The Goodness of God's Discipline

The other day I wrote something I was really proud of. Then, because no adults were around to share it with, I decided to read the piece to my children. At the ages of three and seven, they’re a little young to really understand, but I hoped a little bit of what I thought God had given me to share with others might bless them as well. It was kind of a neat moment as I started the process of sharing this “new writing thing Mommy’s been doing.”

You know what I did about an hour after that? I yelled at my kids.

Ugh.

We were getting ready for bed when that all-too-volatile Mama is tired and the kids are squirrely combination resulted in two sharp-tongued shots across the bow. The words were common, but the tone was not: “Brush your teeth, and get—your—pajamas—on!” Their tiny faces crumpled immediately, and tears flowed along with a double assessment: Mom is being mean.

After a bit more stomping about (mine, not theirs), I cooled down and apologized for using my “grumpy voice.” I kissed their little heads, told them I loved them, put them to bed, and then fell in a heap of regret on the couch, where eventually I drifted off to the sound of some forgettable movie.

I woke a few hours later, alone in the lamplight, and I figured I ought to wander to bed. Since it was after midnight, I realized a new “verse of the day” would be up on my Bible app. Somewhat absently, I opened it on my way down the hall. To say it was timely would be a drastic understatement.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. (1 Corinthians 13:1 NIV)

Ouch.

I stood there in my bedroom, illuminated by the light of my phone, mouth agape in awe of how directly I was being disciplined. It didn’t matter how eloquently I had written only hours before. And it definitely didn’t matter that I had shared it with my children, because any beauty that might have been in those words had been wiped out by the clanging cymbal of my tired, impatient mouth.

Now, before I go wallowing in a pit of parental shame, you need to know that’s not where God eventually allowed this lesson to land. Admittedly, the initial impact of that verse in the wee hours of the morning, seeing the truth sitting there so perfectly aligned with my sin, was definitely a shock. I didn’t feel good about how I had responded to my children, and I certainly felt the stabbing conviction to live out the words I write. However, the feeling that came was not a slap across the face. Instead, God used that moment to cast a light across my soul, bringing to mind words I didn’t need to see on a phone because they have long been written on my heart: “The Lord disciplines those he loves” (Proverbs 3:12 NIV).

Right. I remembered. There he was again, the God of complementary contradictions, loving me with his discipline. He’s not a jerk. Unlike my broken human self, he knows how to discipline from a place of love every single time.

Hebrews 12:10-12 says, “God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it” (NIV).

God’s discipline is good because it’s always—always—aimed at making us better. He disciplines us in ways that allow us to “share in his holiness.” In short, he does it so we can learn how to be more like him. God’s discipline sharpens our conscience and sets boundaries on our rebellion, because you can be darn sure we would go our own undisciplined way without it. He loves us enough to let us know when we’re lost.

God used that moment of discipline to refine my heart so that I can better use the gifts he’s given me. At the same time, he gave a directive pat on the back to a mama who was working to discipline her kids but missed the love mark by a country mile. He proved once again how to perfect the paradox, and once again, I’ll try to learn. It’s forever amazing to me how he lays us low to lift us high and uses the most humbling moments to bring about his glory. It reminds me of who he is, and it reminds me of what he did all those years ago.

Thank you for the discipline. I feel very, very loved.

Anne Rulo is an author, speaker, professional counselor, marriage and family therapist and veteran coaches wife. She and her husband Tim have two children and are passionate about reaching people for Christ and sharing information on coaching, marriage, family, and mental health. Read more from Anne at www.annerulo.com.