Blew it Again!

 

“Oh no!” I thought desperately, “I can't believe I am doing this!”

Just that afternoon I had been smugly reflecting on how well I was handling myself. I was maturing. I was certain of it. I felt I had finally started handling situations with a lot more wisdom, and at almost seventy three years old, I figured it was about time.

But here I was, only hours after that reflection, seeing myself as that same very flawed creature I had always been.

I had wanted Hugh to come with me to town that day. I had known it would feel terribly lonely being in the town where I used to be able to stop in and see any one of my three girls, and some of my wonderful grandchildren, but now Owen Sound felt empty. True, one family had only move less than an hours drive away from us, but it seemed far because I almost never saw them, and then my oldest daughter left and went way up north, and now my youngest had taken my littlest granddaughter and had moved way down south.

While I was in town, I made the mistake of driving by their old house. Already, I could see signs of the change of ownership. The deck that used to be cluttered with the toys of a four-year-old, was now graced with beautiful cushy furniture, and in the front garden, a pair of solar lights flanked the steps. Two cars lined the driveway. I could picture the incoming family, tired from the move, but excited to make this new house their home.

I came home from town that day tired, and sad. I was glad it was raining. It would mean that Hugh probably wouldn't have been able to take a walk the short distance to see his brother or his son. He would be home to give me the hug I desperately needed.

The rain had turned to drizzle by the time I pulled in the driveway. As I entered the house, I heard Hugh on the phone to his son in Sudbury. Good! He was home! He quickly ended the conversation and I rushed to him for my hug. But then I stopped short. He had been out. He had gone out in the drizzle to have a coffee with his son.

Normally, we do our visiting with his son outside. Denis is a smoker, and because his house bears evidence of that fact, and because I am bothered by the smell of smoke, we don't usually spend time in his home.

But while I was out, Hugh had been in that home, and his clothes, hair and skin bore the evidence. The comfort I sought was shattered by the odor that infiltrated my nostrils. I broke. My self-pity habit returned in full fury, and I lashed out at my dear husband. I was ready to throw something at him. It was a totally unreasonable reaction, but I had spun out of control.

As he walked away from me and went to have a shower, I knew in my heart, that I had reacted foolishly. I thought of my little granddaughter and her words of wisdom. (see Wisdom of a Child) It took only a few short moments of talking with my Lord to calm down and to see how my lack of self control had just hurt my husband.

I reached Hugh before he entered the shower and hugged him and apologized. That day we had a good talk. Quarrels are never good, but talking and admitting our failures can be immensely healthy. God says in His word to confess you faults one to another, and as always, following the path God has set out in His word, brought healing and blessing.

That incident, yesterday, reminded me of how far I still am from the place where I know God wants me to be, but it will never make me say that It's pointless to try.  The New Testament is full of admonition to “be perfect just as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” so I continue to "press toward the mark" just as Paul did even though I can say with Paul that I am definitely not there, and even though I keep seeing how far away that mark is. I am His child, and I know He loves me, but just like any normal child, I want to be just like my Father.

And as I allow Him, He will continue to work on me, to change me into His image.

For the Previous post see: Wisdom of a Child

For the Next post see: I Can and I Will if it is God's Will

Dysfunctional Home?

 

“Yes, you did come from a dysfunctional home.” he insisted. “The fact that you won't admit it is just proof that you are in denial.”

I shook my head in frustration. “How can you say that? You didn't even know my parents. You didn't know how they parented according to the Word of God.” I proceeded to point out that my brothers all turned out well. I couldn't say much about myself, after all, he knew me enough to know I wasn't perfect, and I knew that I hadn't been the perfect mom that I had expected to be. I had made plenty of mistakes, and if you were to ask any of my kids, I am sure they could give you examples to illustrate that statement. You can read about all that in ThePath He Chose for Me.

But the man, whose partner happened to work in the field of counselling, was insistent that most people come from dysfunctional homes. I thought about it later, not that I was willing to apply that label to our wonderful home, but I wondered whether I could find reason to complain if I wanted to.

I remember specifically, when I was about 6 or 7 years old, my mom chopped off my hair. My neck and back felt bare and exposed, where once my silky blond hair had almost totally covered them. I went up to my room, faced my strange reflection in my mirror and bawled. I continued crying hard for a long time.

Mom and Dad came up and told me to stop crying. I couldn't, of course. They insisted, but it didn't help. Dad pulled out his belt. I tried to stop crying but I couldn't. I didn't understand that it had to start from the inside. I had to stop my pity party, but that's a hard concept for an adult to learn, and I was only a child.

That incident lives on in my memory. For years I felt sorry for myself when I thought about it. For years I didn't forgive. Then I became a parent. I had not yet learned how to stop the self pity, so I had no plan of action when my child went into the same mode, crying in hysterics over some, possibly overblown, but to them, very real injustice.

I still don't know how my parents could have handled the situation differently. Could they have convinced me that I was being too focused on me? I doubt it. We so often heard about the poor starving children in Africa to which my parents had wanted go as missionaries, (see Susie's Calling) but it hadn't gotten the self out of me. In fact, it took years of work on the Lord's part (see The Path He Chose for Me) to break me of the self pity habit, and it is still something that I have to constantly guard against.

Do I hold that day's disciplinary action against my parents? Not any more. Not since I, myself, discovered the joys and sorrows of parenting. But the world is teaching us through modern psychology and philosophy that if our parents aren't perfect, we are broken and we come from dysfunctional homes. We are learning the skill of placing the blame on someone other than ourselves, and in the process, we are disregarding a very important commandment: Honor your father and your mother.

To you moms who are feeling like failures, it's OK to go to God and have a good cry. We all need to do that sometimes. But then stop and remember, since the fall of Adam and Eve, there has never been anyone, other than the Son of God, who was perfect. Remember, too, that God hand picked you to be parents to your children, knowing what flaws you would be plagued with and knowing how those flaws would ultimately help your children be able to mature into His sons and daughters. 

And instead of that dehibilitating feeling of failure, you can have peace in knowing God still has a plan that He will carry out in spite of all your imperfections. Thank You Heavenly Father!

If any of my readers have answers to the can't-stop-the-crying problem in child-rearing, we would love to hear about it, so please leave a comment. Or if you have felt frustrated over this issue please let me know.

If you are interested in reading about the process the Lord took me through to break the pity party spirit in me, please read The Path He Chose forMe. and if you are interested in hearing more about my wonderful mom and dad I would recommend my Susie Series for you or your children.