I love winter. I really do. I don't mind the cold so long as it's beautiful and white outside - and it is. So why am I not happy? Why do I feel like I might throw a shoe? Or stomp my foot? Or say something that isn't loving to those I love the most?
My life is hard. I'm in the final few days before my oldest's birthday. The final days of being able to say, "I am a mother of three beautiful children ages four and under." Wow that sounds impressive - impressively hard. If anyone else said that, I'd think they had their hands full! (A phrase I hear every time we set foot outside our door). Yet in my own life I'm just now realizing that yes... it is impressively hard. And that's ok. It's ok to have a challenging life. That's what God wants for us. Because if life was a bed of roses, where would the character come from? How can conviction and hope for a better tomorrow burn brightly in our lives if we are already perfected?
Today we were blessed with an outing that was actually quite nice. Loading up the kids after it, however, was exceptionally difficult. I can very easily identify the issues - my oldest is flexing her almost 5 year old muscles and pushing every boundary we have set up. My middle loves to fake deafness. It's like a sport with him. And my youngest is... well... a baby, and as such is absolutely dependent on me for every one of his needs. Add snow, a restaurant and impending naptime to the mix and the potential for disaster is definitely there. But what is the underlying problem? What is it about ME that makes these things incredibly hard to attend to with a positive attitude and a godly outlook on the big picture? After all - having coats zipped up and hats on straight does not secure my place in the Kingdom of God. But my belittling the kids or pulling them along when they are going soooooooooooo sloooooooooooow is an attitude, and a choice, that could. And so I start the drive home in tears. Wondering how I could have kept my patience. Wondering how I should have responded when I found out the kids went around the back of the car, putting themselves in danger. Wondering how to help my oldest understand that I am the momma, and that means when I say come that means come. Wondering... wondering...
And as I navigate the roads I notice the tracks. The narrow place that has been made safe, less slick, by people reliably travelling over it before. Turn to the right or to the left, even just a smidge, and you're taking a risk. You've lost traction. I realize I have a choice. There are proven ways that have been used and followed by God's people. And if I veer to the left or to the right, I might find myself in a very unstable place. I could slip, I could slide, I could even crash. Crashing does a lot of things. It causes bodily harm. Stress. Anxiety. It costs something to fix everything as it was. It steals time from everyone involved in it. Crashing is not good. It's not helpful. There's nothing true or noble or just or praiseworthy about it. Yet I have crashed almost daily with those tiny, infuriating, innocent people God gave me to raise in His image.
Perhaps the answer is vey simple. It usually is when dealing with God's way. And I have a sneaky suspicion I know it. It's been stewing in the back of my mind when I have one more cookie. When I stay up just a little longer. When I feel my frustration level rising unchecked.
Self-control.
Beautiful, wonderful, free-for-the-taking self-control. Against such there is no law! I have known the fruits of the spirit for a long time, but I was shocked the other day when reading through them again and realizing self-control is right there with them. What?! It's something I have freely accessible to me just by asking my heavenly Father?!? Amazing!!! Amazing.
Of course this is just a theory at this point. I'm definitely a work in progress. But I'm willing to give it a shot. I'm willing to claim the fruit of self-control that God says I can grow with His spirit dwelling in me. It's time to bring the ability to control my actions into a place of accountability.
I have to.
For the little girl who's sitting as close to her mommy as I will allow while I try to muster enough courage to finish the day.
I have to.
For my boys who innocently shower me with love.
For my husband who supports me wholeheartedly.
For my God who believed in me enough to entrust me with my three beautiful blessings, and who wants to give me good things. Like life more abundant.
I have to.
For myself.
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