Fish, Not Scorpions: A Reflection on Good Gifts and Imperfect Parenting

In Luke 11, Jesus offers one of His most memorable analogies:

“What father among you would hand his son a snake when he asks for a fish?
Or hand him a scorpion when he asks for an egg?
If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children,
how much more will the Father in heaven give the holy Spirit to those who ask him?”
(Luke 11:11–13, NABRE)

It’s a passage often cited to encourage trust in God’s provision. And rightly so — Jesus is pointing to the generosity of the Father. But lately, I’ve found myself lingering on the parenting angle of this moment. The quiet, implied truth that’s easy to miss:

Giving your child a fish instead of a scorpion? That counts as a good gift.

There’s a strange kind of comfort in that.

The Weight of Wanting to Get It Right (and Why Fish Is Enough)

As a high-strung, trying-my-best kind of parent, I often feel like I’m coming up short. There’s a quiet voice that asks if I could’ve done more — been more patient, more intentional, more joyful, more sacrificial. If I really loved them, wouldn’t I be doing better than this?

But Jesus doesn’t paint a picture of a perfect parent in Luke 11. He paints a very average one. Not a gourmet chef, not a child development expert, not a gentle parenting guru. Just someone who gives fish instead of snakes.

It’s not flashy. It’s not optimized. It’s just good.

Love, in daily life, often looks ordinary. Sometimes it looks like showing up again in the middle of a day that already feels too long.

• It’s waking up early when you didn’t sleep well.
• It’s offering the same correction again, patiently, when you’re not feeling especially patient.
• It’s meals shared around a cluttered table, sometimes with mismatched plates and nothing fancy on them.

And when spills happen — and they do — it’s why we have a dog. And when the kids are still learning how to eat, it’s also why the dog gets a little heavier. That’s just part of the season we’re in. And it’s okay.

Jesus seems to say: Even that counts as love. Even that counts as a good gift.

God Gives More — and Still Lets Us Try

Jesus doesn’t shame parents in this passage. He names the reality: we’re not perfect. And He points out something basic — even in our imperfection, we still know how to love in small, tangible ways.

That’s not meant to lower the bar — it’s meant to free us. Jesus isn’t saying, “You’re failing, so let God take over.” He’s saying, “You’re flawed, and even so, you still know how to give good gifts.”

There’s dignity in that. God doesn’t bypass us. He lets us participate in His providence — even when our offerings are uneven and unfinished. He works through us, not around us.

“Parents have the first responsibility for the education of their children in the faith, prayer, and all the virtues. They have the duty to provide as far as possible for the physical and spiritual needs of their children.”
(CCC 2221)

As far as possible. Not flawlessly. Not exhaustively. Just faithfully.

Giving What You Have

Most parenting isn’t exceptional. It’s doing the next right thing, again. It’s apologizing. It’s being present. It’s choosing not to give up even when you’re worn down.

And when we do these things — however ordinary they feel — we’re participating in something sacred.

St. Thérèse of Lisieux called it the Little Way — not doing great things, but doing small things with great love. In that sense, offering “fish” — something plain, offered with love — really is enough.

A Small, Loud Reminder of God’s Love

Not long ago, I went to bed praying to feel God’s love in a deeper way. I didn’t expect the answer to come at 3 a.m., but that’s parenting.

One of our daughters woke up crying — loudly — and I rushed upstairs, heart pounding, thinking something was seriously wrong. It turned out she had wet the bed and was mortified. She kept saying how sorry she was. She was clearly embarrassed and felt terrible about it.

I hugged her and told her it was okay — that accidents happen — and right then, I felt this sudden wave of love for her. Not because she’d done anything admirable. Not because I had some grand insight in the moment. Just because she was mine. Even in the mess and the guilt — maybe especially in that — my love for her overwhelmed me.

After we got everything cleaned up and she was back in bed, I lay awake for a while and remembered the prayer I had whispered earlier. And I realized: this was the answer.

Not a big spiritual moment, but a small, quiet one — wrapped in the middle of inconvenience, fatigue, and a wet mattress. That night reminded me that God doesn’t love us because we’re cleaned up and composed. He loves us when we’re messy and ashamed and need to be reminded that we belong to Him.

He doesn’t love us because we impress Him.
He loves us because we’re His.

A Final Word

When Jesus says the Father gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask, He’s not just making a point about generosity — He’s offering a promise.

God gives the very best gift — Himself — not because we’ve earned it, but because we asked.

As parents, we give what we can. It’s not always polished. It’s often not enough.

But He meets us there.

He gives the Spirit.
He fills in the gaps.
He doesn’t give scorpions. He gives love.

Even when all we have to offer is fish.