Godly Discipline

I never really considered that discipline was directly coupled with care—until I started working with horses.

Take today, for instance. I was kicked in the chest by a mare guarding her food, and I tried to lead a fourteen-year-old around who acted like she had never seen a halter in her life. These horses—entrusted to our care by their owners—are not wild or neglected, but they clearly missed some crucial teaching when they were young. That lack of early discipline shows up now as resistance, fear, and sometimes danger. It’s not that they’re bad animals. They’re just untrained. And that has consequences.

What’s become so clear to me is this: discipline isn’t just about control; it’s about cultivating safety and trust. Especially when you’re dealing with animals that powerful, you can’t just hope things work out. There’s a necessary level of discipline—of structure, consistency, and authority—that must be established if any real relationship is going to happen. Without it, someone’s going to get hurt. And more often than not, that someone is the one who cared the most.

And then I look at my own house. I watch my son respond to a clear directive like it was never even spoken. It’s funny, but also frustrating. Because deep down, I know what I’m aiming for isn’t blind obedience—I’m trying to teach him meekness. That’s not a word we throw around much anymore, but it’s powerful: meekness is strength under control. It’s choosing restraint when you could unleash fury. It’s harnessing the wildness in a way that serves others instead of overpowering them. And that’s what I want for my boy. Not to crush his spirit, but to guide it—to shape him into a man who knows how to stand tall and lead with grace.

Discipline, in this light, becomes something entirely different. It’s not punishment. It’s preparation. It’s training, molding, and forging. And sometimes it shows up as correction. Sometimes it’s a spanking. Sometimes it’s a hard conversation that neither of us wants to have. But all of it is rooted in love, not frustration. And that makes all the difference.

For a long time, I thought the best thing I could be to my kids was their friend. If I could just keep the peace and have fun with them, I’d win as a dad. But Scripture is clear—our calling is to be their parent first. A shepherd. A guide. A source of wisdom and truth, not just comfort and entertainment. Friendship may come later, but it can’t be the starting point. My dad modeled that for me in ways I didn’t fully appreciate until much later in life. The respect I had—and still have—for him wasn’t born out of fear. It was born out of the steady, loving way he corrected and shaped me. And now, I see it’s my turn.

To the dad out there who feels confused by discipline, or maybe even guilty after doing it—hear this: it is our duty. It’s not something we do to our children; it’s something we do for them. Think of a river. On one side, you have discernment; on the other, knowledge. Discipline is like the banks that hold the water in place. Without it, that same water flows everywhere, floods fields, and wreaks havoc. But with it? It becomes a force of direction and life. That’s what our kids need from us. Not the absence of boundaries, but the presence of guidance.

And just like with those horses, if we don’t take the time to discipline them now—to teach, correct, and lead with intention—we’re only setting them up for future struggle. It may not be popular. It may not feel good at the moment. But it’s necessary. Because in the end, discipline is one of the most profound ways we show love. It says, “I care too much to let you drift.” It says, “Your future matters more than my comfort.” And it says, “I love you enough to lead you.”

Reflection Questions:

1. Are you leading your children or trying to be their friend?
2. Do you view discipline as punishment or preparation for their future?