Proverbs 13:24, Punishing vs. Disciplining Children, and Two Year Old Fit Throwing Meditations

Once upon a time, I believed that spanking was wholly Biblical—a command, if you will.  In fact, I think my first cyber-debate waaaay back when I joined my first forum at 23 (so amazed and delighted that there were online places where people could actually discuss issues!) was on the topic of spanking. 

I doubt I handled it with any sense of maturity, because I remember being FLOORED that anyone would suggest that spanking wasn’t a command, to the point that I questioned whether or not the person could even be saved (with a line of reasoning that goes something like, “Hey, if you don’t take the Bible seriously in Proverbs, you must not be able to take it seriously anywhere else, either.”).   Here is a link that sums up my former thoughts well. 

I don’t have time to go through all the  Proverbs today, but let’s look at one popular one (mentioned here in the same way that I used to view it): 

He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.  Prov. 13:24

This was one of the verses I viewed as a command—proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that spanking is Biblically required.  Too bad for the former me, because I’d be on the other side of the debate now, with questions such as,

“Is the author giving us a command, or is the author giving us a general principle?  If it is a literal command, does the author really want us to take a shepherd’s club to our kids?  If we’re supposed to be taking this literally, then, er, where in the Bible does it specify that it doesn’t mean a literal club to a back but rather a small spanking instrument to be used on the nether parts like all the conservative parenting books say?  And, if it’s not clearly spelled out in the Bible, why do so many Christian parenting books lay out the godly steps for ”Biblically” spanking our children, even though they’re not IN the Bible?”  (Great article on that here).

If the author isn’t giving us a command, is it fair to say that he may be giving us a general God-breathed principle, a lot like the other proverbs—a piece of wisdom cleverly wrapped up in two simple and poetic lines (something I’ve yet to master). 

Just a few verses prior, we are told that, “Poverty and shame [shall be to] him that refuseth instruction: but he that regardeth reproof shall be honoured.”  Is this a command?  Is it a promise?  If it is a promise, then why is it that sometimes the righteous are poor and shamed by their country (think of the underground Church in China, for example), while fools who despise instruction often ride around in Hollywood limosines? 

It can’t be a promise, because even God’s word admits that sometimes fools have great lives and that humble righteous folks get a lousy one.  So would we be correct to say that Proverbs gives us general principles, wise sayings worth tucking in the memory, truths that are usually evident in daily life, truths that we can apply in our lives, not as commands or decrees, but as gifts to help us walk circumspectly, to walk with wisdom? 

 And I think most of us agree that it is sadly evident, in real life, to tell between the children who’ve had parents invest in them versus children who’ve been left to themselves.   Parents who are unwilling to help move their kids into better ways of thinking and behaving are loving themselves more than they love their kids. 

We’ve all known the parent who has cringed at the thought of their kid experiencing anything bad, so rushes to intervene anytime the kid has to face a hardship or a negative consequence.  The child is usually either spoiled and miserable to be around, or helplessly helpless and dependant on the savior-parent.  And why does the parent rush to save?  Because the parent doesn’t love the child like the parent should.  The parent rushes to save the kid becuase of the way the child’s pain makes the parent feel.  It’s about the parents feelings, not the child’s growth.  Proverbs 13:24 helps us see that this way of parenting is not wise.

But conversely, and despite what many Christian parenting books would like to say, the proverb isn’t talking about how God wants us to spank our kids whenever they fail to perform properly.  It’s not talking about beating our kids with a big shepherding staff, either. 

I would say that the proverb is talking about whether or not we love our kids enough to walk through the hard things with them, as well as the pleasant things.  Do we take the time to relate with them, to shepherd them, to instruct them even when it’s painful, when it’s not very fun, when it would be a lot easier if I just zoned out on the internet all day ignored them, even when I can think of a million other things I’d rather be doing.  It’s fun to cuddle a cooing baby.  It’s not so fun to get stuck with the baby who gets his days and nights mixed up.  It’s fun to wrestle the giggling preschooler.  It’s not so fun to deal with the four year old who just discovered the fine art of lifting his big sister’s precious items and sneaking them back to his secret stash.   Loving our kids means we’re there for them when it’s fun to relate with them…and when it’s not fun, when its time to work through problems, when its time to confront unacceptable behaviour.   

 But disciplining omy children does not even have to mean punishing them.  Disciplining means training, teaching a disciple.  My current two year old throws fits sometimes.  Sometimes we all just look at him funny and move on with life.  Sometimes I move him to his bed, so he can pitch his fit in private (hey, you can feel sad, but you can’t ruin everyone else’s day over it), because there’s too much going on in a family of seven for much else.  Sometimes I can tell he needs some help working through the fit, so I hold him until he’s done. 

When I was a new mom, I was shocked that my first kid dared to throw a fit.  It didn’t help that the books on parenting I read said that her fit was a sign that she was trying to overthrow my authority, and that I ”must win the battle” or potentially lose her soul forever.  

Some of you are thinking I’m exaggerating.  Those of you who have the (popular!) books I had know that I’m not.  Her outward obedience was turned into a struggle of heaven and hell.  Thankfully, she was a naturally compliant child and still is pretty easy going to this day—I shudder to think what might have happened if my fourth child (”intense” is not a strong enough word for him!) was my first. 

Today, I look at the above Proverb and see the Holy Spirit telling me, “Get off your butt, Molly.”  I need this.  Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with my life that I want to disengage.  I’m glad the Spirit tells me to come join in, to come and love.  But I don’t think He means I need to walk around with a stick looking for chances to whop anyone who’s not performing correctly.  That doesn’t sound like an environment conduscive to growth—that sounds more like a Soviet Concentration Camp to me. 

God doesn’t Father me like that.  He’s loving, loving enough to point out things even when it makes me hurt, but the main way I experience His love is through the warm embrace of me, even in the face of my failures.  I’m sure many of you have had similar experiences—sure that He’s coming with a stick, and knowing we deserve it, but He comes instead with gentleness, with compassion, surprises us with His kindness and longsuffering and in response, we melt in relief. 

The stick would have made me try harder not to screw up, motivated by fear.  The grace, though, does what a stick never could.  His grace makes the hard parts of my heart melt.  His grace makes me that much more determined to abide in Him, out of love instead of fear.   His grace makes me want to keep on going forward, keep on pressing, keep on trying, because I am learning to delight in Him, to trust Him.  I guess you could say that following Him makes my melted heart feel joy.   

That’s the weird thing, because punishment does work.  You’d have to be an idiot to say that punishment wasn’t an effective motivator, because it is, and that’s one of the reasons we humans love it so.  Punishment also feels good (when you’re dishing it out, that is).  There’s something to be said for “making someone pay,” a tit-for-tat human response written into our bones, the thing that makes us pack picnic baskets for public hangings, that makes us glad when criminals get locked behind bars for the rest of their life, that makes us smile when bad people have bad things happen to them.  Punishment is effective in many ways. 

But Love works, too.  Love works better, actually.  Punishment can change the outward performance, whereas Love has power to reach the inmost parts, affecting both outward and inward at the same time.  Punishment creates a climate of fear and tension—picture cold white prison walls, picture hopelessness.  Love creates an environment of growth, a verdant garden of rich brown loam that welcomes seedlings and nurtures them to full potential.  When I think of what I want for my children, the dirt beats out the clean white prison walls, hands down.       

Learning to parent more in God’s style [and less in the style of the (%$#) books!] has been a life-saver for me.   It’s not about the outward performance.  My kid isn’t going to hell if he throws a fit at two, and it’s not a reflection on my parenting, either.   

More than anything else, I see my children so differently than I used to.  The same things happen, it’s just that my eyes are different.  The two year old throwing the fit doesn’t look like “he needs a swat” and a firm reprimand.  He doesn’t look like he’s throwing a fit “just to challenge my authority,” or just because he’s in the mood to tick me off  (as if it’s all about me—now who’s being the true toddler in that situation?). 

No, he looks like he’s got a two year old brain and is having trouble processing the fact that his mom won’t turn on a movie for him when he really wants one.  He can’t understand that sitting in front of a screen will rot his brain—all he can understand is that he wants “Woody and Buzz” and Mom is refusing him joy.  He’s two, his emotions are raw, and he’s letting them out. 

I don’t see a kid that is trying to overthrow Mom.  I see a kid who is sad, who’s upset at a world where he can’t be king, a kid who is mourning the loss of the movie he wants so badly, a kid who looks like he needs a hug on mom’s lap. 

The funny thing is, the swat and the reprimand never really stopped the fits.  I’ve had five toddlers now, I oughta know.  The hug and the minute of snuggling on the couch together does, every single time.  He still doesn’t get the movie he wanted, but he sobbed it out in my arms and it’s okay now.  He gets up and pads off to his next great adventure, happy, secure, his eyes bright and twinkling even as traces of still-drying tears jiggle on the edges. 

He feels good.  I feel good.  We just reconnected in that quiet moment on the couch.  I am a safe place for him.  I get off the couch and get back to the dishes, grinning at how happy-go-lucky he is now, when only a moment earlier acted like he was being tortured to death.  The crisis is over, the storm moved on, and we solved it together. 

We’re not pitted against eachother—there is no battle of the wills, where I must be ever on gaurd from this evil two year old tyrant who wants to take me down.  He’s just a little two year old who’s learning the ropes of life, severely handicapped by a two year old brain incapable of adult level reasoning or why we only watch movie’s at certain times, not to mention a two year old body incapable of performing most basic functions, including running without tripping on his face.  

There’s a lot going on in that little person’s world.  I’m bigger.  I have the power.  This is a lot of responsibility!  It’s up to me how I use it—-for him, or for me.  Jesus talked about those who have power, about what they should do with it.  Something about being the servant of all…

Seems to me that’s what Proverbs 13:24 is saying, that if I love the little squirt, I’ll put down what I’m doing when he needs me, that I’ll use my power to guide him, just like the shepherd gets up off the grass and guides his sheep back in when they start wandering out of his sight.  He’s not beating them, he’s guiding them.  I’m guiding my kid when I say, 

“Sorry, little dude, no movie.  But come here—come sit with Mommy.” 

I put down my dishes and my plans for the moment and I make the time to sit and comfort a kid who’s learning that life doesn’t always give him what he wants.  We’re on the same team, he and I, and I like it so much better this way.