Dear Daughters, Let Love Compel You
Dear Daughters,
There's a passage of Scripture that I've been thinking about lately, and I want to share it with you. In 2 Corinthians 5:14, Paul writes, "For the love of Christ compels us."
Compels.
What an interesting word choice, don't you think? Of all the things that might motivate someone to change their behavior, Paul points to the love of Christ. Not merely a fear of punishment or a desire for reward, but love.
And as I've grown older, I've come to believe that love is one of the most powerful motives a person can have for changing the way they live. I learned this rather slowly, I might add, and unfortunately, some of those lessons came at your expense.
Why Fear-Based Discipline Doesn't Change the Heart
When you girls were little, I sometimes struggled with how to correct your behavior. Like any father, I wanted you to listen, obey, tell the truth, treat others kindly, and develop the kind of character that would serve you throughout your lives. Those were good desires, but the methods I sometimes used to accomplish them were not always good.
There were times when, in my frustration, I tried to produce obedience through fear. I thought that if I was stern enough, raised my voice enough, or made the consequences frightening enough, perhaps you would finally listen.
And you know what? Sometimes it worked. At least, that's what I thought.
You might stop doing whatever you were doing. You might become quiet, listen to my instructions, and even do exactly what I asked of you. But as time passed, I began to notice something troubling. While your outward behavior had changed, something else was happening beneath the surface.
I could see it in your faces. Sometimes there was resentment, frustration, or bitterness. You might have obeyed me, but that didn't necessarily mean your hearts had changed. And goodness gracious, daughters, that realization was humbling.
I had accomplished the outward behavior I wanted, but had I actually helped you understand why that behavior mattered? Or had I simply taught you to be afraid of what might happen if you disobeyed me?
Those are two very different things. And while fear can sometimes restrain wrongdoing, it cannot, by itself, produce a heart that genuinely loves what is good.
That's part of why Paul's words have become so meaningful to me.
What Does "The Love of Christ Compels Us" Mean?
In 2 Corinthians 5:14–15, Paul explains that Christ died for His people so that those who live should no longer live for themselves, but for the One who died and was raised for them.
I want you to notice something important about Paul's reasoning. He doesn't begin by telling Christians to work hard enough to make Christ love them. He begins with the love Christ has already demonstrated through His death.
Christ loved us, and Christ gave Himself for us. That love so profoundly took hold of Paul's heart that it changed the very purpose for which he lived.
And that, daughters, is what I find so remarkable about this passage.
The Christian life isn't fundamentally about trying to earn God's acceptance through increasingly impressive behavior. It is about belonging to Christ, understanding what He has done for us, and responding to His love with a life of grateful obedience.
We obey Him because we love Him, and we love Him because He first loved us (1 John 4:19).
Think about how different that is from someone who only does the right thing because they're afraid of getting caught. The outward action might look similar, but the motive underneath it is entirely different.
One person obeys because of fear. The other obeys because of love.
Now, I'm not suggesting that Scripture never gives us reasons to fear God or take His judgment seriously. It certainly does. But Paul is reminding us that the love of Christ is a powerful, transforming reality in the lives of those who belong to Him.
And I wonder how differently I might have approached certain moments of fatherhood if I had understood that more clearly.
How God's Kindness Leads Us to Repentance
This reminds me of another passage, Romans 2:4, where Paul tells us that God's kindness is intended to lead us to repentance.
His kindness. Isn't that remarkable?
Of course, Paul isn't suggesting that God's kindness means He overlooks sin. The surrounding passage makes it abundantly clear that God's judgment is righteous and that sinners ought not presume upon His patience. Nevertheless, there's something beautiful about the idea that God's goodness and patience are meant to lead us toward repentance rather than encourage us to continue in sin.
Let me give you an example.
Suppose you've done something wrong. You know you shouldn't have done it, and perhaps you've even been trying to hide it. What would make you more willing to come forward and tell the truth? Would it be the certainty that you'll be humiliated, yelled at, or met with anger? Or would it be knowing that the person you're approaching loves you, even though they may be disappointed by what you've done?
I suspect you already know what I'm getting at.
Fear can make someone hide their wrongdoing, while love can give them the courage to bring it into the light. That's not to say consequences should disappear, but that the way we respond to wrongdoing can either encourage honesty or make confession more frightening.
Girls, I wanted you to feel that freedom with me. I wanted you to know that you could tell your Papa the truth, even when the truth was difficult or embarrassing.
But I didn't always make that easy.
There were times when my reaction to your mistakes probably became a greater concern to you than the mistakes themselves. And looking back, I regret that. I didn't merely want to raise children who were skilled at avoiding consequences. I wanted to raise daughters who loved what was good, recognized what was wrong, and were willing to confess their sins rather than conceal them.
And I believe love has an important role in accomplishing that.
What Does the Bible Say About Loving Discipline?
Now, don't misunderstand what I'm saying. Does this mean we throw discipline out the window and simply accept whatever our children do without correction or consequences?
Of course not!
God doesn't do that with His children, either. Hebrews 12:6 teaches us that the Lord disciplines the one He loves. In fact, the passage goes on to explain that God's discipline is intended for our good, so that we may share in His holiness (Hebrews 12:10).
Think about that. God's love and His discipline are not enemies. His discipline is an expression of His fatherly love.
And this is where I think we need to make an important distinction. Discipline is not simply about making someone suffer for doing something wrong. Properly understood, it is meant to correct, instruct, and cultivate what is good.
As I've reflected upon my own failures as a father, I've come to believe that loving discipline should accomplish several things:
It should correct what is wrong. Love doesn't require us to pretend sin is harmless or that disobedience has no consequences. Sometimes loving someone means telling them something they don't want to hear.
It should seek the good of the person being corrected. Discipline should be motivated by their growth and well-being, not merely by our anger, embarrassment, or inconvenience.
It should reassure them that they are still loved. A child's wrongdoing may require correction, but it should never make that child wonder whether they've lost their place in their parent's heart.
That last point is particularly important to me.
Your obedience was never supposed to be the foundation of my love for you.
You didn't become my daughters because you were especially obedient, intelligent, kind, or impressive. You were my daughters long before you could accomplish anything at all. I loved you when you were completely helpless, when you couldn't feed yourselves or even tell me what you needed.
And I loved you when you disobeyed me, too.
Sometimes I was disappointed by your behavior. Sometimes you needed correction, and sometimes that correction came with consequences you didn't particularly enjoy. But none of those things were supposed to change your place in my heart.
I wanted you to understand that being corrected by your father did not mean you had ceased to be loved by him.
And there's a wonderful picture of the gospel in that.
Christ Loved Us While We Were Still Sinners
Romans 5:8 tells us that God demonstrated His love for us in that, while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Not after we had finally become obedient enough. Not after we had cleaned ourselves up and made ourselves worthy of His attention. Paul says that Christ died for us while we were still sinners. A few verses earlier, he even tells us that Christ died for the ungodly (Romans 5:6).
The ungodly!
I want you to consider what that means. Jesus didn't come to save people who had already managed to make themselves righteous. He came to save sinners who could never make themselves righteous.
People like you and me.
And this is where I find the love of Christ so compelling. When you begin to understand what Christ has done for you, obedience becomes something more than an attempt to avoid punishment. You begin to love the One who first loved you, and you desire to live in a way that honors Him.
Your good works don't purchase God's love, nor do they earn the righteousness by which you're accepted before Him. Rather, they are the fruit of a life that has been transformed by His grace.
And when we sin, as we certainly will, we don't have to run away from Him in terror. We can come to Him in repentance.
That doesn't mean our sin is insignificant or that God won't correct us. His fatherly discipline can be painful, and sin is never something we should treat lightly. But for those who belong to Christ, there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1). Jesus has already borne the judgment our sins deserve.
God's discipline is not the rejection of His children. It is the loving correction of a Father who has not abandoned them.
What a comfort that ought to be.
Learning How Much Grace I Needed as a Father
I wish I had understood these things more clearly when you girls were little. Because if there's one thing I've learned as I've gotten older, it's how desperately I need the very grace I was supposed to be showing you.
And that brings me to something I want to apologize for.
Daughters, I wasn't always patient with you. There were times when I lost my temper, not simply because you had done something wrong, but because I was tired, frustrated, selfish, or even resentful. Sometimes I wanted obedience because I didn't want to be inconvenienced, and sometimes I was more concerned with getting you to stop doing something than with understanding why you were doing it.
Rather than responding with the patience and love you needed from me, I sometimes responded with anger. I failed you in those moments, and I failed your Momma at times, too.
I'm sorry.
I don't tell you these things because I want you to spend your lives remembering every mistake your Papa made. I tell you because I want you to understand something about me that I've come to recognize more clearly with age.
I'm a sinner in need of grace, just like you.
And isn't it interesting that the longer we walk with God, the more aware we can become of our own sin? You might imagine that someone who studies Scripture, attends church, and spends years growing in the Christian faith would eventually begin to feel rather impressed with himself.
But I've found that the closer I draw to the holiness of God, the more clearly I see my own shortcomings.
I think about Peter in Luke 5. After witnessing the miraculous catch of fish, he fell before Jesus and pleaded for Him to depart because he recognized himself as a sinful man (Luke 5:8).
Then I think about the centurion in Matthew 8. When Jesus offered to come to his home and heal his servant, the centurion said that he was not worthy to have Jesus come under his roof (Matthew 8:8).
Both men recognized something about themselves in the presence of someone far greater. And I think there's an important lesson in their humility. The more clearly we see the holiness of God, the less inclined we should be to boast about our own goodness.
But here's what I find so wonderful about the gospel.
Although we are unworthy to approach God on the basis of our own righteousness, those who belong to Christ have been given access to Him through His Son.
Romans 8:15 tells us that we have received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry out, "Abba, Father!"
Think about that, daughters. The perfectly holy God, before whom sinners have every reason to tremble, welcomes His adopted children to approach Him as their Father.
Not because we've finally become worthy in ourselves, but because of Christ.
When we come to Him confessing our sins, seeking mercy, or crying out in our weakness, we are not approaching a Father who is looking for an opportunity to cast us away. We are approaching the Father who has already demonstrated His love in the giving of His Son.
That doesn't mean He always answers our prayers the way we want Him to, nor does it mean He will never correct us. But He hears His children, and His love does not fail.
Learning to Love Others as Christ Has Loved Us
I want to leave you with one final picture.
Imagine that you're little again, standing in the hallway holding something you've broken. Perhaps it was an accident, or perhaps you were doing something I had already asked you not to do. Either way, you know you'll have to tell me what happened.
Now you have a decision to make.
You could hide the broken pieces, pretend nothing happened, and hope I never discover what you've done. Or you could walk into the room, hold them out to me, and tell me the truth.
What would make that second choice easier?
It's not necessarily the belief that there won't be consequences. Rather, it's knowing that the father you're approaching loves you.
You know he may correct you, ask you to take responsibility, or explain why what happened was wrong. But you also know that he isn't going to stop being your father. He isn't going to stop loving you, and when the matter has been settled, there will still be a place for you in his arms.
Girls, that's the kind of father I wanted to be. I know I didn't always live up to it, but thanks be to God that your Heavenly Father is infinitely better than your earthly one.
And because of Jesus Christ, those who belong to Him can come near, even in their weakness and failure.
So when you think about how you should treat other people, I want you to remember what Paul said.
"The love of Christ compels us."
Let that love shape the way you speak to others and respond when someone disappoints you. Let it make you patient when patience is difficult, forgiving when forgiveness is costly, and willing to extend mercy when you remember how desperately you've needed mercy yourself.
This doesn't mean you should overlook every wrong, abandon wisdom, or allow others to mistreat you. Love doesn't require us to call evil good. But it does mean that love should have a place in our hearts even when correction is necessary.
And if you become mothers one day, I hope you'll remember that. Your children will need instruction and discipline. They'll certainly need correction, just as you did. But they also need to know that your love for them is not something they must earn through perfect behavior.
I hope you'll remember it in your marriages, friendships, and relationships with your sisters, too. There will be times when the people you love disappoint you, just as there will be times when you disappoint them. In those moments, remember the grace you've received in Christ and allow it to influence the grace you're willing to show others.
I love you girls, and I'm so very proud of you. I thank God for the privilege of being your Papa. You've brought more joy into my life than I could ever adequately explain, and you've taught me more about patience, humility, and my own need for grace than you may ever realize.
I pray that as you grow older, you'll come to know the love of Christ more deeply, and that His love will compel you to live for Him.
And if there's one final thing I want you to take from this letter, it's this:
You have been loved much. So love much.
Papa