Levi and I had one really bad day this week. It was only half a day, really, but compared to our normally rather peaceful days, it was bad. I know in my head that his defiant "NO, Mommy" and his refusal to obey on things I thought we'd conquered months ago and his naptime shenanigans are merely the combination of innocent toddler-hood and sinful human nature, but on this particular day, I was angry. "How dare you wake up your brother" angry. "You MUST obey" through clenched teeth angry.
When I realized that I was actually looking for reasons to punish (not discipline) him rather harshly -- trying to enforce rules that hadn't been in place previously -- my oh-so-angry heart sank. Make a quick mental list of all of the ways parents are NOT supposed to treat their children; I'd violated every one in the space of a few hours. And in an instant, I knew what he'd needed all along: a little more attention, a little more patience, a whole lot more love.
I trudged slowly back up the stairs with the weight of my own guilt and sorrow to where Levi sat outside my bedroom door, sobbing, supposedly because he'd been denied the right to flip a light switch, but much more probably because his mommy had been unkind. We sat, and we talked, and I experienced for the first time how amazingly freeing it can be to hear the words, "I forgive you, Mommy."
A few animal crackers, a little play-dough, and all was right in his little world. But I haven't been so quick to forget. I'm the kind of person who is incredibly able to continue feeling guilty for things that happened years ago, let alone days ago; I'd be a complete wreck if I hadn't read this little bit from Elyse Fitzpatrick's Because He Loves Me just days earlier:
"For instance, when your children fail and you respond to them in an ungodly way it's easy to beat yourself up with thoughts such as 'I'm such a terrible mother.' If, however, you've been freed from the expectation that you should be able to be a wonderful mother, your heart's response will be: 'I know that I've failed to be the kind of mother he wants me to be, but that's why I need a Savior, and it's why my kids need one, too.'" (p. 74)
I love this crazy kid more than I ever thought possible, but I know I'm going to fail him again (and again, and again . . . ). I can only pray that he and I will both grow in grace, and that my desire to nurture his tender heart will trump my desire to be in control. In the meantime, I'm grateful that our bad days are quite sporadic, and our house has been at peace for the rest of the week!
When I realized that I was actually looking for reasons to punish (not discipline) him rather harshly -- trying to enforce rules that hadn't been in place previously -- my oh-so-angry heart sank. Make a quick mental list of all of the ways parents are NOT supposed to treat their children; I'd violated every one in the space of a few hours. And in an instant, I knew what he'd needed all along: a little more attention, a little more patience, a whole lot more love.
I trudged slowly back up the stairs with the weight of my own guilt and sorrow to where Levi sat outside my bedroom door, sobbing, supposedly because he'd been denied the right to flip a light switch, but much more probably because his mommy had been unkind. We sat, and we talked, and I experienced for the first time how amazingly freeing it can be to hear the words, "I forgive you, Mommy."
A few animal crackers, a little play-dough, and all was right in his little world. But I haven't been so quick to forget. I'm the kind of person who is incredibly able to continue feeling guilty for things that happened years ago, let alone days ago; I'd be a complete wreck if I hadn't read this little bit from Elyse Fitzpatrick's Because He Loves Me just days earlier:
"For instance, when your children fail and you respond to them in an ungodly way it's easy to beat yourself up with thoughts such as 'I'm such a terrible mother.' If, however, you've been freed from the expectation that you should be able to be a wonderful mother, your heart's response will be: 'I know that I've failed to be the kind of mother he wants me to be, but that's why I need a Savior, and it's why my kids need one, too.'" (p. 74)
I've experienced that feeling of wanting to retaliate for how how horrible they've been-it definitely doesn't come from the right parenting heart. But at the same time, I think it is legitimate when you realize that your child is in a naughty mode to be on the look-out for a clear example of disobedience to punish severely (in love, of course). In my experience, one big punishment for a wrong that you are sure they understand is more effective than lots of mild reprimands and little punishments. Sometimes when I notice that I've had an antagonistic relationship with a child for a long period of time I'll find that opportunity to punish; once it's over, more often than not, the air is cleared and fellowship is possible again.
ReplyDeleteMmmm, good point. I've experienced that too -- that after a particularly knock-down drag-out fight in which we eventually succeeded in obedience, the next several hours/days are especially sweet. A fight to get shoes in the shoe basket comes to mind. ;) I guess I was distinguishing (rather unclearly) between "punishing" (as in, "you must pay for the way you're making me feel right now) and "discipline" (as in, "you need to be trained to righteousness, whatever we have to go through to get there"). The attitude difference is mine, I think.
ReplyDeleteoh, I didn't think you were unclear. It just got me thinking, and I decided to add my thoughts to the discussion. I shouldn't have used the word "punish" when you rightly distinguished it from "discipline" in your post. I think maybe it made it look like I was disagreeing.
ReplyDelete