Consequence

When I was thirteen years old, I wanted to go on a date. I knew this was entirely unacceptable, but I kept insisting, hoping to beat my Mother down with constant badgering until she relented and let me do as I pleased.

"His mother will be going along," I argued.

"My friend (and another boy) will be there too!"

"It's just one movie... What's the big deal?"

I whined, I begged, I scowled. And eventually, I got just what I asked for. In a parenting move that I'm sure made my Mother sweat, she looked me in the eye, told me she knew I had been taught what was right and wrong, and then allowed me to make my own decision.

Without a moment's hesitation, I made my plans and quite happily darted off to see a movie with my thirteen year old boyfriend. And my Mother? She started to pray. She prayed that I would learn my lesson quickly and as painlessly as possible.

I'll never forget that movie. I'll never forget how uncomfortable I was with a boy breathing down my neck trying to kiss me. I'll never forget how scared I felt, how obvious it was to me that I was nowhere near ready to navigate the waters of dating. I returned home from the movie humbled, humiliated and completely convinced that I would never NOT listen to my Mother again.

That life lesson, learned by own experience, stuck. The consequences of my own actions, those of discomfort, shame, and embarrassment went a long way to validate the standards that my family adhered to. I did not ask to date again, not until I was 16.

Looking back, I realize that this was a common pattern in the way that my parents parented. They taught the Gospel of Jesus Christ, they taught their children to be wise, to make good choices, and then they allowed us to do so. Sometimes, we chose wrong. What I admire so much about my parents though, is that when we did choose wrong, what followed always felt more like consequences rather than punishment. Does that make sense? There was always a very clear connection between the actions and choices that we made, and the consequences that came after. I don't remember any "Because I said so" moments with my parents. There was reason and purpose in every disciplinary conversation that we had.

Jordan will be ten in a couple of months. He's a good boy - so very good. Good and terrible, sweet and rude, brilliant and obnoxious all at the same time. He's just a boy, see? And he still has so much to learn. And here I stand, wanting nothing more than to keep him in a box safe and protected, but knowing full well that isn't what he needs. He needs to learn and grow and experience and make choices just like I did. I need to teach him. I need to let him. And like my own parents did, I need to pray constantly for this dear boy that the lessons will stick, that his choices will be good.

Early last week, Jordan raced into the pantry and came to find me on the front porch with a pack of crackers that are normally saved for school lunches. He asked if he could eat them. I told him they were for lunches (for the fiftieth time) and he needed to find a different snack. In a moment of complete boyish ridiculousness, he crumbled the crackers in his hands, and tossed them into the woods. I almost laughed with surprise. I certainly didn't expect such an over the top reaction to a simple conversation about snack food. I found myself bristling with irritation at his wastefulness. I wanted to yell and scream and lecture and send him to his room for having such an attitude. But then, a prayer in my heart said quickly, silently, and I knew there was a lesson here. I DID send Jordan to his room because he was angry and needed to calm down. But I didn't say another word about those crackers. Not until the following day when I picked him up from school.

"Why were there no crackers in my lunch?" he asked. "All I had was a sandwich and I was hungry."

And so I told him the crackers he would have gotten in his lunch he'd thrown into the woods the previous day. He was silent. I saw it in his eyes, though. He understood and knew that he couldn't argue further.

Want to know what I learned? I learned that all those words I wanted to dump on Jordan, the lectures on wastefulness and impulse control, the yelling I felt he deserved for having such a terrible attitude would have exhausted me and him and accomplished little. Maybe he would have been a little remorseful, but I imagine it would only have been motivated by the unluckiness of getting a tongue lashing from his mother. I learned that consequence is different than punishment. Consequences teach lessons, I think, while punishment just makes us all mad.

Crackers aren't really a big deal. I can't even begin to understand the challenges I will face as my children grow older and start making decisions that bring about consequences far more serious than a smaller lunch. But I can hope against hope that when the time comes, I will know what to do. I will know how to prayerfully parent the right way, the best way for my kids.

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