What do we do when things don’t turn out the way we want?
I know what my children do. They cry. They complain. When they were younger, they threw tantrums.
It might look like this. One minute, I am a thirty-something woman walking calmly down a mall corridor with my beautiful toddler daughter smiling beside me, and the next minute, after some I-didn’t-get-what-I-expected moment, there on that can’t-be-sanitary floor of the mall is a kicking, screaming, all-limbs-flailing, living, breathing “thing.” I would stare, then pick her up, put her writhing and still protesting self under my arm, against my side like a football (for maximum safety), and walk to the car with a look of calm that belied my absolute horror.
But seriously now, when I at forty-eight don’t get what I want, how am I any different from my once-toddler daughter? I may do it quietly, even invisibly, but deep down where all my meanings are, I kick and scream and become a “thing” inside. I do stare at my soul then in absolute helplessness.
The difference now is that at forty-eight I take my spiritual temper tantrums to God. I talk with my friend Jesus about them, in great detail, and then I try to listen to his wisdom, which I desperately need. The details of our dialogue will never make a blog because they are so private, but isn’t that the most awesome mark of intimacy?