For the first time ever, I privately observed Lent this year. But I didn’t give up coffee or soda or TV or anything like that. Instead, I gave up yelling.

I may not have made this decision had not two separate and unrelated events happened on the same day. The first was that I was reading a book about the Duggar family (of 19 Kids and Counting), and I was struck by something that Michelle Duggar said. She said she knows that, as a mother, she has a lot of power over the “tone” of her family, and for that reason, she chooses to control the tone of her voice. I even heard her niece once say that she’s never heard Michelle yell. (Seriously? Nineteen children and you never yell? Are you a robot?!)

Anyway, as a mother of four who yells, well, a lot, that random piece of information stuck with me.

The second thing that happened is that I read this article about 20 atypical things to consider giving up for Lent. The list includes things like guilt, envy, blame and worry. Before reading this, most of my observations of Lent consisted of people giving up things like alcohol, romance novels, or Starbucks more to see if they could make it forty days without it rather than to make a permanent life improvement. When I read that list, it was the first time I actually considered that Lent could be more than a challenge; it could be a catalyst for change.

“Maybe I don’t have to be Catholic to observe Lent after all,” I thought. “Maybe I could just use this time as a time of growth.”

But while I loved the spirit behind using Lent to focus on certain spiritual disciplines, I knew that in order for it to work for me, I needed to give up something concrete in order for it to work. For example, I couldn’t give up anger because anger is intangible and hard to measure. But, I could give up yelling because I would have a clear cut way of knowing whether or not I was being successful.

So on Ash Wednesday, I gave up yelling for Lent.

No ceremony. No hoopla. I didn’t even tell anyone about my decision. I just spent time in prayer and asked God for strength.

For the first two weeks, things went really well. I controlled my voice. I didn’t yell at my children or my husband. I did the reverse-yell-whisper-thing that many moms swear by. I practiced speaking with a controlled, assertive voice rather than a crazy loud one. I became acutely aware that yelling had been my default mode of communication (especially with the kids) when my instructions were being ignored. But I learned that I could still achieve the same results without the yelling, and most surprising of all, I realized that my children started yelling less as well.

For fourteen or so glorious days, things were beautiful in the Ryan house.

And then I had a “moment.”

You, know those “moments,” right? I had one of those fly-off-the-handle, scream-til-they-can-hear-you-in-Alaska, mommy-tantrum moments that leave you feeling defeated, ugly, guilty and like a horrible mom, wife, and person in general. My two weeks of success had been undone in a moment.

Lent was barely a third of the way through, and until then, it had been fairly easy. But after that moment, things got more difficult rather than easier. Perhaps my patience was wearing thin. Perhaps it was stress. Perhaps it was just hormones. But whatever it was, I found myself needing to ask God for strength a little more, and needing to ask Him for forgiveness a whole lot more. With God’s grace, I made it through Lent, but there were many times I wished I had just been strong enough to give up Nutella instead of yelling!

But now, it’s the Monday after Easter and Lent is complete. It’s the day that those who gave up shopping for Lent go on a spree of retail therapy and make up for lost time. It’s the day that those who gave up TV start catching up on all the shows they missed. And there is a part of me that is tempted to go back to my default of yelling just because Lent is over and I can!

But I won’t. At least, not in the same way as before. My forty days of no yelling for Lent taught me more than I thought it would. First, I learned that yelling is not the real problem. My real problems lie below the surface with things like anger and impatience.

I don’t have a yelling problem. I have a heart problem.

And it’s one that can only be cured by the Lord and His mercy.

But this is where my yelling can help me. When I find myself yelling more often than usual, I now know that it’s not circumstantial. It’s internal. And I can spend time with the Lord to fix it.

I also learned that the old adage is right. “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” I used to think that this meant that the whole house was destined to ride out my roller coaster moods. Now I know that if I can control myself, I can influence my family. That is a strange, weird power that I’m sure I’ve only explored the surface of. I feel like the Lord is only beginning to teach me on this subject, and oh, I have so much to learn.

Lastly, I realized that I don’t have to give up yelling 100%. There are times when yelling is necessary. If my child is approaching danger, I’m yelling. If I have repeated myself a dozen times and have not been heard, I may have to yell to get their attention. But if I’m yelling because I’m angry, tired, frustrated or just plain moody, that needs to stop. This experiment has taught me to check my motives before yelling to see the why behind the yell.

And my why will remain. I will continue to work on yelling because the Lord is clear about how much our tongues can hurt and wound others.

Is there something you need to give up today? Just because Lent is over doesn’t mean you can’t set aside forty days to focus on something. You don’t have to wait until next year. You can start today.

Do you have a story you’re willing to share about giving something up for Lent?