Lessons from Ferrero Rocher

Yesterday Moe used the restroom at the allergist, and when I automatically asked him if he'd washed his hands, he lied to me.

Three times.

I knew, because he was surreptitiously slipping his hands into his pockets while I was asking. He 'fessed up but knew he was in a world of trouble. Fortunately, we weren't at home, so I couldn't do my usual yell-before-I-think routine. (Which doesn't do any good, anyway.)

Lying is one of a very few remaining spankable offenses in our house, so he already was aware of what awaited him when he got home. Asking for guidance from the Holy Spirit -- knowing I was tired from a long drive and discouraged that the outing we'd eagerly anticipated was a bust because of the rain -- I stopped by the market, looking for something to make the "don't lie" lesson stick.

Moe went in with me and, mystified, carried out a box of a dozen shiny gold-wrapped Ferrero Rocher candies. At home, I sent the bigs downstairs and settled Moe and the candies on my bed. We got the ugliness out of the way and started talking, me with a running "Show me what to do!" prayer going the whole time.

"Aren't these lovely candies, and don't you want one? I know I do! Let's each eat just one."

As we enjoyed them -- him eyeing me rather suspiciously -- I asked him what would happen if we ate the whole box.

"We'd be very sick," Moe said.

Right, I told him. So if I said it's okay to eat one but not the whole box, isn't that to protect him from being sick? That's like lying -- it's not okay to lie because it can make your soul and mind sick.

I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding, but I wasn't sure.

So I went on (praying, praying), pointing at one of the remaining candies.

"See how shiny and perfect that wrapped candy looks?" I asked. "But what if I knew there was a worm inside it? Would I leave it alone so he could call his friends to get into the rest of the candies, or would I take out that one candy and throw it in the garbage to protect the other candies?"

Lying is like the worm in the candy, I told him. If we don't get rid of lying, it will infect the rest of your life. Eventually you might think it's okay to steal (pointing at another candy) or hurt people (another candy) or ... (other candies).

This time, I was sure. Tears streamed down his sweet little face as he promised me he would not lie again. I told him to choose another candy, and to talk to God alone and ask for help keeping his word while he enjoyed the candy. Then I left the room with a peaceful spirit and a quiet mind.

I wrote about this one because it's drastically different from most of the "lessons" my children learn. I am extremely hard on them -- Geddy will tell you, we both are -- and we have very high expectations. I yell, I am angry and frustrated often, but I am a work in progress and God clearly is not finished with me yet.

But, remembering I hadn't laid my child open like I am prone to do in situations like that one, I worried whether I had made my point well enough. Until goodnight blessings, when I heard a sweet little voice saying:

"Lord, thank you so much for a mom who loves me enough to teach me lessons about not lying."

And then I was sure. Tears were streaming down my own face as I promised I would not doubt the Holy Spirit's prompting again.

(I wanted to add that I have been jolted out of my parenting rut by a book called Children: The Challenge. I just finished a chapter on encouragement that spoke to me like nothing I've read before. Usually I shy away from parenting books but this one is worth recommending. A word of caution: it is not a Christian parenting book but written by a psychologist, and it was first published in 1964 so may seem a bit dated.)