I was a hard-core criminal when I was six-years old. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true. I was on my way to a life of thievery.
“Oh, come on, Amy. What did you steal? A lollipop at the grocery store?”
No, ladies purses were more my thing. Initially, I got caught a couple of times stealing toys from our church. How low can you get? Afterward, my parents reprimanded me and attempted to impress upon me how stealing was wrong. But, I didn’t really care. I wanted what I wanted. So, I moved on to a bigger, more serious item, like a woman’s purse. While at a friend’s house, I saw the mom take a tube of lipstick out of her purse, and I decided that the purse would soon be mine. Somehow (I don’t remember how) I relieved the owner of her purse. I knew it was wrong. I remember thinking that it was wrong, but my desire for the purse and the things inside outweighed my Jimmy-Cricket conscience.
I hid it under my Smurf 3-wheeler. This was not an ideal hiding spot. Hardly inconspicuous, I know, but give me a break. I was six.
Not surprisingly, my mom found it and I immediately saw the disappointment in her eyes. Here I was, yet again, stealing stuff. The fact that I hid it proved that I knew I did wrong. When my dad came home, she told on me. Calmly, my dad told me to go get in the car. I had no idea what I was in for, but I remember being somewhat nervous about his calm disposition. Shouldn’t he be yelling at me? Shouldn’t he be disciplining me? A car-ride? I was confused.
I got in the passenger seat and my dad started driving. I asked him where we were going. Again, calmly, he said, “I’m taking you to the police station and you are going to turn yourself in.”
At those words, I…freaked…out. Tears immediately sprang from my eyes. I begged. I pleaded. I promised him I would never do it again. He simply said, “Amy, your mother and I have already punished you and told you that stealing is wrong. You obviously did not want to listen and I can’t let you go on stealing. People who steal in life get caught by the police and go to jail. This is what happens when you steal.”
He pulled in front of the police station and said, “Go and turn yourself in.”
“Please no, Daddy! I promise I won’t do it again!” I begged.
“Amy, go into the police station and turn yourself in.” I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was not kidding. He wasn’t yelling or screaming at me, but he was firm and resolute. I slowly opened the car door and, sobbing, walked up to the door of the police station. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to go to jail, that jail was not the place for me. Right before I opened the door, my dad got out of the car and halted my confession. He knelt down to look me in the eye and proceeded to explain that this behavior had to stop. I realized in that moment that jail was the consequence for stealing and I WAS NOT comfortable with it AT ALL. After a good long talk, he hugged me, told me he loved me, and we got back in the car and went home. I had to take the purse back to it’s owner and apologize for stealing it, which was humiliating, as well. After that day, I never stole another thing in my life.
Some of you may be gasping in horror at the perceived atrocity of what my father did. After all, I was only six. But, let me assure you, I have never required therapy for this punishment, I don’t hate my father, and I’m a pretty well-rounded human being. I am grateful to my dad did for what he did. I understand that he did it out of love for me.
Love? Love, you say? I know many people would find this act of punishment far from loving. Here in lies the problem. We have confused love to mean total tolerance, acceptance, and appeasement. My dad will tell you to this day, that punishing me like that was immensely difficult and he hated doing it, but he knew he had to find some way to wake me up and purge me of this behavior. Other punishments were not working. My dad simply loved me too much to tolerate or accept this behavior.
That is what real, honest-to-goodness love does–it does what is right, not what is just pleasurable. This is another problem we are facing in our world. We believe good=pleasure and pain=evil. This is a fallacy, but one that is causing lots of problems. If I really and truly love someone, I want them to be the best person they can be. I’m not very loving if I encourage, deny, or ignore aspects of their life or behavior that is bad for them or others. My dad allowed me to go through some suffering in order to eradicate potentially devastating, future suffering. You could argue that I would have outgrown it with age and maturity, but once a habit is established it is very difficult to break. As Barney Fife would say, “Nip it, nip it in the bud.” Why would you wait to correct something that could be potentially harmful, destructive, or negatively habitual?
What is good is not always pleasurable. Christ committed the greatest good every known, but not one bit of it was pleasurable. He did it because of His love for us. We discipline our children, not because it is pleasurable for either them or us, but because it is right and good. I may even let my children experience some suffering in order to teach them a lesson that is for their greater good. True love is not all warm fuzzies, yet that is the only aspect of love that many accept or promote. No, real love may not always be pleasantly tender or gentle. It may make us feel uncomfortable, it may make us squirm, or it may even make us mad. There have been times in my life when people who love me have pointed out ways that don’t become me. Their observations sting and cause me unease. I could respond with, “If they really loved me, they wouldn’t point out my shortcomings. They wouldn’t be so judgmental. It’s mean. They make me feel bad.” Yet, with reflection, I come to realize that it’s BECAUSE they love me that they point these things out. It’s my pride that stands in the way of receiving the love in the appropriate way. All too often, we stick our fingers in our ears and try to drown out disapproval with shouts of, “I can’t hear you! Blah, blah, blah, blah!”
Another popular concept these days is that pain=evil. Our perception is that if something causes pain in any way, it must be evil. Yet, there are so many examples of pain being beneficial, or even–dare I say, good? Take childbirth for example; excruciating pain that leads to one of our greatest joys–our children. Athletes know that “no pain, no gain” is a very true reality. You must push yourself to the point of pain in order to gain victory. The triumph of having pushed through pain, whether it be emotional, mental, or physical, is life-changing. It grows and stretches us to a new level. However, we find it unfair and unjust when our loved ones don’t give into our every whim leaving us in “pain.” How many times have I heard that “if God really loved me, He’d give me what I pray for”? How many teenagers in their irritation and angst over their parents’ advice, rules, or punishments wallow in self-pity over the bogus assumption that it must be because their parents don’t love them? Then they grow-up and mature and realize their parents were loving them all along.
Does love really mean I give into anything my children want? Does it really mean I love my children if I let them do whatever they want? How exactly would this be loving? By giving them everything they want, I am teaching them selfishness and unrestrained greed. These vices lead away from true sources of happiness. If my father had just let me continue on my path, I could have grown up believing that my desires are the only things that matter. Consequences would mean nothing to me, because I was never forced to face them. Love must be balanced with mercy, justice, firmness, and compassion; too much of any of these attributes without the others and major complications will arise.
While we can have love that is too passive and compliant, we must never associate love with actions or words that hurt for the sake of hurting. I saw this all to often in my work with domestic and sexual violence victims. Genuine love is not selfish, suffocating, or abusive. How do you tell the difference? It’s all about the intent. My dad wasn’t punishing me for the joy of seeing me suffer. No, quite the contrary. He joined with me in my temporary suffering through my punishment and sought to find a way to end a seriously-negative long term behavior. It was not fun for him and he certainly didn’t enjoy it.
In your life, try asking yourself this question if you find someone being what you perceive as unloving: Is this person trying to honestly bring out the best in me or are they trying to hold me down and keep me there? All too often, we tend to justify ourselves and our behaviors by fooling our minds into thinking that others are being unloving. We dismiss them and write them off as being mean and intolerant, therefore excusing ourselves. This leaves no room for reflection, growth, or change. It can be painful to shed a part of us that has become ingrained, even if it is detrimental. Love wants to free us of all that holds us back from being our best, even if that means we have to suffer a little for it.
