Spank Butt, Spank Butt!

A Cool Hundred Degrees

Today was a typical cool hundred-plus-degree day in Texas.

After church and naps we decided to have a relaxed afternoon in the pool. “Relaxed” is a flexible word when you have a house full of children. In our family, a relaxed pool day can include launching kids through the air, sparring underwater, someone screaming because somebody else touched them, and a two-on-one fight in which the alliances can change without warning.

Madison, our oldest, had Charlotte beside her as her partner in war.

The two of them came after me.

We splashed. We wrestled. We fought beneath the water. I launched children from one part of the pool to another and tried to keep track of which small body belonged to which kid as they surfaced.

At some point I looked at Madison and said, “Do not splash me again.”

She stood all the way up.

She looked directly at me.

She drew her arm back as far as it would go.

Then she came after me again.

There was something in her face that reached backward through time.

It was the smile.

It was the confidence.

It was the complete awareness that she had heard the instruction and was now making a deliberate decision about what to do with it.

Suddenly I was not only standing in a pool in Texas.

I was back in a much quieter home, remembering when it was just Madison and Charlotte—our first two arrows—and one of the funniest moments from the earliest years of learning how to be their father.

The First Arrow

Madison was our first arrow.

She was the child who first made me a father.

Psalm 127 calls children a heritage and a reward from the Lord. It compares the children of one’s youth to arrows in the hand of a warrior and calls the person with a full quiver blessed.

I understand that image differently now than I did when our quiver held only one.

An arrow is not furniture. It is not meant to remain in one safe place forever. It has movement inside its purpose. It must be held, shaped, protected, sharpened, aimed, and eventually released.

The warrior does not own the destination.

He stewards the preparation.

Madison was the first child God entrusted to Danielle and I. That meant she was the first one to expose every theory I had about parenting to the reality of an actual person. She was the first to show me how much love a heart could hold, how little sleep a body could survive, and how quickly confidence can appear in someone who has not yet learned how to tie her own shoes.

From the beginning, Madison was smiling, happy, intelligent, witty, and ready to go.

She was not a child who needed to be convinced that life was hers to engage. She moved toward it. She studied the people around her. She learned quickly. Even as a toddler, she seemed to know how to push a button, watch your reaction, adjust the pressure, and push it again.

Now she is stepping toward her teenage years with even more confidence and a growing belief that she understands how the world works.

Someday I will tell you more about the visions over her life, the path she is walking, the gifts she carries, and the person I can see God forming.

That day is not today.

Today is about a bathtub.

Back When the House Was Quiet

There was a time when it was just the two girls.

It was much, much, much quieter.

Sometimes I look at parents with only one or two children and wonder what they do with all their free time and silence. I know that thought is unfair. One child can fill a house. Two children can create more than enough noise. Every season has its own demands.

But with six children in the house and our seventh on the way, my definition of quiet has changed.

Danielle and I would not have it any other way. Our full home is one of the clearest expressions of God’s generosity in our lives. It is loud because it is alive. It is demanding because we have been entrusted with much.

It stretches us because each arrow is a person... not a copy of the one before and each one requires a different mixture of patience, truth, protection, correction, humor, tenderness, and prayer.

Back then, we were still learning the first versions of our bedtime rhythm.

On the night I remembered, the routine included vitamins, bath time, teeth, hair, and prayers. None of those tasks sounds especially difficult when written in a list. Parenting often looks easy in a list.

Then real children enter the list.

It had been a long day. I do not remember everything that happened before bedtime, but I remember that I could use a laugh.

Madison provided one.

Following Directions the First Time

We had been working with Madison on following directions the first time.

That night she was in the bathtub splashing water onto the wall, standing up, and throwing toys—or almost anything she could reach—out of the tub.

At the time it felt like chaos.

Looking back after raising boys, I would gladly take a little water on the wall over some of the things I have seen since.

There had been warnings.

Instructions had been repeated. Consequences had become necessary in our parenting, and Danielle and I were trying to build a pattern in which correction was never separated from explanation or love.

In that season, there were times when we used a wooden spoon for a spanking. Before a consequence, we would ask, “Why are we receiving discipline?”

The purpose of the question was not humiliation. It was understanding.

We wanted our children to connect the consequence with the choice that led there. We did not want them to experience correction as random anger from a large adult.

Afterward, we would tell them that discipline came from love and that our love for them was unconditional. Sometimes we would pray together.

We were learning too.

We did not parent perfectly. Earthly fathers and mothers never do. Hebrews acknowledges that human parents discipline “as it seemed best” to them. We work from love, limited knowledge, our own formation, the pressure of the moment, and whatever wisdom we have gathered so far.

God does not ask parents to pretend they are infallible.

He asks us to remain faithful, humble, and willing to repent when we get it wrong.

That night, after one more warning, Danielle told Madison that if she splashed, threw water, or launched another toy out of the tub, there would be a consequence for not following directions the first time.

Madison heard her.

Madison understood her.

Then our toddler stood up in the tub, looked directly at her mother with a smile and those big, bright eyes, and announced as clearly and loudly as she could:

“Spank butt! Spank butt!”

She was not confused.

She was facing down the consequence.

It was as if she had reviewed the terms, accepted the possible cost, and decided the splash might still be worth it.

Danielle came to find me.

“You will never believe what Madison just said.”

She told me.

I laughed.

We both laughed.

No spanking was given.

Just laughter, love, and another chance. To this day it still makes me smile and chuckle.

The Same Look Years Later

That is the memory that came back to me in the pool.

The little girl in the bathtub and the young woman in front of me were separated by years, but the look was still there.

“Do not splash me again.”

She stood up.

She pulled her arm back.

She smiled.

Then she came after me.

Some parts of an arrow are visible from the beginning.

The strength that will one day help a child stand firm can look a lot like defiance while it is still being formed. Confidence can become courage or arrogance. Wit can become wisdom or a weapon. Independence can become leadership or isolation. Persistence can become endurance or rebellion.

Parents do not create every raw material inside a child.

We help shape what God placed there.

That is why parenting requires more than control. If the goal is only to make a child quiet, compliant, and convenient, we may sand away the very strength that child will need to fulfill an assignment later. But if we refuse every boundary because we are afraid to upset them, strength can grow without direction.

An arrow needs both straightness and force.

Love provides both.

Discipline Is Not Rejection

The pool memory made me think about God as Father.

He is Abba, Father, Provider, Protector, and the perfect source of the love earthly fathers are meant to reflect. Fatherhood gave me a language for God that I could not fully understand before I became responsible for children of my own.

I knew that I loved Madison before she could do anything for me. Unconditional love and protection. There is nothing she could ever do, say or become that would change this.

She did not earn her place in the family by following directions. Her obedience did not make her my daughter, and her disobedience could not erase the relationship.

That did not make obedience unimportant.

It made correction relational.

Hebrews 12 says that the Lord disciplines the one He loves. The passage describes discipline as painful in the moment but capable of producing the peaceful fruit of righteousness in those trained by it.

The word translated discipline carries the wider sense of training, education, formation, and correction. That matters because many of us hear “discipline” and imagine only punishment.

God’s fatherly discipline is larger than punishment.

It includes instruction.

It includes limits.

It includes exposure.

It includes repetition.

It includes strengthening.

It includes removing what harms us and building what we will need.

It is not rejection.

It is evidence that the Father is committed to our maturity.

Not Every Hard Thing Is a Spanking

I need to be careful here. Not every hard thing in a person’s life should be interpreted as God punishing a specific sin.

That conclusion can make wounded people carry accusations God never spoke. It can turn tragedy into a guessing game and cause us to look at every illness, financial loss, betrayal, or painful season and ask, “What did I do to make God hit me?”

Romans 8 begins with no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Jesus carried the condemning judgment our sin deserved. The Father’s work in His children is not the rage of a judge trying to make us pay twice. It is the purposeful formation of a Father who intends to make us more like Christ.

Some pain is a direct consequence of our choices.

Some pain comes through the choices of other people.

Some pain belongs to life in a broken world.

Some resistance comes because we are moving in obedience.

Some hardship becomes a training ground God uses without the hardship itself being good.

We should not claim to know more than He has revealed.

But we can know this: nothing surrendered to God has to be wasted.

He can correct our direction when we are wrong.

He can deepen our endurance when we are already obeying.

He can expose what comfort concealed.

He can turn consequences into wisdom.

He can train us for responsibilities we could not have carried in an earlier season.

Jesus Learned Obedience Without Ever Being Disobedient

Hebrews says something remarkable about Jesus: although He was a Son, He learned obedience through what He suffered.

That sentence can sound confusing if we hear “learned obedience” as though Jesus had first been disobedient and then improved.

That is not what Hebrews teaches.

The same letter says Jesus was tempted and yet without sin. He did not move from rebellion to surrender. He lived a perfectly obedient heart through increasingly costly acts of obedience.

Each new demand brought a new lived expression of faithfulness.

Obedience in ordinary life.

Obedience under misunderstanding.

Obedience under rejection.

Obedience in suffering.

Obedience all the way to the cross.

Jesus was never corrected for personal sin. He was tested, proven, and brought through suffering to the complete fulfillment of the mission He came to accomplish.

That distinction opened something for me.

God’s discipline may be correcting something I am doing wrong.

But His training may also be stretching something I am doing right.

The pressure may not mean I have failed.

It may mean the assignment has grown.

The weight may not be proof that God is disappointed.

It may be resistance training for a responsibility that requires more strength.

The Father does not only remove rebellion from His children.

He develops obedience in them.

Future Waldon’s Problem

Thinking about Madison standing in that bathtub saying, “Spank butt! Spank butt!” made me wonder whether God has ever laughed at me.

Not because my sin was harmless.

Not because consequences did not matter.

Not because heaven considered rebellion cute.

But because He saw the whole child while I was busy performing confidence in the face of correction.

There have been times when I knew a course correction was coming. I could see where a choice was leading, but instead of turning around, I smiled at the warning and acted as though I could manage the result later.

Old me had a phrase for that.

“That is Future Waldon’s problem.”

It was funny until I became Future Waldon.

Delayed consequences collect interest.

Pain postponed does not always become pain avoided. Sometimes it grows while we are looking away. The conversation we refuse becomes harder. The financial decision we delay becomes more expensive. The truth we hide gathers more things that must eventually be confessed. The habit we excuse strengthens its claim. The obedience we postpone affects people who never agreed to carry the cost.

Then one day the future version of us opens a door and finds every box the past version kept shipping forward.

I have been that man.

I have hated decisions Old Waldon made because I had to live inside their delayed results. I have wanted to go backward and warn him that the joke would stop being funny. I have wished he had listened sooner, told the truth faster, asked for help earlier, and accepted the loving correction before the consequences became heavier.

But I cannot father my former self.

I can only decide what kind of son I will be today.

Freedom Through Truth

In this season, God is opening things in me.

I am experiencing freedom through truth. I am becoming more willing to be raw, to name what happened, to own the choices that belonged to me, and to stop protecting a version of myself that God is trying to transform.

That kind of honesty can feel like standing in the bathtub after the warning.

You know correction is near.

You know truth may cost something.

You know the Father is not going to call darkness light merely because you are afraid of what exposure will require.

The old instinct is to run, hide, bargain, blame, delay, or joke.

My newer prayer is different.

I feel like the smiling little child looking at God and saying:

I am ready for the discipline.

I am ready to learn.

I am ready for You to show me where I am wrong.

I am ready for You to strengthen what is right.

I am ready to stop sending the cost to Future Waldon.

I do not say that because discipline is pleasant. Hebrews says plainly that it feels painful rather than pleasant in the moment.

I say it because I am learning to trust the heart of the Father behind it.

An Arrow Cannot Stay in the Hand Forever

Madison was our first arrow, but she was never ours to possess.

She was entrusted to us.

The first arrow teaches a young father how strong love can feel and how little control love actually grants. You can provide. You can protect. You can teach. You can correct. You can pray. You can model. You can apologize. You can build a home in which truth is safe and obedience is practiced.

But you cannot become the Holy Spirit for your child.

You cannot manufacture faith.

You cannot guarantee every choice.

You cannot hold the arrow forever and still call yourself faithful to its purpose.

The work is preparation, not possession.

The target is not “make my child exactly like me.”

The target is not “make my child impressive enough to validate me.”

The target is not “keep my child dependent so I never have to feel the release.”

The target is faithfulness to the direction God has written into that child’s life.

Madison’s confidence will need wisdom.

Her courage will need discernment.

Her strength will need surrender.

Her leadership will need love.

The same is true for every arrow in our quiver.

The same is true for me.

I am still a son being trained by a Father.

Parents Are Arrows Too

Fatherhood did not graduate me from childhood in the kingdom of God.

It revealed how much formation I still needed.

I can stand in front of my children as the father in the room while simultaneously standing before God as the child who needs instruction. I can ask them to follow directions the first time while remembering how often I have required repetition. I can correct delayed obedience while confronting my own. I can ask them to tell the truth while God is bringing me into greater honesty.

That should not disqualify a parent from leading.

It should make us humble while we lead.

The strongest parents are not those who never admit weakness. They are the ones who show their children what repentance looks like. They apologize without surrendering authority. They change course without pretending the earlier choice was correct. They teach that family authority exists under God’s authority.

Sometimes the lesson a child remembers will be the boundary.

Sometimes it will be the consequence.

Sometimes it will be the prayer afterward.

Sometimes it will be the day Mom or Dad said, “I was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

And sometimes it will be the night everyone laughed and the child received another chance.

Another Chance

No discipline was given that night in the bathtub.

Just laughter, love, and another chance.

Mercy did not erase the boundary. The rule remained. Following directions still mattered. The next consequence was still possible.

But relationship had room for delight.

God is not a nervous parent waiting to explode. He is not surprised by my personality. He is not threatened by my questions. He is not pacing heaven, unsure what to do with the child who heard the warning and splashed anyway.

He knows when correction is necessary.

He knows when pressure is producing growth.

He knows when I need to sit in the consequence.

He knows when mercy will reach deeper than pain.

He knows how to laugh with His children without laughing at the destruction that sin causes.

I do not get to demand mercy as though grace were owed to me. I do not get to call every consequence cruelty. I do not get to make “God loves me unconditionally” into permission to remain unchanged.

But I can approach Him without hiding.

I can trust that the One correcting me is the same One who claimed me.

I can receive training without interpreting it as abandonment.

I can stop performing toughness and become teachable.

Ready for the Discipline

Maybe you are living through a correction you know you need.

Maybe you are paying for something you kept assigning to your future self.

Maybe the pressure is not exposing rebellion but developing strength. You have been faithful, but the next assignment requires an obedience you have never had to practice before.

Do not assume pain means God has rejected you.

Do not assume comfort means God has approved every direction.

Do not call every hardship punishment.

Do not call every consequence persecution.

Ask the Father what He is training in you. Ask what must be corrected. Ask what must be strengthened.

Ask what truth you already know but keep sending to a future version of yourself.

Then take the next faithful step.

Tell the truth.

Receive the correction.

Make the apology.

Accept the help.

End the habit.

Do the thing God already told you to do. The goal is not to become a child who never needs discipline. The goal is to become a son or daughter who trusts the Father enough to be trained.

Today, I can still see Madison in the bathtub with that smile.

I can see her in the pool years later, drawing her arm back for another splash.

I can see our first arrow becoming the young woman God knew before Danielle and I ever held her.

And I can see myself more clearly too.

Still loved.

Still learning.

Still being shaped.

Looking toward my Father with open eyes instead of a hidden face.

Not asking Him to leave me comfortable.

Not pretending correction will be painless.

Just saying:

I know You love me. I am ready for the discipline.

Scripture for the Field

Primary — Hebrews 12:5–11

The Lord’s discipline is presented as evidence of fatherly love and legitimate relationship. It is aimed at our good and holiness. Although it feels painful in the moment, those who are trained by it can later bear the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

Foundation — Psalm 127:3–5

Children are a heritage and reward from the Lord. They are compared to arrows in a warrior’s hand, and a full quiver is called a blessing.

Hebrews 5:7–9

Jesus learned obedience through suffering without ever moving from sin into righteousness; He lived perfect obedience through increasingly costly demands and completed the mission of salvation.

Proverbs 3:11–12

The wisdom quoted in Hebrews warns God’s children not to reject or become weary under His correction. His discipline flows from delight and relationship.

Prayer

Father,

Thank You that Your love is not fragile and that my failures do not surprise You. Teach me to receive correction without hiding, defending, or collapsing into shame. Show me where I have chosen delay over obedience and sent consequences to a future version of myself.

Give me discernment to recognize the difference between condemnation and formation, between consequences and persecution, and between correction for sin and training for a greater assignment. Strengthen what is faithful in me. Remove what is destroying me. Produce the peaceful fruit of righteousness in the places that feel painful today.

Help me steward the arrows You have entrusted to me. Make my leadership truthful, patient, humble, and secure in love. Teach me to apologize when I am wrong and to hold boundaries without using anger as authority.

I know You love me. Make me teachable. I am ready for Your discipline.

In Jesus’ name, amen.