The whining. The smears on so many things. The number of times you hear, "mommy, I want... " My biggest pitfall as a parent is the sheer repetitiveness of it all. It is as though after I've pulled out a snack for the hundredth time, or was patient with their tired antics for so many nights, or smiled sweetly and answered the thousandth "why" that I lose it. No more! I can't hold back the frustration and I let it out. After all, how much toll can one take? I'm human! "You have crossed me, for the last time." Even on days when you feel superhuman, and have an extra dollop of Holy-Spirit-infused patience, there still seems to be a point at which you can't tolerate the irritating sound of fidgeting children for another second. "JUST STOP!" suddenly flies out of your mouth like a cannonball launched at the children, who are shocked into a stunned silence. Oh. Wait. That's other peoples' children who look stunned when their mothers yell. I think mine just sigh and moan, “But I just need to do it!" What do we really mean, anyway, when we say we've "lost our patience" ? I don't think we mean, "Oh, my store of that virtue has run out" or "Now this is something worth being truly angry about." I think often it means, "I lost control" or "I didn't really feel like being patient with this anymore" or “Poop, again." We often ask God to give us patience, quickly adding the caveat that we don't need more reasons for patience, we have plenty of those already. He certainly gives us no shortage of opportunities with normal children.
What does patience really feel like? From our perspective, not the child's. Sometimes I feel profoundly patient, but I don't think there is as much virtue there. It is one thing to gently help another with a spill or charitably correct a fault when we're calm, well fed, and happy. What about when we're under-slept, "hangry" and irritable? My patience bucket feels pretty low in that mode. The itch to release my adult temper tantrum when my patience threshold is reached seems too much to bear, no matter how many cookies I have stashed away for after bedtime. Too many times I lose control and blow up and turn into a crazy woman barking demands. And yet, if I somehow manage to clench my jaws shut and take a pause, I can shout in a softer voice when I discover the disaster that happened while my back was turned. Maybe I can even manage a “Forgive me, I'm a bit grumpy right now." Patience often feels like a caged lion, being petted and shushed while it rages at anger, reaching and clawing at revenge. Patience often means being reasonable with the eye-rolls, not your child's, but the ones inside of you when your Jiminy Cricket side reminds you of how to be kind. Patience means feeling like a moron where fake words come from your mouth and fake actions are taken by your body, because doing what you know is right still feels fake when your emotions are in conflict. Isn't this what we hope our children can learn to do? Patience means doing the nice things you told yourself you would do when it feels like it goes against nature. Patience involves biting your tongue and asking, “What hurts?" to the one you want to throttle. It means stepping out in empathy when you'd rather blame and get at “justice." Patience means still being the leader and teacher you are called to be when all you want is a nap. Lord give me patience.
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JpgA mother, pondering what it means to be loved. CategoriesArchives
March 2017
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