More Conversations at Bedtime

In my past couple posts, I have talked about our family reading time and about the discussions that often follow, like the conversation I had with one of my sons. We had ended that conversation by talking about listening to and obeying the Lord as He speaks to us through our conscience, and also about the yucky feeling in our heart (the conviction) that we experience when we have been unloving to someone. But that son had since left the room.

Now my oldest son was standing before me, hoping to talk to me alone. This particular son reminded me so much of myself, being very black and white in his twisted interpretation of truth. Like my son, I used to think that I could acquire truth through my mind. But I was very wrong. I didn’t understand that Truth was really a person and that His name was Jesus (John 14:6). In order to understand the Truth in my mind, I had to first come to know Him in my heart. For me, this process began with listening to the Holy Spirit speak to me through my conscience, directing me in how He wanted me to love to my husband and children. The more that I obeyed His voice, the easier it was for me to hear, and I was often surprised at how specific His correction and instruction was regarding my particular unloving ways of treating my family.

My oldest son had not yet come to recognize the Lord’s voice. He didn’t believe that he would ever hear the Holy Spirit speak to him. “After all,” my logical 7-year-old would argue, “how can I hear someone when they don’t speak to me through my ears?”

But as he stood before me that night, he had a look of vulnerability that was out of character for him. Could something be happening in his heart? I invited him to sit beside me, and he cuddled up in my arms. Through his sweet tears, he quietly began to confess a lie that he had told me almost two years before. This was the first time that I had experienced this son’s heart-felt repentance, and I was overwhelmed by my gratitude to the Lord for bringing him to this place.

“I forgive you and I am so glad that you decided to tell me the truth.” I reassured my son, “You know, even though I didn’t know that you had lied to me, the Lord knew. Do you realize that he was speaking to you through your conscience, telling you that you were being unloving to me by lying? When you hid your lie – your unloving sin against me – your conscience convicted you that you were guilty. Feeling guilty is yucky, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” my son agreed, “I felt hot every time I thought about it.”

“How do you feel now?” I asked him, “Do you still have that guilt in your heart?”

My son smiled up at me. “No, it’s gone.”

I explained to my son what he had just experienced. “Whenever we feel guilty, it is our conscience convicting us, telling us that we need to make things right with someone or with God. You made things right when you told me the truth, and now you are free from the guilt of your sin.”

I also wanted my son to realize something else. “I can see that your heart is changing,” I told him, “Do you know how I can tell?” He shook his head, no, and so I continued, “You just listened to and obeyed your conscience. You used to believe that you couldn’t hear the Holy Spirit speak to you through your conscience, but now you know that you can. In fact, you heard Him remind you of a very specific sin from a long time ago. The Lord sure loves you a lot to remind you of such a specific sin, and He wanted you to be free from the guilt of it. Thank you for choosing to cooperate with the Him by repenting and making things right with me.”

I held my son close, thankful that he had experienced reconciliation in his relationship with me that night. I was also grateful that for the first time, he had been able to recognize the voice of the Lord speaking to him – and in a very personal way. As I thought about these things, I was filled with gratitude for the work that the Lord was doing in my son’s heart, and I was reminded once again of what a rewarding way it is to end our day by allowing time for these conversations at bedtime.

~ Christi Faagau