Recently I was talking with someone working a construction job on a large lake in Oklahoma. Next door to his job site is a grandfather who has tried to make his home as inviting as possible for his grandkids: He bought a couple of boats for them to fish and ski with; he has beautiful acreage on which they can run around and play to their hearts’ content. But, the grandfather lamented, whenever they visit, his grandchildren just want to sit inside and watch movies or play video games.

More and more young people don’t even know what to do with themselves outside.

I remember spending a lot of my youth outdoors. It happened that my family lived within a short walk or bike ride away from seemingly endless acres of woods, in which my sister and I would climb trees, build forts, and indulge our imaginations in countless ways. We had miles of roads to bike, fields to explore, sand piles to jump off. I also grew up a half-mile from a beach filled with myriad interesting things—crabs, clams, kelp, skipping stones, driftwood and other surprises that would wash ashore.

Today, urbanization has turned yesterday’s open woods into housing developments and strip malls. Sending kids out to roam the neighborhood is more dangerous. As a result, it seems that for most young people, the real world has shrunk.

At the same time—thanks to television, movies, video games and the Internet—the virtual world for young people has dramatically expanded: a noisy, hyper world that requires no imagination and which they can experience while sitting comfortably on their cans.

I have to wonder, though, how much of the problem lies in our own laziness as parents.

These thoughts have rattled around in my head the last few months as my daughters and I have been reading the Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, which vividly describe the joys, labors and trials of a homesteading family in the mid-1800s. Each page verifies in extraordinary detail the truth that our lives today are, by historical standards, undeniably easy. The result is, we are far less capable, and far less filled with wonder.

Is it possible to reverse the trend?

I picked up a couple of books filled with crafts for young people, one for girls and one for boys, written in the 1880s—about the same time that events in the Little House books took place. I am amazed at how intensive and involved these activities are. These books describe how to make knives, how to rear wild birds, how to build boats. The American Boy’s Handy Book includes these chapter headings: “Home-Made Hunting Apparatus, Etc.,” “Practical Taxidermy for Boys,” “Snowball Warfare.” The American Girl’s Handy Book includes instruction on how to make plaster casts, how to reseat a chair, how to paint china, how to transform old furniture into new. A chapter on “How to Make a Hammock” reads, “It is not difficult to make a hammock; anyone can soon knit one that is strong and comfortable, and it should not cost more than 50 cents. The materials required will be one hammock-needle about 9 inches long (this can be whittled out of hickory or ash, or purchased for 10 cents); two iron rings 2½ inches in diameter, which will cost about 5 cents each; two mesh-sticks or fids, one 20 inches long and 8 inches wide beveled on both sides: the other 9 inches long and 2½ inches wide, beveled on the long edge; these you can easily make yourself from any kind of wood.”

You get the idea. Children in the 1880s must have been a different breed.

An activity book telling girls today how to make a hammock would, I’m sure, begin: “Step one: Buy a hammock.”

Today we are simply less capable because we are used to having everything handed to us. Frankly, as a 35-year-old man, I would burst with pride if I successfully made the hammock described in this book. (And as I proudly invited guests to try it out, I would remain utterly tight-lipped about the fact that I found the instructions in a girls’ crafts book.)

Pondering these points has made me more determined to provide my children regular stimulating challenges. I want to hunt down opportunities to keep them active, to engage their imaginations, to work their hands, to show them what they can do if they only make the effort. It is so much easier to keep a child indoors, to plop him in front of a screen of some kind. In some ways it is even safer. But I’m convinced that, in the long run, it comes at a high cost.

I’ve spent many summers volunteering at church-sponsored youth camps. It always makes me smile to see teens biking, canoeing, shooting arrows, running and playing outside. Over the years, I have noticed that, generally, the stamina, physical coordination and skill level among teens has dipped somewhat. (The military has noticed this trend in its new recruits as well. One recruiter said while their overall physical capabilities have dropped, “They do have strong thumbs.”) Still, at a good summer camp they push themselves physically, often past what they feel capable of, and have a rigorous outdoor experience. It exposes them to realms of possibility they probably would never discover on their own, and contributes to happy, shining faces and a visibly healthier outlook on life.

Young people have strong, youthful bodies for a reason. We need to encourage them and teach them how to engage themselves vigorously in real-world activity—to do, as Ecclesiastes says, whatever their hand finds to do with their might.