My sisters and I only took our mom seriously when she yelled. It’s sad to say, but it’s true. 

She’d tell us kids to do something, and we’d ignore her. A few minutes later, she’d tell us again, louder this time. Finally, when she came to the end of her patience, she’d yell at the top of her voice, and we’d respond. We knew: when Mom got to the upper octaves, she was serious.

Not only was Mom a yeller, she was a Portuguese Italian yeller descended from a long line of Portuguese and Italian yellers. Her mother yelled. Her grandmother yelled. Her great-grandmother yelled.

Guess what that made me? Yep—a yeller. A fourteenth-generation yeller, at least.

I didn’t set out to be a yeller. There were many aspects of my childhood I vowed not to repeat in my own family, but yelling somehow didn’t make the list. I was Portuguese Italian, after all. Portuguese Italians had dark hair, ate pasta, and yelled. 

Then I became a Christian. And strange things began to happen. 

First, I had a desire to read the Bible. Every morning, I’d read a chapter or two and write down a summary of what I’d read. One day, I was reading through the book of 1 Peter when I came upon these words:

Don’t let your beauty consist of outward things like elaborate hairstyles and wearing gold jewelry or fine clothes, but rather what is inside the heart—the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. (1 Peter 3:3–4)

In the quietness of the moment, God’s Word helped me see: You don’t have a gentle and quiet spirit. You yell at your kids. And on really bad days, you yell at your husband.

Well, of course I do, I thought. I’m Portuguese Italian. Portuguese Italians yell.

But I wasn’t just defined by my Portuguese Italian heritage anymore. I was a new creation, a follower of Jesus. 

That Horrible/Wonderful Moment

In that horrible/wonderful moment, I saw my yelling the way God saw it—as a symptom of anger and a lack of self-control—and I wept.

“I’m sorry, God,” I prayed. “I haven’t honored you in the way I treat my family. Forgive me and help me change. I want to have a gentle and quiet spirit. I want to be beautiful in your sight.”

I’d love to report that after that heartfelt prayer, I never yelled again, but I can’t. I was, after all, Portuguese Italian—with a thirty-year habit of using my voice to express my anger and frustration. But that day marked a dramatic shift in the way I saw my tendency to yell. After I saw my sin through God’s eyes, I couldn’t unsee it. And I couldn’t excuse it.

The Lord also showed me that, as my mother had before me, I’d trained my children to respond only when I yelled. Because I didn’t hold them accountable to obey the first time, they knew, as my sisters and I had, that I meant business only when I was so frustrated and angry that I yelled at them.

Shortly after my conversation with God about my decidedly un-gentle and not-very-quiet spirit, I sat my daughters down for a heart-to-heart.

Girls, God showed me something about myself that you probably already know—Mommy yells a lot. God wants me to stop, and I need you to help me.

From now on, when I ask you to do something, I expect you to obey. Not the second time or the third. The first time.

And if you hear me yell, I give you permission to remind me that God doesn’t want me to anymore.

They nodded, big-eyed and solemn, then shared a sideways look.

That conversation was the second step in a long process. 

Despite our heart-to-heart, my girls struggled with first-time obedience. They were also learning new responses and unlearning old ones. But I was firm. There was too much at stake. First time obedience or suffer the consequences. When they failed to obey, they had to do two chores instead of one or they lost the privilege of screen time or other recreational activities. 

And when I yelled at them in frustration or anger? I confessed—to them and to God, repented, and reframed my communication into something gentle yet firm.

I didn’t do it perfectly or every time, but God was changing me. 

Gradually—very gradually—we learned to honor God by the way we responded to each other. Sometimes we relapsed into our old patterns, but the atmosphere in our home shifted from loud and angry to quiet and peaceful.

Thirty Years Later

Thirty years have passed since God and I had that conversation about yelling. When I share this part of my story, people are shocked. “I can’t imagine you yelling at anyone,” they say. “Sometimes I still feel it rising up in me,” I confess. “I’m still Portuguese Italian, after all, and old habits die hard.”

But by God’s grace, I’m not the yeller I used to be. With His help, I’m becoming a woman who uses her words to build others up, diffuse anger, share knowledge, refresh the spirit, and save others from death. I’m becoming a woman known for her gentle and quiet spirit.

Imagine that. Only God.

Lori’s post reminds us that words (and how they’re spoken) are powerful—they can encourage and strengthen others, heal wounded hearts, honor God, and bring Him great delight, but words can also be destructive. The good news is that our tongues can be transformed by the grace of God and the power of His Spirit. In The Power of Words, a four-week devotional study by Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth, you’ll discover the connection between your heart and your words. You will be challenged to examine your heart and to consider the consequences of your words, and you’ll gain practical insight on “tongue control” from the Word of God. Get your copy today at ReviveOurHearts.com.