Not in finding them.
Not in using them.
Rather, in the restraint of them.
As a child, I learned that I could use my words to effect people and manipulate outcomes. I could defend myself and defeat others. Sinful little brute, stubbornly wielding a weapon I had no idea how to use.
Learning to take responsibility for my words was a painfully slow process. I learned the same lessons over and over again for many years. Jesus had to beat me over the head with it at times. By the time I reached college, I had more control, more restraint, more common sense, a better understanding of love and grace. Not to mention the reality of sin. Sometimes you don't understand grace until you fully grasp the seriousness and weight of sin. Jesus led me to a much better place right at the brink of my adulthood.
Now as a mother, I find myself having word problems yet again. The heavy weight of them, the promises they carry, the good lessons they impart, the bad marks they leave...
Oh, my boys.
At times, my words fall like dew drops on the petals of their small pink ears. They roll slowly inward and nourish. They teach life, they give grace, the speak beauty and truth.
Then there are days when the words thrash. A hideous cacophony of anger, pride, confusion, frustration. My words stop nurturing and instead they draw out tears and stamp out joy. They are unleashed, I am bound up by them and then ashamed.
Thank God for grace.
I am learning to control my words anew these days. At first the exercise seemed fruitless and frustrating. My sinful nature constantly whispered excuses, my exhaustion winning out on some days, my words falling about the bungalow unchecked.
An adult tells the dog to "shut up" one day and a child says it the next.
We show them our anger, they show us ours.
They want autonomy and we want the control.
I never really went through a phase of "baby blues" but I certainly went through the "toddler blues." Going head to head and toe to toe with a screaming, red faced toddler is exhausting. I soon found myself saying THE WORD all the time just to avoid having any sort of confrontation with one particular three foot tall terrorist I am raising.
It felt easier to say THE WORD.
The word "no."
No.
So much easier to say no. "Yes" means messes and trouble. Doesn't it?
A few months ago I decided to reign in the words. Then I decided to really think about my reasoning in words before I spoke them to my children. For example, a little person asks if they can do a certain activity. If my first impulse is to say no, I would ask myself why? Was it dangerous to them? Was it immoral? Would it teach them something false? Was it legitimately bad for their health? Most of the time... it was just inconvenient for me. More cleaning, more work, more time, and horror of horrors... it infringed on my incessant need for control. Those aren't good reasons to limit their joy, hedge in their freedom and restrict the potential of their childhoods. So I started saying yes...
I said "yes" to yes. :)
Yes, I have had to work more (Good Lord the cleaning I have had to do!). But I have had more joy and less frustration, less confrontation. My children started blossoming in an abundant way. Their boyhood took on a new level of adventure. It brimmed with the giddy air of wild discovery and imagination. The best gift I've ever given anyone really. I said "yes" to their dreams. I am so very glad I did.
The three foot terrorist, need I really name him? Oh Cubby, things are getting so much easier between us. When I just take a few minutes to understand your heart a little more, its helps so very much. My little son who is so like me, we are learning so much together.
The discipline is still there, the boundaries are firmly in place, but the space between the walls is so much more joyous.
My words have seen a change too. They have left the realm of defense and entered the world of joyful leading!
Please don't read this entry in either extreme. We did not walk around in anger and tears all the time. Nor are we currently in a perfect state of bliss.
We are a family raising each other, really. These boys are raising me to be a good mother. They are sending me on practice runs, providing trails, lighting the sparks of refining fire as it were, to help me become a better woman of God. I in turn, work each day to help them become men of God. The goal immediately following is to keep them alive at the end of each day with as few wrestling injuries as possible.
And as always, to watch our words to each other. Keeping our promises, encouraging one another, creating opportunities of joy for others and ultimately, speaking words of forgiveness and grace to each other whenever we fail.
