I heard an interesting line in the opening prayer for Mass this past Ash Wednesday: “Armed with the weapons of self-restraint,” we enter into the desert of Lent. I reflected on this phrase “armed with the weapons of self-restraint” throughout Lent, and a question struck me—how often do we think of self-restraint when we think of loving one another?

I thought I was pretty spectacular at demonstrating self-restraint. I have always been complimented on how calm and even-keeled I am under pressure. But I realized something: I say some version of “I told you so” to my children a lot.

Someone breaks a toy because they are playing with it too rough, a child drops a glass and it breaks because they are trying to carry four glasses at once to the table, or a child’s backpack explodes the zipper because they have a locker’s worth of items jammed into it. Instead of modeling Jesus’ love and forgiveness to my children, I have been rubbing their faces in each of their mistakes with a disapproving look or muttered comments.

Can you imagine if Jesus did that when we went to confession? How miserable would we feel walking out of the confessional if the message we received each time was, “I told you so”? Rather, we should walk away from the confessional, feeling the love of God’s mercy and the warmth of his embrace as our sins have been washed away. How can we model that kind of mercy and forgiveness to our children—our “fruit that will remain”?

Let us pause the next time we have the urge to make an “I told you so” comment or disapproving look when our children make a mistake. Let us exercise those “weapons of self-restraint” and warmly embrace our children, who are likely embarrassed about the mistake and willing to learn. I promise you, there is no greater love than this!