Kindness and Conviction
I lost my patience with my oldest daughter recently. It all started with a flour-filled balloon, otherwise known as a homemade stress ball. If you know what I’m talking about, then you can imagine the mess that might ensue when said stress ball explodes. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I trust you can conjure a mental image. Just imagine flour, flour, flour … everywhere.
But I digress. Back to the losing patience part. We were already running late for school. We had just loaded the car and shut the door when another child screamed. Trying to maintain the peace, I calmly asked what happened and was met with the shocked, indignant response: “Her stress ball exploded!”
I turned around to see flour covering everything in the back seat. Looking back, it’s funny now. And it would have been funny then if the clock hadn’t been ticking and tardies hadn’t been looming. But it was, and they were, and I let it all get the best (or worst) of me. I lost my patience. I spoke harshly. I let my frustration spill over, Then we drove to school, and I said goodbye.
I left, still fuming, and headed to the local car wash. As I began vacuuming, each speck of flour began to dissipate, little by little. It disappeared from the booster, the ceiling, the walls, and soon there was barely a trace. My frustration lessened. And then as I finished, I sensed the Holy Spirit gently say, “You can vacuum this flour, but you can’t vacuum your words.”
Ouch.
I replaced the hose and let that conviction wash over me. It’s true, of course. Messes can be vacuumed and spills can be cleaned, but words can’t. For better or worse, words and their effects linger.
Throughout the last 14 years, the Lord has graciously used my children to refine me, and this situation was no different. In that moment I was keenly aware of the power of my words and my reaction. But just as quickly as the Lord convicted me, he also reminded me that His mercies are new each morning and his grace is sufficient. Because when the Lord convicts, he also comforts. It’s his kindess that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). I wish I’d responded differently when that flour exploded in a plume in the car. I didn’t, but by God’s grace I can respond differently next time.
You and I aren’t perfect. We make mistakes, and we mess up, and we fumble through parenting. But God uses it all to refine us, if we’ll let him. He redeems what’s broken and resurrects what’s dead. We can’t take back words spoken in anger or frustration, but God’s gracious conviction can soften our hearts so we can reply differently next time. This is all part of the beautiful process of sanctification. God takes us as we are, but he doesn’t leave us there.
This is all part of the beautiful process of sanctification. God takes us as we are, but he doesn’t leave us there.
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Today your children will stress you and stretch you. They will challenge you and compel you. And when they do, I pray you see Jesus in the midst of it all. Jesus in the messes and the mistakes. Jesus when it’s beautiful. And Jesus when it’s broken. Because he’s always there, through it all. Redeeming, rebirthing, resurrecting. Every moment of every day.
Even when the stress ball explodes.
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