I remember the first time my son said he hated me.

Our family went shopping at a large superstore. My wife and daughters were looking for clothes, and our son was not interested. I suggested we wander through the sporting goods section. As we looked around, I realized he was standing transfixed, staring into the display case. “Daddy,” he said, “I found a knife I want.”

Recently, he received his first pocket knife. He was excited, and diligent to show his responsibility with the new tool. I smiled at his new interest and made my way to the case to see what caught his eye. Before I could look, he began presenting a well-crafted rationale. He was responsible. He could use this new knife in so many ways. He liked it. He loved it. He needed it.

My eyes trailed down his arm, beyond his pointing finger, to find a knife that was something just short of a machete. I tried to point out that there typically isn’t much need for a knife that big, and that it might be a little too much for him at his age, but he was insistent, “Please daddy, let me have it!”

I love my son and want him to be happy. I could see how much this meant to him, but I could also see the dangers he could not envision. I wanted to follow my emotions and bless him. I wanted to affirm him and his responsibility. I wanted to say, “yes.” Yet, pushing my sentimental thoughts aside, I did the loving, reasonable thing, the hard thing, and told him, “no.”

Immediately, the tears began to flow from his eyes, followed by proclamations of my lack of faith in him, and lack of love for him. Then, in the middle of the sporting goods section, he looked at me and said, “I hate you! You won’t let me have what I want! You don’t love me!”

I tried to explain, but it didn’t help. I restricted his desires and he was convinced it was a sign of my lack of love for him. Telling him, “no,” was nothing short of condemnation in his eyes. My love for him did not waver, nor did my position, even though my heart broke for his pain. I loved him too much to see him get hurt, or hurt someone else.

We returned to the rest of our family. He was wounded and angry, and I still felt the sting of pain that real love brings.

In the last two blog posts, we looked at love and truth. Both are important. Both are parts of the heart of God Jesus came to reveal, parts of what he taught, and parts of how we are called to live. Walking in truth and love is central to our faith, but it can be a painful journey.

When we move beyond mere sentimentality, we love people enough to speak the truth, even when it hurts. Our love is not judgement, nor should it be. It is, however, a love that values their wellbeing over their comfort, and over our sense of affirmation. Real love does the hard thing, even when it hurts, with the knowledge that the truth is always more valuable than temporary pleasure.

In Jesus’ prayer for his disciples, the church, and for the world, he pleaded, “Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.” (John 17:17). It was his passion that we would love God, one another, and the world with truth. In fact, truth is actually a sign of real love and concern.

Recently, I went to see my doctor. He challenged some of my life choices because of the impact they have on my health. I did not want to hear his words, and I don’t particularly want to change, but I know that he cares about me. His words were not meant to harm, but to heal. He was not judging me, but helping me. I would seriously question his care if he put my comfort ahead of my health. I can choose to ignore his counsel, but I put myself at risk if I do. His guidance was not judgment. It was about wise, truthful discernment.

It is never easy to speak the truth in love, but real compassion does it anyway, because we live in integrity, and because we truly love others.

It took a while for my son to get over the pain of that day in sporting goods. He laughs about it now, but it took a lot of time and maturity to get to that place. However, I still remember how hard it was to love him enough to say, “no.” I remember the pain of knowing he saw my love as judgement, and of watching him suffer because of it. I wish it was different, but I do not regret my decision. I love him too much to put him at risk to make him feel good, and I love others enough not to do that to them.

Real love, truthful love, “does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.” That is the love of Jesus, and it should be our love as well.