“Sword or Scalpel: How Your Words Can Hurt or Heal Your Children”

There they stood on the edge of the boat, pale skin smothered in sunscreen, decked head to toe with safety gear and a face full with a blend of excitement, fear, and disorientation. The salty breeze whips through our hair as the boat struggles to steady itself in the crashes of the ocean waves. For me, the noises and smells of the ocean breeze are home. This is my happy place. For my children, who have grown up inland, this was a mysterious and overwhelming adventure into the unknown. As the sun glistened off the roaring waves, Keisha, our trusty Jamaican Snuba instructor once again reviewed the three rules with Kayla and Mikey: “One: Eyes on me!” She yelled, “Two: Arms straight! Three: Gentle kicks.”

Keisha was the perfect personality to lead them into this adventure. Her presence was inviting as a Caribbean breeze, beautiful cocoa-toned skin with a flawless smile, radiant and kind. Her laughter and excitement was contagious, but she always was firm and affirming to the children as they regurgitated the three rules back to her, over and over again.

Mikey, 7, and Kayla, 9, nodded their nervous heads in agreement as they held out their fingers as she shouted: 1, 2, 3. Upon her direction, they leaped trepidatiously into the blue unknown.

Splash!

The cool water engulfed my little ones as they came back to the surface, desperate for air. This was their first real experience in the open ocean. As they floated among the tossing waves, I prepared my own self to jump in behind them, longing to bring them comfort and confidence in the bellowing uncertainty of the depths below. Keisha, our confident guide, paused for a moment on the deck, intentionally blocking Mike and I with her arm, a demonstration of authority and strength. Her expression abruptly shifted-her warm white teeth-y smile faded into a firm, unshakable gaze of power. Keisha’s beautiful brown eyes locked with our’s as she slowly waved her index finger side to side in front of our noses. We became like children before her. “You are not de boss in de water.” She pointed her finger back at her own chest. “I am de boss here.” Lifting her eyebrows sternly, she unyieldingly waited for our compliance. We looked at one another, wide-eyed and befuddled, returned to her intimidating gaze and shook our heads in submissive agreement. This ocean was her domain. In bewilderment, we could not understand what could merit the intensity of her demand. We were, after all, their parents. We assumed we would be helpful assets to her in the wavy uncertain waters of the deep ocean to our very small uncertain children.

Keisha knew what we did not.

Once we agreed, her demeanor quickly jolted back into that familiar friendly and confident smile that put us at ease. Her desired order was established. She leaned backward over the depths -splash!- the cool water engulfed her now, as she turned toward the children with her usual positive and instructive position. Still on the boat, I gently laughed to my husband as we agreed to trust this woman’s instructions to become silent observers instead of parents to our children in this moment; their first Snuba-experience in the salty Jamaican waters.

Mike and I cautiously jumped into the water after them, our bodies undulating with the steady and fearsome waves of the ocean. Teary-eyed and joyful, I smiled as I looked at their little salty faces glistening with ocean water, full of fear mingled with excitement. Kayla was calm and certain. Mikey tried his best to reflect the same confidence, but his pale complexion and wide eyes revealed his nervousness. Keisha held out her commanding hand and counted 1, 2, 3 once more to remind them of the three rules that would keep them safe and comfortable. She bellowed, “Are you ready?” They nod nervously. All five of us dive just inches beneath the surface to gaze at the beauty of the world under the sea. Mike and I look over and see Kayla, carefully trying her hardest to follow 1, 2, 3, Eyes on Keisha, straight arms, gentle kicks. Then, we look to Mikey: head darting left to right front to back, spinning around and turning his head sideways and back again, his mask was quickly filling with water, his arms and his legs both flailing in all directions as he begins to panic. Desperate and frightened, he quickly jolts back to the surface, his little lungs grasp for air. Instinctively, Mike makes his way over to our son to firmly address his disobedience saying, “Mikey, you’ve got to listen….” Keisha quickly intercedes. She places herself between the father and son, her index finger once again in front of Mike and scolds, “No! I am de boss.” We recall our instructions and obey. Silent observers, not parents.

She looked to Mikey, who was embarrassed and ashamed he had forgotten every one of the three rules. His eyes were not on Keisha. His arms were no straight. There was nothing gentle about his kicks. His eyes filling quickly with tears, knowing he had failed. She waits for his attention. She slowly lifts his chin and her eyes soften. Those bright white teeth slowly come to a smile as she squints and keeps his gaze.

“Good job, Mikey” she lied.

“Sword or Scalpel: How Your Words Can Hurt or Heal Your Children”
February 20, 2025
parenting
There they stood on the edge of the boat, pale skin smothered in sunscreen, decked head to toe with safety gear and a face full of excitement, fear, and disorientation. The salty breeze whips through our hair as the boat struggles to steady itself in the crashing ocean waves. For me, the noises and smells of the ocean breeze are home; we are in my happy place. For my children, who have grown up inland, this was a mysterious and overwhelming adventure into the unknown. As the sun glistened off the roaring waves, Keisha, our trusty Jamaican Snuba instructor once again reviewed the three rules with my oldest children. “One: Eyes on me!” She yelled, “Two: Arms straight! Three: Gentle kicks.”
Keisha was the perfect personality to lead them into this adventure. Her presence was as inviting as the Caribbean breeze; beautiful cocoa-toned skin with a flawless smile that was radiant and kind. Her laughter and excitement were contagious, but she was firm and encouraging to the children as they regurgitated the three rules back to her, over and over again. Mikey, 7, and Kayla, 9, nodded their nervous heads in agreement as they held out their fingers while she shouted: “1. Eyes on me! 2. Arms straight! 3. Gentle kicks.” Upon her direction, they leaped trepidatiously into the blue unknown.
Splash!
The cool water engulfed my little ones as they bobbed to the surface, desperate for air. This was their first real experience in the open water. As they floated among the tossing waves, I prepared my own self to jump in behind them, longing to bring them comfort and confidence in the bellowing uncertainty of the depths below. Keisha, our confident guide, paused for a moment on the deck, intentionally blocking Mike and I with her arm, a demonstration of authority and strength. Her expression abruptly shifted-her warm white teeth-y smile faded into a firm, unshakable gaze. Keisha’s beautiful brown eyes locked with our’s as she slowly waved her index finger side to side in front of our noses. We became like children before her. “You are not di boss in di water.” She pointed her finger back at her own chest. “I am di boss here.” Lifting her eyebrows sternly, she unyieldingly waited for our compliance. We looked at one another, wide-eyed and befuddled, returned to her intimidating gaze and shook our heads in submissive agreement.
This ocean was her domain.
In bewilderment, we could not understand what merited the intensity of her demand. We were, after all, their parents. We assumed we would be helpful assets to her in the wavy waters of the deep ocean to our very small and uncertain children. Keisha knew what we did not.
Once we agreed, her demeanor quickly jolted back to that familiar friendly and confident smile that put us all at ease. Her desired order was established. She leaned backward over the depths -splash!- the cool water engulfed her now, as she turned toward our children with her usual positive and instructive position. Still on the boat, I gently laughed to my husband as we agreed to trust this woman’s instructions to become silent observers instead of parents to our children in this moment; their first Snuba experience in the salty Jamaican waters.
Mike and I cautiously jumped into the water after them, our bodies undulating with the steady and fearsome waves of the ocean. Teary-eyed and joyful, I smiled as I watch their little faces glistening with ocean water, full of excitement mingled with fear. Kayla was calm and certain. Mikey tried his best to reflect his sister’s same confidence, but his pallid complexion and wide eyes revealed his vulnerability. Keisha held out her hand and counted 1, 2, 3 once more to remind them of the three rules that would keep them safe and comfortable under the surface. She bellowed, “Are you ready?” They nod nervously. All five of us dive just inches beneath the surface to gaze at the beauty of the endless world under the sea. Mike and I look over and see Kayla, carefully trying her hardest to follow 1. Eyes on Keisha, 2. straight arms, 3. gentle kicks. We look over to Mikey, whose head is darting left to right front to back, spinning around and turning his head sideways and back again, his mask was quickly filling with water, his arms and his legs both flailing in all directions as he began to panic. Desperate and frightened, his little head searches for the surface as he grasps for air, and the rest of us follow. Instinctively, Mike becomes dad and firmly addresses our son, “Mikey, you’ve got to listen….” Keisha quickly intercedes. She places herself between father and son, her index finger once again commanding respect, “I am di boss.” We recall our instructions and quickly obey.
Silent observers, not parents.
She returned to Mikey. Embarrassed and ashamed he had forgotten every one of the three rules, his eyes quickly filled with tears, knowing he had failed. Keisha smiled affectionately. With a squint and a sparkle in her eye, she lifted his spirits with velvety kindness, “Good job, Mikey. Good job.” She lied. “You went unda di water. Dat was so brave. You went unda just like I said. Yes, you forgot di 1, 2, 3, but you did it! You went unda! I am so proud of you.” His confidence returned. His belief in himself, that he really coulddo it right came back to him. With her words and belief in his mind, he mustered up the courage to do the exercise again and again. He knew Keisha believed that he could do a good job. He knew she saw in him great potential. And eventually, he did learn to do a “good job.” Mike and I were nearly silent the entire boat ride back to shore.
As we reflected that evening on that pivotal moment in the Caribbean Sea, we realized Keisha’s parenting lesson would go with us forever. Our children, in this vulnerable moment did not need instruction, correction, or scolding. Mikey, in particular, needed to be believed in. What he desperately longed for was an apt word to build him into the boy who could snuba with confidence, safety, and ultimately great pleasure. He, like all children, needed to be nurtured, edified, and encouraged. That is our primary role as his parents.
How often, in moments of frustration, do I prioritize clarifying my own point over building them up? I think if I just clarify my point with a few more words, maybe they will understand what I am getting at? When disobedience or disrespect comes at me, how frequently are they hearing my correction versus my belief in them? My impulse is far too often to try and push them down a peg, attempting to coerce them into humility as if that is my job as their mom. It is as if I think I can out-flesh their flesh. This is why Galatians 3:3 says, “are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now going to be made complete by the flesh?” I cannot, with my own strength coerce them into righteousness. It is not with my own strength, but a hopeful surrender, giving them back to Jesus who solely has the power to save and sanctify. My job as their mom is to build them up and believe in them as I model what it means to walk with Jesus. To point them upward, lifting their heads time and time again.
“Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” Colossians 3:13
How often am I demonstrating the patience of the Lord to my children when they offend or rebel against me? Am I clothed with his kindness as I patiently endure their development? Honestly, it is unnatural for me to do this. Truth, accuracy, correctness, rightness tend to be my priority. These are the unspoken principals that have shaped the habits of my tongue. As a child, I watched my words carefully. For when I spoke, it was commonplace to have those words picked apart, corrected and belittled. I was the youngest of three and the only girl, always wanting to prove myself as smart enough to be a contributor to the fearsome debates that filled our home. Any honest observer could see that our family was in constant conflict, each person vying for dominance. It was less of a haven and more of a battleground. I realize that I have begun to mirror some of those same patterns in my own home. I see my words wounding like a sword, thrust through an already insecure and broken spirit. I emphasize accuracy rather than humility. Truth over kindness. I have always rightly believed that in truth, there is freedom, but I am finding that when truth supersedes the love amongst a family, the house becomes a prison of isolation, and a house divided cannot stand.

I have a special calling, a short window of opportunity to use my tongue for healing in the souls of my children. Like a precise tool in the hand of a skilled surgeon, my words can produce life-saving healing in my child’s life or it can tear them apart like a sword in battle leaving destruction in my wake. It can carefully cut out the false things a person believes about themselves, bringing restoration and care for past wounds or it can tear them apart and crush their spirit.
As Sharon Jaynes, author of The Power of a Woman’s words states, “If even a sprout of these fruits [of the spirit] peeks through the soil, a wise mother will fertilize the sprout with positive words in hopes of a bountiful harvest.”
Our words hold incredible power—the “power of life and death.” They can either wound like a warrior’s sword or heal like a surgeon’s scalpel. A warrior in battle swings his sword with force, cutting down anything in his path, often leaving destruction in his wake. His weapon is meant to overpower, to dominate, and to win at any cost. In the same way, harsh words—spoken in anger, pride, or impatience—can cut deeply, leaving scars that take years to heal.
But a surgeon, though wielding a sharp instrument as well, approaches with precision, care, and the intent to heal. His scalpel is used not to destroy but to remove what is harmful, to restore what is broken, and to bring life back to the wounded. Likewise, our words can be instruments of healing—carefully chosen, spoken with wisdom, and meant to uplift rather than tear down.
Let us, then, be surgeons with our words, not warriors. Let us make a habit of speaking in ways that bring life, mend hearts, and encourage those around us. As Hebrews 3:13 urges us: “Encourage one another daily, as long as it is called ‘Today,’ so that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness.” May our speech reflect the careful, healing touch of a skilled surgeon rather than the reckless swings of a warrior in battle. Mike and I often recall this powerful moment in Jamaica to one another. When the torrent of disrespect or disobedience comes at us and we find ourselves swelling up with anger…. when we are tempted to scold rather than to build, we look at one another and whisper, “Good job, Mikey.” We are only given 18 summers with these little ones inside our home, and we want them to remember our great love and healing words.
Lord, let my words of encouragement ring in their ears. Let them forget the harsh and cold things found on my tongue. Let them remember how much I love them throughout each day. Let them see themselves as my beloved children who have a mother who is obsessed with them, believing with full confidence that they are the best there is on this earth. Let them know, deep within their soul that they are mine, and I love them. Help me speak your truth over them and celebrate every little sign of growth or goodness in their actions. Help me see the good in them and draw it out with affirmation and celebration. And let me do this with all your children, not just my own.
Verses for Reflection:
    •    “Bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.” Ephesians 6:4
    •    “as a father… encouraging, comforting, and urging you.” 1 Thessalonians 2:11-12
    •    “let the little children come to me.” Matthew 19:14
    •    “a gentle answer turns a way wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” Proverbs 15:1
    •    “A gentle tongue can break a bone.” Proverbs 25:15