I remember the day well. We had three kiddos and a baby. My six-year-old son just ran into the house and slammed the door on his younger brother. It was definitely an I-was-here-first moment. Not wanting to interrupt my nursing babe, but also desiring justice, I felt the need to teach Micah why slamming the door on his younger brother wasn’t okay.

When met with a glassy stare, I decided to punctuate the point by letting him know how it felt to have the door slammed on him. Okay Jesse, go to the sliding glass door and slam Micah’s foot in it. “Mom, no!” They all cried. Even our eight-year-old tried to convince me this was a terrible idea. But I had recently read how I needed to be resolute in my parenting, and not be talked out of my decision. Consistency was king. The child-training books on our shelves confirmed this.

Micah obeyed. Placing his six-year-old barefoot in the door. Every eye on the scene, our oldest son Josiah, held his breath. Jesse (4), though reluctant, slammed the door. I never thought about the fact that our physics-loving six-year-old Micah would of course want to see what would happen to his foot as the door came at him. WHAM!—right on his skull.

I sat on the floor crying with the perpetrator, plaintiff, and spectator. We were a tearful huddle on the floor that day as the reality of the moment sunk in for all of us. I am the dumbest mom in the world. How did I think for one moment that I could raise a crew of kids for the glory of God? But in that heap of mess and tears, a hope from God dropped in my heart. But if you teach me, Lord, I will help anyone who wants to know. I promise.