Never pray for patience. I know that. So I didn’t. I have been convicted by my lack of joy and irritability in my life, so, I decided to pray that the Lord would help me not to be irritable. Bad idea.
I have been reading a book called, Fight Back with Joy as well as doing a Bible Study in Philippians. One is about a woman who is determined to fight back her cancer with deep joy and the other is Paul writing about being content in all circumstances while he himself is in prison chains. Both have shown me how much my circumstances influence my emotions and actions rather than the truth that I have been eternally set free from sin because of Christ’s death and resurrection. On top of that, my friend sent me an article about how irritability is a sin. It shows that that I am so concerned about control and my own way that when others get in the way, I get irritable. Perfect, more conviction. So I repented of my lack of joy and my irritability. I prayed that the spirit would help me each day this week.
In the Lord’s kindness, the first day went pretty well! I enjoyed my kids and husband and the little things that popped up were handled with grace. What an encouragement! I thanked the Lord. Then came day two.
I walked by the twin’s room and could smell the poop through the closed door. I sighed. Turned the knob and was thrust back from the rush of foul air escaping mostly to my nostrils. I took another step in and saw the poop. Poop on Ronnie’s mattress, on his hands, on his shirt, all over the crib, on every slat. I saw him jumping up and down on the poop. I cannot lie. I was frozen for a moment wondering how I could ever clean up son and stuff. Then irritability rose and led to anger as I spewed out my thoughts as I picked up chunks and sprayed off Ronnie. He must have put his hands down the back of his pants and commenced his art. I was not impressed. I told him so, over and over. This began the battle of my heart to choose joy or irritability. This day I chose irritability.
The rest of the week had Lydia putting on a hunger strike against the meal I gave her, her throwing said food on the floor, Ronnie painting his crib AGAIN two days later, me breaking a glass Barrett gave me for Mother’s Day, Ronnie’s incessant whining and crying for no reason, containers falling out of the fridge every time it opened and then breaking, Annabelle telling me I’m not her mom anymore, burning my entire hand on a hot pan, and then came the trip to the commissary.
It was supposed to be a quick trip to pick up some things I needed to make a couple of meals for two new moms. I strapped Lydia into her Lilly, got a car-cart for Ronnie and Annabelle and commenced my quick run through the aisles of stark shelves. We did pretty well on time and then I saw the line. There were only two check out lanes opened so the feeder line started near the deli. My heart sank. We managed to crawl forward to the empty Rotisserie chicken case when I felt drops on my sandaled foot. What is that? Drip, drip, drip. I looked up, nothing. Then I felt how warm my middle was. Lydia’s diaper had overflowed so much it was now leaving a puddle around my foot. This was also the time that Annabelle decided to have an attitude meltdown. Nothing made her happy. So here I had a peeing two year old that was ecstatic to be alive, bouncing and laughing in her wet Lilly and my 5-year-old hating life. Ronnie continued to try and touch and grab anything in sight as we inched forward. I had to wait 40 minutes to make it the check out counter. Seriously, Lord? Really? I managed to hold my tongue and make it home to put the kids to bed. Then I called Barrett to not so elegantly let out my irritability.
Why does it work this way? Why does the Lord bombard me with the very circumstances that lead me to irritability and lack of joy rather than simply give me things that make me happy and content? His ways are not ours. Yet His ways are better. As I think about this week I see that poop was cleaned, pee was showered off, food was placed in different containers, and life went on. I told myself that I have Christ. I am forgiven of all my past and future sins not because of how good or bad I am, but because Christ chose to be the sacrifice for me. My hope for my future is secure, I have been bought with a price, I am adopted with all the rights of a first born son, the Creator of the Universe is my Father, He sees me, knows my name, and is aware of everything that happens to me. He calls me to caste my burdens on Him because He cares for me. This is what should not only give me joy and contentment; it should bleed into how I handle a little washable poop and pee. It encourages me to hold perishable things loosely and love those in front of me because I have been loved so much. I would not have to lean into these truths if not for the circumstances the Lord allowed me to have this week.
Accept, Adapt, Depend. This is what the Fight Back with Joy book is teaching me. Accept the circumstance, adapt to it, all while depending on the Lord. I like that. I’m just not ready to pray for the Lord to help me with irritability again…yet!