The greatest sign that someone loves you

They knew nobody else would be responsible for it

I grew up in a big family — five kids — and I’m the middle child. Number three. It’s funny because whether you count from the front or from the back, I’m still right there in the middle. And growing up like that, you learn something very quickly: sometimes you get away with things.

My dad used to line us up — me and my two younger siblings — because somehow we were always in the middle of something. One day, me and my little brother decided we were going to recreate WWE moves. 

I’d climb to the top bunk, and because I had a queen bed, I thought that made me invincible. I would literally jump on him. 

And my mom would yell, “Lynn, you have boobs — what are you doing?”

At that age everything feels harmless and cute.

And when my dad would ask, “Who did this?” nobody said anything.
We stood there so quiet.
No one admitting to anything.
And then we all three got punished together.

Looking back, I’m not proud to say there were many times I stayed quiet even when I knew it was me. But when you’re ten years old, it almost feels normal. You think you can hide behind the group. You think responsibility is something you can share or avoid.

But adulthood doesn’t work like that.

There comes a point where silence doesn’t protect you anymore. Avoiding something doesn’t make it disappear — it just stretches the distance between you and the truth. And I started realizing that recently in ways I didn’t expect, especially as a believer, writer and as someone whose words carry more weight now than — they used to when I was a kid jumping off bunk beds.

I started the Fire series that meant a lot to me. I was passionate to talk about obedience and the testimony of the wait, ready to share. And I received Biblical and loving correction.

I had to step back.
Check my pride. Just… sit.

And in that quiet space, I started thinking about those childhood lineups again — about how easy it was to hide behind everyone else.

Now it felt different.
More intentional.

Because my voice isn’t just mine anymore. The way I approach things, the way I write, the way I speak — it reaches people. And that means I don’t have the same liberty I had when I was little. I can't look down on testimonies or talk about obedience in such a way that strips them of their value and wonder. Responsibility grows with influence.

So instead of saying, “ I wish this wouldn't have happened” I came back to one question: Jesus what can I learn from this? Not out of guilt or wanting to be perfect. But out of humility.  Knowing that Jesus forgives and my past present and future mistakes. But out of surrendering the situation in His hands.

God always wants to is teach us. And I realized I wanted to stay teachable. The more I sat with Him, the more I keep seeing correction differently.

As a child, correction felt like a consequence. But the truth is that my parents corrected us because they loved us. They knew one day, we would walk into a world where nobody else would be responsible for shaping our character. If they didn’t correct us at home, the world would punish us without mercy.

And I began to realize that sometimes love looks like someone caring enough to say, “This isn’t true or right,” or “You can grow here.”

“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”  — Hebrews 12:11 (NIV)

I think that’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned — that God’s work in us is like constant local construction. Old pavement being removed. New ground being laid. It’s not always comfortable. Sometimes it feels loud, inconvenient, disruptive. But construction means something is being built.

When wiser voices speak into your life — a mentor, a friend, a parent, someone in your church — it’s rarely random. God is intentional about who He allows to speak into our lives. 

And maybe that’s what I couldn’t see when I was younger. Back then, correction felt like something to escape. Now I’m learning it’s something to lean into.

Because correction isn’t the absence of love.

Maybe it’s the clearest evidence of it.

Maybe every hard conversation, every moment that asks us to take responsibility is an invitation... to transformation.

And maybe the better question is the one I always bringing to God:

What are You trying to teach me through this?

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Heart Call:

Correction is the greatest sign of love.

Proverbs 12:1 (NIV)
“Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but whoever hates correction is stupid.”

Hebrews 12:11 (NIV)
“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”

• How do you respond to correction?

• A teachable heart is the best thing that can help you grow individually in your walk with Jesus. (and a gift you can bring to your future marriage if God hasn’t called you to singleness)

  In what ways can you practically lean into correction with a teachable spirit?

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Photo Credits: Susn Matthiessen.