Sermons in a Mirror

I find it fascinating that so many parents, including myself, discipline their children in the bathroom.

It certainly doesn’t seem like a logical choice—first of all you have to sit on the one available seat, presumably not the most attractive or clean one in the house. Second, bathrooms are often tiny rooms, and I have emerged from many a loving discipline session feeling like I’ve been locked in a small closet with a wolverine. Thirdly, it is the most frequently visited room in the house. You can bank on the fact that as soon as you enter the bathroom with your suspect, someone will be pounding on the door while jumping up and down in obvious discomfort. And you happen to be sitting on their source of relief.

And yet there is some irony in the choice. Because bathrooms have mirrors. They have other things in them as well—recent finds in my own powder room include a hand-made bow and arrow, toddler-size undies (that’s always scary), and a Lego warship. But there is always a mirror. And I find the mirror an unnerving fixture when I’m disciplining my kids. The bathroom mirror is a tool God uses to make sure the sermons I’m preaching to my kids are getting preached back to me as well.

You see, after disciplining a child, I talk with them about what happened and about their sin and God’s mercy. We’ve been well taught. But any parent knows that these words of wisdom are not always received with rapt attention and deep conviction. Yet no matter what behavior the guilty party is exhibiting, one person’s eyes are always watching me—my own. The mirror becomes my teacher in those moments. It has corrected me, encouraged me, and convicted me.

“Honey, it seems like in a lot of these situations you’re only thinking about what would serve you. It doesn’t seem like you’re thinking of others or what would bless them.” (The eyes in the mirror are watching.)

“Are we allowed to complain and become angry when we don’t get exactly what we want? Is getting what we want the goal in life?” (The ears in the mirror are listening.)

The mirror has diagnosed me perfectly. How can I tell my children something that I still struggle with so much, calling them to a high standard when my own example is unsteady? Are these sessions just a cycle of failures and lectures? Should I go on?

But the voice in the mirror keeps talking…

“Love, you could never pay for these sins or earn God’s favor. But God has done what we never could. He’s made a rescue...”

As the redemptive truths continue, I’m reminded that God doesn’t give up on his children. His mercy comes to us not just in times of obedience, but in times of failure—and failure again. My kids and I all need a Father who is patient and loving to us. I’m so glad I have a bathroom mirror to remind me.