"FINE!! Then I am never coming out of the garage again!!" The emotional torrent rained from my daugter's mouth as she stood in gritted defiance at the doorway, watching me take her sister's favorite toy back into the house. "Then I'll never have any fun again!!" she declared as I calmly shut the door in her angry face and walked away. Dare I say she is a Drama Queen? There's just no pleasing her, was my thought as I chuckled at her futile attempt to control her own way, knowing all the while that I did indeed know what was best that day.
As the all-powerful Mom raising an emotionally dramatic daughter, I see the futility of it all. I see the big picture, I see the waste of energy, I see that the reality to which she is responding every time she acts that way is truly for her own good. I am teaching her something important every time I calmly walk away from her attempts to control what is best for her without her possibly understanding enough to even know what is truly best for her. I love her so much despite the tyrades and tears. Her failure to trust my wisdom and guidance do no diminish at all the deep love I feel for her. It makes perfect sense to me, even though it may make no sense to her at the time. And I have never failed to see her come back inside the house, or eat again, or drink again, or have fun again, despite whatever desperate threat she may have made. I have the privilege at smiling at what she thinks is hopeless and terminal. Her red-faced frustration. Her helpless feelings. Her frustration. The futility of it all. It is all so very five-year-old.
Or is it?
I spent from June 2001 through June 2008 either pregnant or breastfeeding. Literally, I was pregnant, gave birth, nursed, weaned, got pregnant, gave birth, nursed, got pregnant, weaned, gave birth, nursed, weaned, got pregnant, gave birth, had my tubes tied, nursed, and then finally weaned baby #6. I have spent a total of 43 months lactating for my babes over my lifetime as a mother, and even longer getting up in the night for a child. Even when the most recent babe had been weaned and was finally sleeping, I would be so pregant again that I could hardly buy a decent night's rest. Let's just say that I, like many Moms before and yet to come, I was tired. Dog tired.
"That's it! I'm never going to feel rested again! I'll never have a decent night's sleep again! I'm going to die exhausted!!" I may have said that once or twice....or a thousand times. I may have stood in gritted defiance spilling an emotional torrent in my bedroom doorway as the current dependant babe had awoken me again. Maybe I did that.
OK, I so totally did that. I am a Drama Queen too.
Now that my youngest is three years old and has been weaned for two years, she sleeps like a champ, and I sleep like a log. I would venture to guess that I am only wakened in the night an average of once month, maybe even less. Sure, my Mommy Radar is tuned so well that if my bedroom door even sweeps across the carpet my eyes pop open, but I have learned to otherwise sleep so soundly and peacefully that I oftentimes will sleep right through a thunderstorm. It is delicious.
And I now fully understand that when I would throw my immature, sleep-deprived fits in the middle of the night, the Lord was just sitting up there smiling down on me, in all His wise glory, calmly seeing the futility of it all. He saw the big picture, He saw the waste of energy, He saw that the reality to which I was responding every time I acted that way, was truly for my own good and the good of my babies. He was teaching me something important every time He calmly and quietly sat by me during my attempts to control what was best for my family, without me possibly understanding enough to even know what is truly best for me. He loves me so much despite the tyrades and tears. My failure to trust His wisdom and guidance do not diminish at all the deep love He feels for me. It all makes perfect sense to Him, even though my trials may make no sense to me at the time. He has the privilege at smiling at what I think is hopeless and terminal. My red-faced frustration. My helpless feelings. My frustration. The futility of it all.
For we know in all things the Lord works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28
I praise God that I am at least smart enough to worship a Father who loves me despite me, and who is always working my life's details out for my good. He is so glorious that way. I pray you know that as well. Have a blesssed day, fully trusting Him, and no tantrums allowed.
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