Ephesians 4:32

Recently we've adopted Ephesians 4:32 as our family verse. This verse encompasses everything I want for our family. Kindness, tenderheartedness, forgiveness for one another as God, through Christ, has forgiven us. Those qualities are my end game for my kids. And myself.

Of course, none of us are there yet. Not even in the neighborhood. I was reminded of this the other day while sitting on the couch reading this verse with my boys. As I was expounding on the virtue of forgiveness, Daniel, AKA Jiminy Cricket, reminded me of an instance where I wasn't exactly a vessel overflowing with the kindness and mercy of God. 

It was this past summer. I love lazy days when we can wake up whenever our bodies, not some buzzing alarm clock, tell us that we're finished sleeping (except for poor John, who rarely has that luxury).  Most mornings, I am awakened by Daniel asking to watch an episode of some show or Stephen begging me to play Clue. But this particular morning, I woke up to silence. Which was extremely odd. Eerie even. 

I looked at the clock. It was almost eight! It was unusual for the boys to sleep in that late anymore. Leisurely, I grabbed my precious first cup of coffee. I cradled it in my hands and sipped it as I strolled back to the boy's room. I fully expected to see them snuggled in their beds, taking on the appearance of little angels as they slumbered. I was shocked to discover that their beds were empty. 

The events get a little fuzzy in my brain after this point because I went into full-fledged panic mode. I do recall that I started screaming their names. No response. Then (in my pajamas) I raced around the outside of the house three or four times, wailing like a banshee and screaming their names. Nothing. I was heading inside to call the police, my hand on the doorknob, when I heard something. I stopped my frenetic screeching and listened. There it was again. Very faint, but unmistakably my Daniel's voice. "Moooooommmm!  Help!"

"Daniel?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Keep talking! Where are you?"

"Mom, we are lost," came his faint reply. "In the woods." 

I stood at the edge of the woods behind our house. Yes, that was definitely where the sound was coming from. Daniel kept calling me, and I frantically followed his voice. With branches whacking at my face and thorns snagging my pajamas, I continued hollering their names and following their voices further into the the woods. I'm sure I made a spectacle of myself for all of the woodland creatures. 

Finally, they were in sight. Upon seeing me, Daniel began to sob. His shoulders heaved and he was unable to answer the questions that I pelted at him. At first, I didn't understand what Stephen was doing. He looked as if he'd been in the midst of dancing the robot when someone put him on pause. One arm was held in front of him, bent at the elbow and pointing up. His other arm was stretched out behind him. His legs were tangled up in each other. He wasn't moving a muscle. Anyone who knows Stephen knows that the still part of that scenario isn't normal behavior. 

I realized that he was caught up in bush of thorns. The poor thing couldn't move an inch without some part of his body being pricked. Lord only knows how long he'd been stuck there. It took quite a while, but I was finally able to extract him from the bush.  I wish I could tell you that as I did this, I was overwhelming them with the love and mercy of Jesus. But that would be a big old lie. Boy, did I ever let them have it. The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins and I was as mad as a hornet. 

What were you thinking? You know better than to go outside without telling me first! And you are NEVER to go into the woods alone! You know better! On and on I snapped. I told them if I hadn't heard them when I did, I would have called the police. 

Stephen didn't sob like his brother. He just dropped his head and said, "Why don't you go ahead and kill us, Mom. You know you want to." 

My little drama king. Even in my adrenaline-fueled rage, I had to chuckle at that. "Stephen, I think you know that I don't want to kill you," I explained. I took a few deep breaths and softened my tone. Then I started to cry. "I am mad because I love you and I didn't know where you were. I thought something awful had happened to you."

"When will the police arrest us?" he asked, shoulders hunched and his tone defeated. 

I couldn't help but to laugh. He thought that I was calling the police ON them, not to help me find them. In his mind, the cops were going to come, cuff him, throw him in the back of their squad car and haul him off to the penitentiary. 

Their version of the story finally came out later. They woke up very early that morning and decided to check on the chickens. While outside, they heard what they were certain was a dog crying in the woods. This poor little puppy was in desperate need of immediate help. This early morning jaunt into the wilderness was a humanitarian mission in their minds. But they knew that they shouldn't have been outside in the first place. They knew they were in big trouble. 

The rest of the morning they quietly awaited their punishment. I was trying to figure out what would make the most impact. What sentence could I impose that would ensure that something like this would never happen again. Three months without video games? No candy for a year? I struggled to find a punishment that would fit the crime. 

Exasperated, I talked it over with a friend. She suggested that this might be a perfect opportunity to extend them some grace. I am ashamed to say that the thought hadn't occurred to me. I mean, they had violated so many rules. So many things could have happened to them! I had to make an impression, didn't I? 

The more I thought about it, the more I knew my friend was right. I sat them down and started by apologizing for my behavior. I was terrified and angry, but that wasn't an excuse for yelling at them and being so harsh. Next, I told them that there would be no punishment. Getting off scot-free was a way for them to experience and comprehend grace. They just sat there for a few minutes blinking. 

"We aren't going to be punished?" Daniel finally asked. 

"Nope." 

"Don't you have to punish us?"

This led into the best discussion about sin, grace and forgiveness. Yes, sin does need to be punished. That's why Jesus came. Because Jesus took the punishment we deserved on the cross, we can have our sins forgiven and be pardoned. 

We all wander away from God. We get so wrapped up in our sins that we are like Stephen trapped in a nasty old thorn bush. On our own, we have no hope of escaping the mess. But God can rescue us. And He wants to. He literally died to. 

As we strive to be a kinder, more tenderhearted and forgiving family, we need to keep these simple truths in the forefront of our minds. We can't do it. Really, we can't. Cannot. Without Christ transforming our hearts and changing us from the inside out, it's not going to happen. 

My hope and prayer for all of us this Christmas is that instead of trying to fake it, we continually return to the well of Christ. That we stay connected to the vine and let Him transform us. That way, when we find ourselves in a position where we could dole out a just punishment, we might instead opt to grant forgiveness  and demonstrate the awesome grace of God to someone who needs it. Because, let's face it folks, we all need it. Desperately. Especially this blessed mess. :)  

Merry Christmas! 

I like the end of Stephen's. Mom wus scared to death. lol