the boys make memories. Let the living room be a campsite. Let the home be full—even when it’s a little uncomfortable.
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