DISCIPLINE: The Language of Love

     “Talking to Dad is like talking to a brick wall,” I said to Mom fifty years ago.
     This was my conclusion after asking my dad for permission to go to a party with my classmates. He simply said, “No, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.” I wondered how he could be so calloused, so harsh. He wouldn’t even listen to reason, my reason. Fifty years later, I understand my dad much better. His life experience gave him wisdom that I didn’t have; so he said “No.” He also knew that he could be swayed and softened—I didn’t know that at the time—so he just took that option off the table: “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
     The result of using the word “No” is that he, along with Mom, raised three kids who serve Jesus Christ in their adult years.

     “NO” IS A PROTECTION. After a recent field day event at our school, we were loading children to go home. The change in routine caused a more chaotic feel to the moment, and one boy was about to run into the drive to get to his car. One of the teachers saw him and yelled, quite loudly, “NO!” He stopped in his tracks at the curb. Being able to stop our children with one word is invaluable. It keeps them out of the street, away from the edge of Grand Canyon, away from harm, and away from causing harm. “No” is a protection.

     BOUNDARIES ARE A FORM OF “NO.” A playpen, a fence, a gate, a rule: all of these set limits and as a consequence bring a sense of peace. Although it is the nature of children (and also adults) to want to cross the boundaries, strong borders create an atmosphere of peace. My backyard is a combination of jungle and lawn. It has been difficult to tell when jungle ends and lawn begins until recently. I bought some landscaping timbers and simply defined the limits. Later that week, Will came home, sat on the deck, and commented, “It’s so much more peaceful back here.” Boundaries bring peace.

     “NO” BUILDS CHARACTER. The future holds challenges for our children that will stretch their moral fiber to the maximum. If they follow Jesus, they will need endurance, patience, and courage beyond the norm. Jesus said it this way, “If any man would come after me, he must deny himself. . .” He must say “No” to himself. A man pilfers because he cannot say “No” to himself. A person lies because he can’t deny himself. When a man cannot say “No” to himself, he becomes his own god, and the result is painful: debt, addictions, obesity, anger, depression, divorce, disease, and things like these. “No” prepares our children to face and overcome hardship. As parents, we often feel that saying “No” to our children is cheating them, but that is the opposite of the truth. If we don’t say “No,” we are cheating them out of the most important things. Saying “No” builds their character to face hardship, to sacrifice for their own families, to follow Jesus.

     Eight of the Ten Commandments say “No.” It was the formation of a nation, a beginning that needed clear guidelines. Establishing the negatives in the beginning made room for the positives to come in the promised land. The New Testament says that the law was put in charge to lead us to Christ (Gal. 3:24). “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ.” (1 Cor. 1:20) A clear “No” can open the door to a wonderful “Yes.”
     As Christian parents, we have a responsibility to say “No” to our children when they are very young.  If we say “No” in the beginning, we will find that we can say “Yes” when they reach their teens. So many say “Yes” early and then try to bring “No” into the teen years. That creates the conflict and war that so many associate with having teenagers. There is a better way.

     Surprisingly. . .

“No” is the language of love.

RELATIONSHIP: "Eat your food, son..."

     This blog is not ours, not directly. It is Jean-Luc's. He wrote this not long ago, and I asked him if I could reprint it on our blog. So, from Jean-Luc's perspective, come sit with us at dinner.

     Our dinner table was always a center of laughter, of joy, of stories and songs, of the day's events, of schedules and commitments, and of discipline and correction. I view our table with deep fondness...it has fostered so much that I see as necessary to my growth. It also fostered memories which I cherish and will re-live when my childhood is far behind me.

     Our table was a place where we entertained guests, foreigners, the homeless, the helpless, relatives, outcasts, and friends. It was where Dad taught us to sing, and dutifully bore our painful, childish screaming attempt in the process. Our table heard conversations about God, life, government, sports, money, marriage, children, wine, food, church, the military, family, and about love.

     The round shape of our dinner table has puzzled me. When I was younger, I viewed it as an oddity (after all, none of my friends had round tables). As I grow older, it signifies the respect and equality which my parents show us when we come together as a family. No person's opinion is omitted or overlooked; everyone is responsible to contribute. The things for which the table stands are an integral part of my being. I was shaped and molded, I grew and developed, I laughed and loved (and even lied occasionally) at our round table. That table represents values, memories, and lessons which I cannot divorce from my childhood. The importance is inestimable; the lessons, invaluable; the memories, irreplaceable.

     It was at the table that I was taught to serve. Meal times were a priority in our house. We sat, ate, and prayed together. Because of the large fanfare it took to feed six children and two parents, meals were a daily, family activity. Through setting the table, wiping the table, bringing food, sweeping, etc...I learned humility. I had to humble myself, submitting myself to the will of my parents and siblings, and serve them. I learned that service requires humility.

     It was at the table that I was taught to love. Meals were not always a smooth affair. Occasionally, conversation became heated (or I would kick my little brother under the table). Drinks might be spilled, or food catapulted across the room. Through the chaos, we conversed with one another, and shared life together. I learned (and am still learning) to care about what others were saying, and about what they thought. My parents practiced endless patience and love in dealing with me and my siblings.

     It was at the table where I learned to listen. Listening, for me, was, is, and will be one of my most difficult challenges. As a young lad, I came home bursting with stories of the day's adventures, happenings, and mishaps. Meal times were an opportunity for me to narrate the day's fantastic events to an audience of seven interested listeners! Or not.
      Dad was constantly correcting me, "Son, it's not about you. How many people are at this table?"
      "Eight." I responded.
      "Therefore, you should talk one-eighth of the time, and listen the other seven-eighths."
      When I did talk too much (which was often), he would calmly redirect my exuberant energy..."Eat your food, son."

     Meal times, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, forced us to listen to one another. It forced me to focus on someone else's day, priorities, agenda, or story. It forced me to hear what was going on in their lives, thereby forcing me to be a part of it. And this coercion was in no way demeaning nor detrimental to my development. On the contrary, it made me value people where I otherwise would have focused on myself. "All the world's a stage," but I am not the main actor.

     We loved one another; therefore, we listened to one another. Through listening we learned about each other. As we learned, we discovered what each person needed, and we met those needs. By meeting each family member's needs, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, we were serving. By serving each other, we loved each other. Because we loved one another we valued the other person, and their thoughts and ideas. Because we valued them, we listened to them. As we listened, we discovered their needs, and met those needs. We served. We loved. We listened. And the cycle continues. Serving, loving, and listening are all interconnected. As you follow the cycle, relationships are taken deeper – to new levels. More listening creates more service which shows more love, and so on. And the relationship continues to deepen and germinate, and soon there is rich connection.