Discipline
One of the hardest parts of parenting is discipline. Before I had children, this concept didn't seem so difficult: they misbehave, you "discipline" them, and of course the little darlings will do exactly what you wanted them to do afterward. (Okay, you can stop laughing now....)
It wasn't that long after Opie was born that I began to get the idea that perhaps I was mistaken. Opie was a great baby. He wasn't very fussy unless he was sick, he slept through the night early on, he was a generally happy child, and he was fairly compliant. Then he turned two. At the age of two, he decided that things needed to be done his way.
His first major tantrum came on Christmas Eve. We had gone to the bookstore in the mall. This bookstore has a large children's section featuring a train table where the children can play with the toys that are sold in the store...marketing techniques that were developed by Satan himself, I'm quite certain. My husband was working, so I took Opie to the bookstore by myself. I did some quick, last-minute shopping, then sat down near the train table to read for a couple of hours while my darling angel-baby played happily. All was well until it was time to go. Suddenly my happy little red-head became a raging, screaming, bucking, kicking demon. (If you've seen The Incredibles, you recognize this description...he was the basis for Jack-Jack, I'm sure of it. I'm still waiting for the royalty check.) As I held my little darling, I stood in line. Soon I could hear the murmurings from behind me..."why doesn't she just leave?" and "if that were my child, I'd...(feel free to insert any given disciplinary technique here)" and my personal favorite, "some people have no business being parents." I was NOT going to get out of that line. I had gifts to buy. However, I was not going to cave into Opie's temper, either. So I stood there, with him on my shoulder and my books under my other arm, becoming increasingly embarrassed and angry. By the time we got to the car, I was ready to spank his little bottom until I was tired. I calmed down slightly on the way home, but he still received the disciplinary action he had earned.
Side note: It is at this point that I am tendering my sincerest apologies to any parent or grandparent to whom I have given a terse look or a snide comment as their charge expressed themselves in the way that only children can. I'm even apologizing to those I thought ugly things about. Please know that God has truly humbled me through my boys.
We both survived that Christmas Eve, but I began to realize something. Often as parents we use the word "discipline" interchangeably with the word "punishment." Or perhaps, more accurately, we interchange the definitions. Discipline is teaching through correction and admonition - it is leading another to the discovery of what is right. Punishment is negative reinforcement. Discipline happens between a parent and a child. Punishment happens to a child, generally at the hands of his parent. Sometimes, discipline and punishment go hand in hand, and sometimes punishment is warranted. But I'm afraid that too often, we punish instead of disciple.
We call Christ's closest followers his "disciples." This means that he taught them, but it also means that at some point, he disciplined them. When the twelve were caught in the storm on the Sea of Galilee, Christ's response to their panic was short: "Oh ye of little faith." When they had petty fights regarding who among them was the greatest, he just shook his head at their arrogance and idiocy and reminded them that the greatest among them was the least - that to be truly great you must truly serve others.
We also know that he nurtured them. After his death and resurrection, Jesus sat on the shore with Peter and the others after calling them in from the water. Remember that it was Peter who said "I'm going fishing." Peter's self-worth was gone; he had betrayed Christ after declaring his undying loyalty. I can only imagine Peter's utter disgust with himself after Jesus's crucifixion and resurrection. He didn't think he deserved to be a disciple of Christ, so he returned to what he had known before: fishing. As the men sat around the fire on the shore, Christ asked Peter a simple question: "Do you love me?"
God asks me this question often, especially when I disobey him. "Hey, Gina, do you love me?" And I am often in the same boat as Peter; disgusted, feeling worthless and without redemption. But just like Jesus by the fire, God gently prods me to answer and to remember that he doesn't love me because I have earned it or deserve it. He loves me because I am his. And because I am his, I sometimes - ofttimes - have to be disciplined. It's never fun, but I always know God loves me.
I am reminded that my boys are my disciples; it is up to me to lead them to the realization of what is right. When Opie and Calvin are disciplined, all the parties involved feel better - closer - after it is over. With punishment, there is a rift between us. It's a very telling barometer in our house. But after discipline, the boys usually cuddle up in our laps, snuggling and quietly talking for a time. God snuggles me, too, after I've been disciplined. I never feel closer than when I've had to learn from my mistakes and turn to him and confess my sins. He wraps his arms around me, and I hear the heartbeat of God; the heartbeat that says "I love you, I love you, I love you."
It's a great place to be.
It wasn't that long after Opie was born that I began to get the idea that perhaps I was mistaken. Opie was a great baby. He wasn't very fussy unless he was sick, he slept through the night early on, he was a generally happy child, and he was fairly compliant. Then he turned two. At the age of two, he decided that things needed to be done his way.
His first major tantrum came on Christmas Eve. We had gone to the bookstore in the mall. This bookstore has a large children's section featuring a train table where the children can play with the toys that are sold in the store...marketing techniques that were developed by Satan himself, I'm quite certain. My husband was working, so I took Opie to the bookstore by myself. I did some quick, last-minute shopping, then sat down near the train table to read for a couple of hours while my darling angel-baby played happily. All was well until it was time to go. Suddenly my happy little red-head became a raging, screaming, bucking, kicking demon. (If you've seen The Incredibles, you recognize this description...he was the basis for Jack-Jack, I'm sure of it. I'm still waiting for the royalty check.) As I held my little darling, I stood in line. Soon I could hear the murmurings from behind me..."why doesn't she just leave?" and "if that were my child, I'd...(feel free to insert any given disciplinary technique here)" and my personal favorite, "some people have no business being parents." I was NOT going to get out of that line. I had gifts to buy. However, I was not going to cave into Opie's temper, either. So I stood there, with him on my shoulder and my books under my other arm, becoming increasingly embarrassed and angry. By the time we got to the car, I was ready to spank his little bottom until I was tired. I calmed down slightly on the way home, but he still received the disciplinary action he had earned.
Side note: It is at this point that I am tendering my sincerest apologies to any parent or grandparent to whom I have given a terse look or a snide comment as their charge expressed themselves in the way that only children can. I'm even apologizing to those I thought ugly things about. Please know that God has truly humbled me through my boys.
We both survived that Christmas Eve, but I began to realize something. Often as parents we use the word "discipline" interchangeably with the word "punishment." Or perhaps, more accurately, we interchange the definitions. Discipline is teaching through correction and admonition - it is leading another to the discovery of what is right. Punishment is negative reinforcement. Discipline happens between a parent and a child. Punishment happens to a child, generally at the hands of his parent. Sometimes, discipline and punishment go hand in hand, and sometimes punishment is warranted. But I'm afraid that too often, we punish instead of disciple.
We call Christ's closest followers his "disciples." This means that he taught them, but it also means that at some point, he disciplined them. When the twelve were caught in the storm on the Sea of Galilee, Christ's response to their panic was short: "Oh ye of little faith." When they had petty fights regarding who among them was the greatest, he just shook his head at their arrogance and idiocy and reminded them that the greatest among them was the least - that to be truly great you must truly serve others.
We also know that he nurtured them. After his death and resurrection, Jesus sat on the shore with Peter and the others after calling them in from the water. Remember that it was Peter who said "I'm going fishing." Peter's self-worth was gone; he had betrayed Christ after declaring his undying loyalty. I can only imagine Peter's utter disgust with himself after Jesus's crucifixion and resurrection. He didn't think he deserved to be a disciple of Christ, so he returned to what he had known before: fishing. As the men sat around the fire on the shore, Christ asked Peter a simple question: "Do you love me?"
God asks me this question often, especially when I disobey him. "Hey, Gina, do you love me?" And I am often in the same boat as Peter; disgusted, feeling worthless and without redemption. But just like Jesus by the fire, God gently prods me to answer and to remember that he doesn't love me because I have earned it or deserve it. He loves me because I am his. And because I am his, I sometimes - ofttimes - have to be disciplined. It's never fun, but I always know God loves me.
I am reminded that my boys are my disciples; it is up to me to lead them to the realization of what is right. When Opie and Calvin are disciplined, all the parties involved feel better - closer - after it is over. With punishment, there is a rift between us. It's a very telling barometer in our house. But after discipline, the boys usually cuddle up in our laps, snuggling and quietly talking for a time. God snuggles me, too, after I've been disciplined. I never feel closer than when I've had to learn from my mistakes and turn to him and confess my sins. He wraps his arms around me, and I hear the heartbeat of God; the heartbeat that says "I love you, I love you, I love you."
It's a great place to be.