I struggle with a quick-fused temper that sometimes spews onto the people I love most in this world. From talking with other moms, I’ve learned that I am not the only one that yells in anger say her kids. This is a very difficult thing for me to admit because it is so contrary to who I want to be as a mother. It hurts my heart more than almost anything else to see my beloved boys in pain, and there just aren’t words to describe the kind of regret I feel when I know that I am the cause of that hurt. It’s also hard to admit because I haven’t found a fix-all solution; this is not a past-tense issue. I haven’t tied this up and thrown it behind me; there’s no pretty bow.
My little boys seem to have an innate desire to fight the bad guys, win the wars, and tussle about without a care for their own safety. As their mother, it is my desire to hone and encourage them in the way God created them to be, and to raise them to fight in God’s kingdom for the souls of His people.
“Are we there yet?” I ask. “Wait, child.” Says my Father. Through every season of waiting, God asks me to fix my eyes on Him and trust that through Him I will have the strength to be content.
When anxiety threatens to overcome me and grief is more than I can bear, my rescuer has provided yet another way to cast my cares on Him.
Life is hard. This world is full of sin and sickness, terrible pain and death. So how can I claim that “it’s a good thing”? The beauty is in the battle and strength comes through the struggle. God is over all of it and it’s a good thing.
WARNING: Potty training story ahead. If you’d rather not read about toddler poops, diddles, do-do dots and stinky stickiness… feel free to move along.