Talking to your grandchildren has to be one of the sweetest blessings on earth. This conversation? Not so much. My text to Logan, my college-student grandson, began with this: “Hi Logan. I’ve been thinking about you. How are things going?”

Within a few seconds, he responded: “Who tf is this?”

“Tf”? “TF”? Perhaps it was a typo. Yes, that’s it, and an embarrassing one at that. Cell phones are known to do that. An apology would be forthcoming. “Mammy,” I answered.

Within seconds I received his answer: “Whay T”

Perhaps his fingers were off by one key. I checked. They would have to be off by an entire keyboard for this to make sense. Maybe a friend had his phone. But why would he pick friends like this? My mind splattered into worry-overload. There was only one explanation. He’s on drugs. Oh, dear Lord!!! This sweet, Christian boy/man had succumbed to the temptation of the Colorado (i.e., marijuana is legal) state and was stupiding his brain cells.

I texted, “What???” and immediately received his answer: “Whats (sic) your name?”

He was too stoned to recognize his own grandmother. I needed a Xanax.

“Okay. Is this Logan Green?” my fingers groaned.

Answer: “no its not who tf is this this is logan Haughton.” (sic)

“Lord, have mercy,” I said aloud. I read this not a few times, and, having no clue who “logan Haughton” is, answered: “I am Logan Green’s grandmother. So sorry I bothered you. Obviously this is a wrong number because my grandson would never use tf.” Then, re-reading my critical, self-righteous remark, added, “God bless you.”

His answer was a shocker: “Its ok I was confused for a sec God bless you to.” (sic)

This conversation was not over. Now it was my turn. “You have made me curious. I have no idea how your number ended up in my phone book, but I appreciate your blessing. Do you normally answer with a “tf” response?”

“No,” he texted, “im (sic) a son of god! I was just really scared kida (sic) just because I didn’t know who was texting me”

“So you’re a Christian?”

“Yes.”

Now it was this grandmother’s turn to share some of her ageless wisdom. “Oh, I am so glad to hear that. Please know that everything you say and write needs to be a reflection of your love for the One who paid a great price for your (and my) sins. Never forget that.”

Logan’s reply? “Ok thank u for sharing that”…to which I responded, “I will pray for you, Logan Haughton, for the rest of your life.”

Our texts ended with Logan writing, “Thank you soo much.”

Once I made the correction in my contact list, I had a sweet text conversation with my real grandson, Logan Green.

He has no idea how close I came to jumping on a plane to Colorado to smack him upside his head.

“Don’t touch each other. Don’t even think of touching each other.”

We had just pulled out of the church parking lot and these were threatening words to my sons, Jeff and Adam, ages 4 and 3 years respectively, who were engaged in a finger battle in the back seat of the car. They creepy-crawled their fingers to an imaginary line separating them. And then they attacked. What started with fingers ended up in a slug fest.

I pulled the car over to the side of the freeway, got out of my seat and walked around the car to the side where Adam was sitting. Reaching across Adam, I drew an imaginary line between the two boys. It came with a warning: “Do NOT even think about crossing this line. If you do, you will be spanked.”

Returning to my driver’s seat, I put on my blinker and pulled onto the California freeway, tilting my rearview mirror and craning my neck to see what would happen next.

Jeff started. His index and middle finger wormed their way to the “middle line.” Adam did the same from his side. My sons were within one-quarter inch of each other, a standoff of fingers, ready to strike.

And then it happened. Jeff crossed the “line” and attacked Adam’s fingers, twisting them into a knot. Adam wailed.

I pulled off the freeway, unbuckled Jeff’s seat belt and spanked him. Today I would be facing jail time. The point is, once the words were out of my mouth, I needed to follow through. If not, all future threats from me would become no more than pointless ramblings. It was one of the few things in parenting I tried to do God’s way. Ecclesiastes 5:5 warns us: “It is better to say nothing than to make a promise and not keep it.”

Our government recently saw the devastating consequences of meaningless words.

In 2013 Bashar Al-Assad, President of Syria, used chemical warfare against his citizens. He had been warned that “crossing that red line by using chemical warfare would bring about catastrophic consequences.” The difference between the warning Jeff and Adam received and

Assad’s warning was that I meant it. President Obama did not.

A few weeks ago, Syria’s dictator dared us again. To him, our “red line” was an idle threat. But this time, it wasn’t. After Assad used chemical weapons on innocent children, President Trump ordered an attack on two of the Syrian chemical airfield locations.

I know that what I did on that California freeway pales in comparison to what President Trump did, but empty words are epidemic in this generation. How many times do we hear parents threaten—even using the “1-2- 3” countdown—and then do nothing? Friends share the juicy news they promised they wouldn’t. Commitments to volunteer at church are cancelled for an invitation to golf or a shopping spree.

Too many times, promises aren’t followed and threats are hollow. Matthew 5:37 gives us Jesus’ perspective on such words: “Simply let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.” There are no pinky promises, no crossing our fingers, no I swears, no “Just kidding” and no crossing over on the line on the seat.

You say it? You mean it.

End of discussion.