I decided to post this here as well...
Every time I think about disciplining children, I remember an aunt of mine who, one morning, when she was about to beat up my cousin with a rather thorny, branchy stick, told my sisters and me to leave the room because blood would splash on us. I witnessed so many such discipline moments. A visitor would say something that a cousin had told him, and as soon as he left, my aunt would beat up that cousin. I saw many people beat up their children and the whole time, we were told it was good to be beaten and these things were endorsed by God Himself in the Bible. I accepted that as gospel truth. After all, if you spare the rod, you spoil the child. Right? Might as well use the rod every single opportunity you can get.
My parents are pretty strict but they didn't believe in beating us randomly. I probably got less than ten beatings my whole life. They preferred to talk to us about things and for the most part, we were pretty obedient.
Somewhere in mid-primary school, I transferred to a place where beatings were the order of the day. Pipes, more thorny branches, pieces of wood, whatever it was, we were beaten with it and for whatever reason the teachers deemed appropriate. Staffroom discussions were tailored around that stubborn child who thought he was all that because his parents were politicians. Aunts would have lunches talking about their children, sometimes even in our hearing in family gatherings we would learn what a good girl Mary was and what a bad boy John was. Only those children who were number one in school and in the neighbourhood qualified as "good" (but who is ever number one all the time?). Everyone else was a bad child and warranted discipline. After these meetings, teachers would tell us, "We should win the cleanliness prize this term - why should Std 3Yellow outdo us?" and parents would say, while beating their sons, "Why can't you be like Tom?"
Discipline in my mind was something bad, done in anger for the simplest things. It was only supposed to be enforced by people who had earned the right to do so... or people in bad moods who had fought with their husbands and wanted to take out their anger on those under them. Thinking about chastisement from God with that backdrop really made me dread discipline and reproof from Him. I'd picture something like this: me, banished from His presence, eating from a pigsty somewhere in the belly of a huge whale, with thunderings and lightnings terrifying whatever daylights remained in me. Every single time something in my life went wrong, I saw it as discipline. Every incident that hurt me seemed to be God just giving me a beating because I had annoyed Him by making the slightest mistake. Until very recently, to me God was just someone just waiting for me to mess up so He could rain a double portion of the afflictions of Egypt on me.
I never thought of God as pleased with me. I didn't know what I had to do to get Him to smile. I felt like I was constantly under some pressurizing surveillance and was walking on eggshells. Like my mistakes were laid bare for everyone with a spiritual gift. In my mind, He discussed me with His children much like parents discussed their children with each other at family gatherings.
And then, one day, I read a little about how parents should discipline their children. I began to understand the importance of not doing it in anger. Thinking about that and turning it around in my mind made me understand God's discipline better. Chastisement and punishment are two different things. I've been spared from punishment by Jesus' death and resurrection for my sake. But I need chastisement to keep me in line. I am not chastised when God is “in a bad mood,” because He never is, or when someone tells Him I said something bad about Him. He does not beat me with a log for the smallest mistake. I am chastised lovingly, calmly, and when I seek Him, He shows me why He is doing it and how He wants to change me. I am chastised for things about which I should have known better. Things about which He has told me. He doesn't have to ask anybody to leave the room... in fact, many times He will allow them to get a glimpse of my chastisement and glorify His Name. My blood won't splash on anyone because His has already spilled for me. And His discipline is effective. It is painful enough to get my attention but not so exaggerated that it kills my spirit. While it is ongoing I might wonder if He truly loves me but the end result is not bitterness from a child who feels unloved or resentment from a daughter who feels like she is being compared to others when she wants to live out her uniqueness. The end result is love and thanksgiving that are birthed from a recognition that this has truly been done for my good.
*The end result sometimes takes a looooong while to materialize, but it's worth it.
