My natural posture is not thankfulness. She follows me around from room to room, asking millions of questions. Seriously, millions. And she wants so much from me, and I try to give it, and then I get tired. Emotionally tired. Bickering and whining, crying and demanding... I'm not enjoying her company, and I feel guilty, but it's true. The discontent carries me and I wish to be anywhere but here, though I have no idea where that is. Isn't that the hole I inherited from our first mother? The dog I thanked Him for (#3 if you recall), poops on the floor, and before I realize it Laney has found it and IS THAT DOG POO ON HER MOUTH!? Thankfulness doesn't bubble out when I'm squeezed, but venom. "I hate that dog!" "Michael, help me! Why did you choose NOW to go put up your hunting bag!?" I immediately regret the word "hate", a curse word to my son who is observing my reaction, recording this moment with the others. Stress, and tension, this is my default. Expecting things to be easy and then stomping my foot when they're not. Dare I even long for the goal?
"One act of thanksgiving, when things go wrong with us, is worth a thousand thanks when things are agreeable to our inclinations." Saint John of Avila
Right now I don't thank. But I do tell Him how dark I feel, and not light. And as I empty it all I sense that He carries, He fills, He heals. My venom, His grace, full and free.
3 comments:
Aw, great post. You know though I am silently, well maybe a little out loud, laughing at the poo incident, but only because I have been there! Hang on my friend.
Love the St. John of Avila quote. Amen, sister.
Thank you so much for this post. I was having a similar day like this today and yesterday. I unleashed my venom at Walmart over nail polish.Of all things, like I ever use it.I will be glad to share my tale with you.
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