Mrs Ogunleye was halfway across Third Mainland Bridge when the school called. The principal’s voice was polite and very careful, which frightened her more than shouting would have. Her daughter Oyin, sixteen and in SS2, had been found in the toilet during a mock examination with the answers to the mathematics paper on her phone. She had paid for them through a group on WhatsApp. Could Mrs Ogunleye come to the school, please, this afternoon?
The traffic was not moving. For the next fifty minutes she sat behind a tanker, her hands tight on the steering wheel, and rehearsed what she would say. She tried several versions. After everything your father and I have sacrificed. Do you know what you have done to this family? What will I say to the women in my fellowship? She was a deaconess. She led the mothers’ prayer meeting on Tuesdays. She had once spoken at a youth programme about integrity in examinations.
Underneath the anger was something older. She remembered her own mother’s reaction when she was fourteen and had lied about where she had been one Saturday. There had been a slap, and then three weeks of silence. Nobody in the house had spoken about it again. She had never told her mother anything important after that.
When she finally reached the school and walked down the corridor, she saw Oyin through the glass panel of the door. Her daughter was sitting alone on a bench outside the principal’s office. Her shoulders were hunched, her school bag clutched in her lap, and she was watching the door the way a person watches a courtroom door, waiting for a verdict.
Mrs Ogunleye stopped walking. She still did not know what she was going to say.
The first minutes matter
Every parent eventually gets a phone call like that one, or finds something on a child’s phone, or hears a story from a neighbour that makes the stomach drop. A child lies, steals, cheats, sneaks out, gets into a fight, experiments with something dangerous, or hides a relationship. Whatever the details, the moment arrives suddenly, and how a parent responds in the first minutes can shape what happens for years.
Panic is the natural reaction, and panic tends to push us in one of a few directions. Some parents explode. The words come out hot and fast, and they include things that cannot be taken back. Others rush to rescue. They argue with the school, blame the other children, pay whatever needs to be paid and make the problem disappear, so the child learns nothing except that his parents will clean up after him. Still others withdraw. They go silent, cold and distant, and the child is left to guess whether he is still loved.
Part of what drives all three is fear, and part of it is shame. We are afraid for our children’s future. We are also, if we are honest, afraid for our own reputation. In a culture where a child’s behaviour is often read as a verdict on the parents, and where church members and extended family are quick to comment, a child’s wrong choice can feel like a public humiliation. That is real, and we should acknowledge it. But a response driven by our embarrassment will rarely be the response our child needs.
PunchlineA wrong choice is serious. It is also a moment for truth and guidance, and those are best given by a parent who has not lost the ability to think.
Swift to hear, slow to speak
James wrote to believers scattered by persecution, people living under pressure, and he gave them a word that every parent needs:
Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath: For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.
Look at the order. Swift to hear. Slow to speak. Slow to wrath. Most of us, in a crisis, reverse it. We are swift to speak, swift to wrath, and very slow to hear.
James does not say that anger is always wrong. Elsewhere Scripture says, “Be ye angry, and sin not” (Ephesians 4:26). There is a proper anger at wrongdoing, and a parent who feels nothing when a child cheats or lies has a different problem. James’s point is about what human anger can achieve: “the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.” Your anger may feel righteous. It may even be justified. But it does not produce in your child the righteousness God desires. Rage may frighten a child into hiding his behaviour more carefully next time. It cannot give him a new heart.
Being swift to hear means asking before telling. What happened? When did it start? What were you thinking? What were you afraid of? Children often make wrong choices for reasons they barely understand themselves: fear of failure, pressure from friends, a desire to belong, loneliness, curiosity, or a hurt nobody has noticed. If you only address the behaviour, you may miss the reason entirely, and the reason is usually where the help is needed.
Being slow to speak may mean waiting. There is wisdom in saying, “I am too upset to talk about this properly right now. We will talk after dinner.” That is not weakness or avoidance. “A fool uttereth all his mind: but a wise man keepeth it in till afterwards” (Proverbs 29:11). A delay of a few hours can save a relationship that one careless sentence might have damaged for years. And when you do speak, remember that “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger” (Proverbs 15:1). A soft answer is not a weak one. It is simply truth spoken in a tone the child can actually hear.
Restore such an one
Paul gives the church instructions for the moment when one of its members falls into sin:
Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.
NuggetPaul is writing to a congregation, but the principle applies with special force to the home, which is the first congregation most children ever know.
The phrase “overtaken in a fault” pictures someone caught, perhaps surprised by a sin, tripping over something. The word for fault suggests a false step. It is a fitting description of many of the wrong choices our children make. They are not usually master criminals. They are young people who took a wrong step.
The word restore is katartizo. It was used for mending fishing nets; Matthew uses it when he describes James and John “mending their nets” (Matthew 4:21). In medical writing it could describe setting a broken bone. The aim of correction, in other words, is repair. You do not mend a net by throwing it away. You do not set a bone by shouting at it. You handle it with skill and care until it can do its work again.
And Paul says this must be done “in the spirit of meekness.” Meekness is strength under control. It is the posture of a person who knows the truth, holds the line, and yet handles the other person gently. Then comes the warning: “considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.” The parent who corrects must remember his own capacity for failure. Most of us did things as teenagers that we would be ashamed for our children to know. Some of us still struggle with sins that are more respectable but no less real. Remembering that does not mean excusing the child. It means approaching him as a fellow sinner who has received mercy, not as a judge who has never been tempted.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens.” When a child has made a serious mistake, there is often a heavy burden to deal with: a school process, an apology, a broken trust, a debt. A wise parent helps the child carry what is too heavy, while still letting him carry what is his to carry.
The aim of correction is restoration. You do not mend a torn net by throwing it away, and you do not heal a child by making him feel he no longer belongs.
The father who let him go
Jesus told a story about a son who made a terrible choice:
And he said, A certain man had two sons: And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me . And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.
We should remember why Jesus told this parable. Luke tells us that “the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them” (Luke 15:2). The story is first about God and the way He receives repentant sinners. But Jesus chose a family to illustrate it, and the father in the story shows us something about the heart a parent needs.
The younger son’s request was shocking. To ask for an inheritance while a father is still alive was close to saying, “I wish you were dead.” The son took the money, left for a far country and “wasted his substance with riotous living.”
Notice what the father did not do. He did not chase his son into the far country. He did not send servants to drag him home. He did not post money to him when the famine came. The son “began to be in want,” and when he hired himself out, he was sent “into his fields to feed swine.” For a Jewish young man, there could hardly be a lower place. “And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.”
The father loved this son. But he allowed the consequences of the son’s choice to do their work. And it was in the pig field, with an empty stomach, that “he came to himself” (Luke 15:17).
We must be careful here. The younger son in the parable was an adult who made an adult decision. Parents of children and teenagers have a responsibility to intervene, protect and set boundaries that this father did not have. You do not let a thirteen-year-old wander into danger on the theory that consequences will teach him. But the principle holds at every age, adjusted to the child’s stage: rescuing a child from every consequence often robs him of the very experience that would bring him to his senses.
When consequences become rejection
PunchlineThere is a story in the life of King David that shows how a father can get this badly wrong.
David’s son Amnon raped his half-sister Tamar. Scripture says simply, “when king David heard of all these things, he was very wroth” (2 Samuel 13:21). And that was all. He was angry, and he did nothing. Tamar’s brother Absalom waited two years and then murdered Amnon. He fled into exile. After three years, through the intervention of Joab, David allowed him to come back to Jerusalem, but on a strange condition: “Let him turn to his own house, and let him not see my face” (2 Samuel 14:24). Then this:
So Absalom dwelt two full years in Jerusalem, and saw not the king’s face. Therefore Absalom sent for Joab, to have sent him to the king; but he would not come to him: and when he sent again the second time, he would not come. Therefore he said unto his servants, See, Joab’s field is near mine, and he hath barley there; go and set it on fire. And Absalom’s servants set the field on fire. Then Joab arose, and came to Absalom unto his house, and said unto him, Wherefore have thy servants set my field on fire? And Absalom answered Joab, Behold, I sent unto thee, saying, Come hither, that I may send thee to the king, to say, Wherefore am I come from Geshur? it had been good for me to have been there still: now therefore let me see the king’s face; and if there be any iniquity in me, let him kill me. So Joab came to the king, and told him: and when he had called for Absalom, he came to the king, and bowed himself on his face to the ground before the king: and the king kissed Absalom.
Two full years in the same city, and the father would not see his son. Absalom sent for Joab twice and was ignored, so he set a field on fire to get attention. When he was finally brought before the king, David kissed him. But Scripture records no conversation. No truth was spoken. No repentance was sought. No restoration was worked through. In the very next chapter Absalom began stealing the hearts of the people, and soon he was leading an armed rebellion against his father.
David failed in two directions. With Amnon, he felt anger and imposed no consequence. With Absalom, he imposed a consequence that was really a withdrawal of relationship, and then covered it with a kiss that settled nothing. Eli, the priest, had failed in the first direction too. He spoke to his sons about their wickedness, but God said of him that “his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not” (1 Samuel 3:13).
These stories mark the two ditches on either side of the road. One is the parent who never lets a wrong choice cost anything. The other is the parent whose discipline becomes rejection.
Telling the difference
How do you tell the difference between a necessary consequence and a rejection? A few questions help.
A necessary consequence is connected to the wrong. If a child has misused a phone, losing the phone for a season makes sense. If he has broken something, helping to pay for it makes sense. If he has hurt someone, apologising to that person makes sense. A consequence that has nothing to do with the wrong feels arbitrary, and it teaches resentment more than wisdom.
A necessary consequence is proportionate and limited. It has an end. The child knows what it is and how long it lasts, and he can see a path back to trust. Rejection has no edges. The child cannot tell when, or whether, it will be over.
A necessary consequence is delivered within the relationship. You can take away a privilege and still hug your son goodnight. You can uphold a school’s suspension and still sit with your daughter at breakfast. Rejection withdraws the relationship itself, through silence, coldness, contempt, or threats to send the child away. Some parents say, “You are no child of mine,” or compare the child unfavourably with a sibling, or tell the story of his failure to relatives and church members. Those things do not correct a child. They wound him, and they teach him to hide.
A necessary consequence leaves dignity intact. It never depends on humiliation, physical injury or threats of abandonment. Wrongdoing should be named clearly, but the child should never be made to feel that he has become worthless.
There is also an honest guard-rail to add. Some wrong choices are beyond what a family can handle alone. If a child is involved with drugs, harming himself, being exploited by an adult, involved in crime, or caught in something that threatens his safety or that of others, get help. Speak to a doctor, a qualified counsellor, a trusted pastor, and where necessary the proper authorities. Seeking help is not a failure of faith or of parenting. It is part of loving a child well.
The interrupted speech
Now look at what happened when the son came home:
And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it ; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.
The son had prepared a speech in the pig field. It had three parts: a confession, an admission of unworthiness, and a request. “Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants” (Luke 15:18-19).
When he actually arrived, he delivered the first two parts. But compare verse 21 with verse 19. He never got to the third. Before he could say “make me as one of thy hired servants,” the father had turned to the servants and started calling for the robe, the ring, the shoes and the calf. The father would not even let the request be spoken. There would be no probation, no period of working off the debt, no status as a lodger in his own home.
Notice too what the father did not do. He did not pretend nothing had happened. The son confessed, and the father let him confess. Truth was spoken. The father did not make it a lecture.
And notice something easy to miss. The inheritance was gone. Later in the story the father says to the older brother, “all that I have is thine” (Luke 15:31). The younger son’s share had been spent in the far country, and the father did not replace it. He received his son fully, and the consequence of the son’s choice remained. Full welcome and real consequences stood side by side in the same house.
That is the balance parents need. The father’s love did not erase what the son had lost, and what the son had lost did not reduce the father’s love.
The father’s words in verse 24 also teach us how to interpret a child’s wrong choice. “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” The father defined the moment by the return. He could have defined his son forever by the far country. He chose to name him by what grace had done.
Keeping the door open
The psalmist gives a picture of God’s compassion that every parent can learn from:
Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.
“Like as a father pitieth his children.” The Lord’s compassion is described in the language of a father’s tenderness. “For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.” God does not expect from us what we are not yet able to give. He knows how we are made.
Our children are dust too. They are still forming. Their judgement is still growing. They are subject to pressures we sometimes forget. That does not excuse their wrong choices, but it should shape the patience with which we respond.
The real test of how we handle a wrong choice is whether the child comes to us next time. If a child learns that confessing to his parents leads to explosion, humiliation or weeks of silence, he will learn to hide. And a child who hides his small wrong choices will hide his large ones too. But if he learns that his parents tell the truth, apply fair consequences and remain on his side, he may come to them before the next wrong choice instead of after it.
A few practices help keep that door open. Close the matter when it is finished. Once the consequence has been served and the wrong addressed, do not keep bringing it up in every argument. Love “thinketh no evil” (1 Corinthians 13:5); it does not keep the account open for future use. If you overreacted, apologise. Your child will learn more about repentance from watching you repent than from any lecture. Speak to his identity as well as his behaviour: “What you did was wrong. It is not who you are, and it is not who God made you to be.” Pray with him, so that he hears you bring him to God as a child you are still for.
Above all, remember how you have been received. Every one of us has made wrong choices before God. He did not wait for us to earn our way back. He ran. The parent who has been met by that kind of grace has something to give a child sitting on a bench outside the principal’s office.
Mrs Ogunleye stood in the corridor for a few seconds longer. Then she pushed open the door and sat down on the bench beside her daughter. She did not say any of the speeches she had rehearsed on the bridge. She took Oyin’s hand and held it for a moment. Oyin burst into tears.
They went in to see the principal together. The school suspended Oyin for a week and gave her a zero for the paper. Mrs Ogunleye did not argue. She did not ask for the matter to be quietly dropped, though she knew one of the board members. She thanked the principal for handling it fairly.
The drive home was silent for a long time. Then, somewhere around Ojota, she asked, “What happened, Oyin?” It came out slowly. Oyin had been failing mathematics all term and had been too afraid to say so, because her father had told everyone she would study medicine. Half her class had joined the group. She had told herself it was just a mock exam.
They agreed on the consequences that evening, with her father. The phone would stay with her parents for a month. Oyin would write a letter of apology to her mathematics teacher and deliver it herself. And her parents would arrange extra lessons, because the real problem had never been the phone.
After dinner, Mrs Ogunleye did something she had never done. She told her daughter about the Saturday she lied to her own mother at fourteen, and about the three weeks of silence that followed. “I don’t want that for us,” she said.
Seven months later, at about eleven o’clock on a weeknight, there was a soft knock on her bedroom door. It was Oyin. A friend had been offering to sell her the questions for the real examination, and the pressure in her class was building. “Mummy,” she said, “I need to talk to you before I do something stupid.”
She came before, not after. The door had stayed open.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- When your child makes a wrong choice, which is your first instinct: to explode, to rescue, or to withdraw?
- How much of your reaction is shaped by concern for your reputation rather than your child’s good?
- What did you learn from your own parents’ responses to your wrong choices, and what do you want to do differently?
- Can you think of a consequence you imposed that felt to your child more like rejection than correction?
- What would help your child come to you before a wrong choice rather than after it?
This Week
Think of the last time one of your children made a wrong choice. Read James 1:19-20 and Galatians 6:1-2 slowly, and ask yourself honestly how closely your response matched them. If you overreacted, said something wounding, or allowed the matter to drag on in silence, go to your child this week and apologise specifically. Then tell him plainly that whatever he does, he can always come and talk to you, and that you will tell him the truth and stay on his side.
A Prayer
Father, thank You that You have received me with compassion when I came to You from my own far country. Thank You that You remember that I am dust. Give me a heart that is swift to hear, slow to speak and slow to wrath when my children make wrong choices. Deliver me from responding out of fear or embarrassment. Give me wisdom to apply consequences that teach and never reject, and the meekness to restore rather than wound. Where I have closed the door on my children, help me open it again. Let them always know that our home is a place where truth is told and love remains. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.