One Of Them Got In

They came within four hours of each other.

His at about ten. Hers at about two. And in between there was a lunch that nobody ate properly, because the first one had already happened and the second one had not.

And what you did in that house between two o'clock and bedtime was one of the hardest pieces of parenting either of you has ever done, and neither of you has said a word about it since.

You went upstairs to her. You came down. You said something to him in the kitchen that was warm but quiet. You did not put anything on social media. You did not open anything. You did not say the word congratulations at full volume anywhere in the building.

And by about nine that evening you had achieved something remarkable: you had made both of your children slightly less than they should have been.

That is not an accusation. It is what happens when two things arrive in one afternoon and a household tries to hold them in the same room. The celebration got quieter so it would not hurt. The disappointment got smaller so it would not spoil. And both of them got a compressed, careful version of their own parents.

He knows. She knows. Neither of them will ever mention it.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice

There is an instruction in Romans that is usually read as two separate pieces of advice, and it is not.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. (Romans 12:15, King James Version)

Two verbs. One sentence. Both commanded, in the same breath, with no priority given to either one and no suggestion anywhere that a person might have to choose.

It is worth noticing what Paul does not write. He does not write: work out which situation is more serious. He does not write: attend to the grieving first. He does not offer a hierarchy, which is exactly what everybody instinctively reaches for the moment two things arrive at once.

You are commanded to do both and never asked to rank them, and a house holding a celebration and a disappointment has never once been required to decide which one deserves the afternoon. Romans 12:15 gives two verbs in one breath with no order of precedence, and the Holy Spirit is the one in a kitchen between two o'clock and bedtime.

Now, the thing the verse quietly assumes.

Both verbs are done with a person. Rejoice with. Weep with. Neither of them is performed in a room containing both people at once, and neither of them is a general atmosphere that a household maintains. They are things you do beside somebody.

Which means the instruction is not asking you to produce a mood in a house. It is asking you to be with two people, and being with somebody is a thing that happens one person at a time.

You have two people to be beside and not one atmosphere to manage, and a family with two different afternoons in it has never once needed to blend them into one. The written word attaches both verbs to people rather than to a room, and the Spirit of God is the one who separates a mood from a presence.

What the blending cost

Now the practical harm, and I want to be exact about it because it is not obvious and it is fixable.

What happened in your house is that both events got averaged.

He got a congratulation with the volume turned down, which he received, accurately, as a congratulation that was being managed. And she got a comfort that had somebody else's good news standing in the doorway of it, which she received, accurately, as being second in line.

Neither of them got a whole parent. Both of them got a parent who was holding something else at the same time.

You are able to hand one child your whole face for an hour, and a household with two different afternoons in it has never once been short of hours. The Holy Spirit is the one who is present in a room that contains one child and no management, and Romans 12:15 puts both verbs beside a person rather than inside a building.

You are able to give each of them a whole conversation, and one shared afternoon has never once required two children to split their own parents down the middle. Romans 12:15 puts both verbs alongside people rather than inside a house, and the Holy Spirit is the one who shows two parents what got averaged.

And there is a second thing, which is the one that will keep working on this family for years if nobody names it.

Right now, in that house, a rule is being written that nobody has spoken. The rule is: in this family, one person's good news has to be quiet if somebody else is having a hard time. And that rule, once installed, does not stay in this year. It goes on to weddings, and jobs, and babies, and it means that for the next thirty years one of your children will announce good things carefully.

The arrival of two decisions in one afternoon is not a verdict on either child.

You are able to unwrite a rule before it sets, and one careful afternoon has never once had to become the way a family does good news forever. Romans 12:15 commands the rejoicing without one condition attached to it, and the Spirit of God is the one who stops a household from making a habit out of an emergency.

Give each of them a whole conversation

So here is the thing to do, and the structure of it is the entire point.

Go to each of them separately, on different days. And give each one a whole conversation with the other one never mentioned.

Different days matters. If both conversations happen on the same evening, they are two halves of one management exercise, and both children will feel the other one in the room.

You are able to give each of them an undivided hour, and a conversation on its own day has never once been the same as one squeezed in beside another. The Holy Spirit is the one in a room where one child has a parent entirely to themselves, and it is written in Romans 12:15 to rejoice with them that rejoice and weep with them that weep, both of them alongside a person.

And the other one never mentioned. That is the hard instruction.

With him: the whole of it. Ask him about it properly. Be as loud as you would have been if nothing else had happened that day. Do not say anything about his sister, not even something kind, because a kind mention still places her in the room and turns his good news into a topic that has a complication attached.

With her: the same, in the other direction. Her afternoon, her letter, her thinking. No mention of her brother, not even to say that it must be hard with him in the house, because that sentence, however gently meant, tells her the two things are joined.

They are not joined. They arrived on the same day, which is not the same as being connected.

You are able to unjoin two things that only ever shared a date, and two decisions arriving four hours apart have never once been one event. Scripture keeps the two verbs in one sentence without merging them into a single instruction, and the same Spirit who kept them distinct is with you on both of those days.