For most of my adult life, I thought I knew exactly what my family would look like.
Two kids is the cultural norm now. That’s the number most people plan for, budget for, and feel comfortable defending. Two fits neatly into modern life. Two feels responsible. Two feels safe.
But I didn’t grow up in a family of two kids.
I came from a family of three. And because of that, three always felt right to me. Three felt full. Three felt lively. Three felt like the right amount of chaos and connection. So when my wife and I started our family, I assumed we’d land there — not to make a statement, but because it was the model I knew and loved.
For a long time, that plan held.
But I was also very clear about one thing: I would never have a kid in my 40s.
That was the line. The boundary. A promise I made back when 40 felt distant and theoretical — something older people dealt with.
Then I turned 40.
And a few weeks ago, my wife and I welcomed our fourth child into the world.
What I’ve learned, slowly and humbly, is that many of the promises we make when we’re younger are less about wisdom and more about fear.
Fear of sacrifice.
Fear of inconvenience.
Fear of losing control over a life we’ve worked hard to build.
Our culture feeds those fears relentlessly. It is engineered for comfort, speed, and personalization. It trains us to ask one question above all others: What do I get right now?
Children ask a different question.
They ask: What are you willing to give, over and over, for something that won’t pay you back today?
In that sense, kids are the ultimate form of delayed gratification.
They require sacrifice upfront — years of it. Sleep. Freedom. Money. Flexibility. Control. There is no way to sugarcoat that. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying or trying to sell you something.
But the reward comes later. Slowly. Quietly. Compounding over time.
The first time your toddler reaches for your hand in a crowded room.
The first time your child looks to you for moral clarity.
The first time siblings defend one another without being asked.
The moment you realize you are no longer the center of your own universe — and feel relief instead of loss.
This is what our culture never explains: sacrifice is not the enemy of happiness. Selfishness is.
A society addicted to instant gratification struggles to understand children, because children force adults to play the long game. They demand patience. They require faith — not just religious faith, but faith in the future. Faith that what you are building today will matter tomorrow.
That’s why having a big family today feels almost rebellious.
Birth rates are collapsing. Marriage is delayed or avoided. Children are framed as “lifestyle constraints” rather than blessings. Entire industries exist to convince young people that adulthood is something to postpone indefinitely.
And yet, there is a truth no one likes to say out loud because it cuts against the narrative.
No one — absolutely no one — who loves their kids ever says, “I shouldn’t have had that child.”
People regret jobs.
They regret cities.
They regret relationships.
They regret wasted years chasing empty validation.
But parents do not sit at the end of their lives wishing they had fewer children. They wish they had more time with them.
At 40, with four kids, I don’t feel old.
If anything, kids keep you young. They pull you into the present. They keep you moving. They force you to laugh when you’d otherwise brood. They remind you that joy is often loud, messy, inconvenient — and worth it anyway.
And then there is the gift that often goes overlooked: siblings.
Watching siblings grow up together is one of life’s quiet miracles. They fight. They forgive. They learn loyalty, compromise, and love — not from lectures, but from living shoulder to shoulder.
Long after parents are gone, siblings remain.
They are the ones who know your childhood stories. Who remember your parents’ voices. Who will sit beside you at hospital beds and holiday tables. Who will help one another bury the people who once tucked them in at night.
In a world that prizes radical independence, siblings teach something far more enduring: you are not meant to do life alone.
And yes, one day, God willing, these children will flip the script. They will care for us the way we once cared for them — not out of obligation, but out of love forged through years of shared sacrifice.
Which brings me to faith.
From the beginning, Scripture tells us, “Be fruitful and multiply.” Not as a burden, but as a blessing. Children are not described as liabilities, but as arrows, as gifts, as signs of hope.
Faith teaches us that the point of life is not comfort, but calling. Not consumption, but creation. Not hoarding time, but giving it away for something eternal.
That doesn’t mean every family looks the same. It doesn’t mean everyone is called to the same path. But it does mean we should be honest about what leads to meaning — and what leads to emptiness.
For my wife and me, welcoming a fourth child at 40 was not reckless.
It was faithful.
Faith that love multiplies when shared.
Faith that sacrifice produces joy.
Faith that the future is worth investing in, even when it costs us something now.
In a culture obsessed with shrinking horizons, we chose to expand ours.
And if I’m being honest, part of that choice is simple.
I’m trying to make heaven crowded.
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Gates Garcia is the host of the YouTube show and podcast “We The People.” Follow him on Instagram and X @GatesGarciaFL.
The views expressed in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Wire.


