Last week was a rough one, wasn’t it? I’m glad it’s over too. (My, but didn’t Aunt Danielle’s cookies last night and that rhubarb crisp today taste good?)
It was tough- four whole days without dessert and five full days without a screen. I know it was hard for you. Being disciplined is hard for me too. If I told you once, I told you twenty times: Being disciplined means you’re loved.
And more times-maybe than were helpful and good- I got on a roll and you got the whole spiel. You know- that hunk of Hebrews 12 you heard me quote so often that by the end of the week you were reciting it too:
The Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives. It is for discipline you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there who is not disciplined? If you are left without discipline, you are illegitimate children and not sons… For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.
I know it’s hard to trust us. It’s hard to believe that discipline is a sign of our love. I get that too.
Because no discipline seems pleasant (For the moment). No ice cream and no screen time did not feel like love. (And A#1 Son, it was divine poetic justice, wasn’t it, when you had to pass on the National Chocolate Chip Day treats at the orthodontist’s office because you’d dumped those scramble eggs and the reason I made those scrambled eggs was because of your new braces? You -child with brand new braces, you and me- we smiled.) Even though no after school iPad time and writing I’m sorry notes did not feel good.
But God’s promise is true. If you’re trained by the tough stuff, it will yield good, sweet fruit.
You know it’s almost strawberry season in Grandpa and Grandma’s garden. You guys know how those pale pinkish-whitish berries taste? When you were little guys you couldn’t wait and you’d pluck one or two before you knew. (Bleck!)
But in a couple weeks- come the first of June- and those once sour berries are heaven’s sweetness come down. Yes. This discipline will yield a sweet peaceful, righteous fruit. It will.
That’s why Dad and I discipline you. That’s why I tell you that over and over (Can I say it too much?): Trust us. We love you. We’re training you. It’ll be good.
We pronounce it in the big stuff, how discipline means love. In the willful defiance that dumped those scrambled eggs upside down on the table like a toddler one-sixth of his age might do and in the video games stolen late in the night and in the blurting-out, not-so-silly “joke box” talk by which you tormented your poor substitute teacher last week.
But we remind you of that truth in the small stuff, too. Like when you have to place your mud-caked shoes on the mat and keep your napkin spread on your lap and look grown-ups in the eye when greeted.
Down to the tiny things (Believe me, these can make a wife very happy someday) like putting the lid down and the cap on the Crest and your dirty socks (Not your dirty sockballs) in the basket.
Now I’ll let you in on a little secret. When I tell you this stuff- about how discipline means love- I’m talking to myself probably more than I’m talking to you. Because this last week, these last months, the better part of the year have been hard for all of us. We’ve had some painful, loving discipline. I’ve been sifted. We’ve been in the fire. But we’ve endured.
Some of my friends say what a strong mom you guys got. But I want you to know that being trained by discipline- yours and mine- takes every bit of strength I’ve got and then some.
To run this race and fight this fight, to love you guys right and endure my hardship (And, just sayin’- part of it is the discipline of you two) as the loving discipline of my heavenly Father takes more reserve and drive than with-all my muscle- even I alone possess.
But we’re all in this together- you two, and Dad and me and God. So it’ll be okay.
That’s why I saw more than the scrambled mess I scraped off the table when you left for school Monday. It’s why I didn’t cry about the better off in an orphanage comment you made as you headed out the door (And #2, I did see that teeny smirk as you said it). Or the two Friday afternoon phone calls- one from each of your teachers. (As if you’d planned it.)
Thank God, I saw more and I didn’t lose heart. Because God gave me faith-eyes. Eyes to see that in love God was disciplining me. That is the the only way I could shake off that utterly scrambled week.
So make no mistake. I am not writing this to cause guilt or elicit sympathy. I’m writing this to remind you what you both already know. Dad and I love you so much. That’s why we discipline you.
I know in your heart of hearts you already know that. You know that only sons without moms and dads who care would dump their eggs and shove their plates and taunt their teachers and get away scot-free. You know Dad and I care. We love you-4VR, U know! (Are you almost done, Mom?)
Yes. I’ll end with that bit we just read from The Horse And His Boy. You know the part when Aravis and her talking mare Hwin and Shasta and his talking horse Bree are pressing hard to escape evil Prince Rabadash and save the Narnians?
“Quick! Quick!” shouted Aravis. “We might as well not have come at all if we don’t reach Anvard in time. Gallop, Bree, gallop. Remember you’re a war horse.”
It was all Shasta could do to prevent himself from shouting out similar instructions; but he thought, “The poor chap’s doing all he can already,” and held his tongue. And certainly both Horses were doing, if not all they could, all they thought they could; which is not quite the same thing.
At that moment everyone’s feelings were completely altered by a sound from behind. It was not the sound they had been expecting to hear- the noise of hoofs and jingling armor, mixed, perhaps, with Calormene battle-cries. Yet Shasta knew it at once…Bree knew it too… And Bree now discovered that he had not really been going as fast- not quite as fast-as he could.
“It’s not fair,” though Shasta. “I did think we’d be safe from lions here!”
He looked over his shoulder. Everything was only too clear. A huge tawny creature, its body low to the ground, like a cat streaking across the lawn to a tree when a strange dog has got into the garden, was behind them. And it was nearer every second and half second…the lion rose on its hind legs, larger than you would have believed a lion could be, and jabbed at Aravis with its right paw. Shasta could see all the terrible claws extended. Aravis screamed and reeled in the saddle. The lion was tearing her shoulders.
Discipline pushes us on, guys. It gets us doing more than we thought we could do to get away from the dangers to our souls. It gets us home safe in the end. But it is not pleasant at the moment. It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it hurts.
It took Aravis until the second to last chapter to realize that truth. It wasn’t until Aslan introduced himself face to face that she finally understood.
“Draw near Aravis my daughter. See! My paws are velveted. You will not be torn this time.
“This time, sir?” said Aravis.
“It was I who wounded you,” said Aslan. “I am the only lion you met in all your journeyings. Do you know why I tore you?”
Aslan told Aravis, then. I want you guys to know now that tears and scares and roars are needful for us. But identical for no two. (Remember what Jesus said to Peter, ‘What’s that to you. You follow me!’)
When Aravis asks Aslan the fate of the slave girl she hurt, Aslan tells her the truth we – all four of us, desperately- need to hear.
“Child,” said the Lion, “I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.”
God loves me. He wants me to look and act and think more like his A#1 Son. And so he gave me you two to to train me into Christlike lady I need to be. Scrambled eggs and teacher telephone calls and orphan talk and all. That’s part of my story.
And God loves you guys more than you know. He wants you to grow into godly men with strong faith, big love and stout, soft hearts and he knew you’d need a mom and dad like the ones you’ve got. That’s part of your stories.
We’re all being disciplined. But I know you know all that, after last week, guys. This week’s a new week. We shake off our bad stuff and run on.
Dad and I love you two and discipline you and God loves Dad and me and disciplines us and that’s all how it’s supposed to be. Sour now (Like strawberries in May). Sweet later (Like in June).
That’s all how it’s supposed to be.
I love you guys,