My Three Year Old Rant

I work full time with a three year old who has, in less than a weeks time, had two MAJOR tantrums. It was during the second one, which occurred today and was solely directed at me, that I began to ponder my own ranting behavior. Lets face it, being screamed at and punched by a very angry little boy who was expecting his mom to pick him up from school and had to settle for his uncool babysitter instead, leads to riding the roller coaster of my own personal emotional track.

The meltdown began when he saw my face greet him at the car rather than his beloved mother. I get that. His father has been away overseas for five days already and life is just not normal. Routines are all over the place and frankly, the dude misses his Daddy. So, for someone other than Mommy to be picking him up from school...well that was just too much handle.

Irrational? In my practical mature 35years old brain, of course it was irrational. The screeching, the punching, the excessive tears, and the determined, "I DONT LIKE YOU"s were a bit over the top considering it wasnt as if he wasnt going to see his mom again in just a few short hours.

But there was absolutely nothing that would console him. Soothing words were screamed over and firm words only evoked an onslaught of kicks against the back of my seat. So, I chose to stay silent and wait out the crisis.

Though the tears subsided, and the sniffles minimized, the rant was only on a recess by the time we reached home. The fury reared its ugliness again. More hitting, more screaming. I picked up the little dude, and without any of the expected resistance, I carried him upstairs to his room and put him in time out.

"Just GO AWAY! Just GO AWAY!" continued to echo throughout the house, as I made my way back to the kitchen to work - and separate myself from my own frustrations and anger.

It was very easy for me to get caught up in the way I was being 'mistreated'. No one likes being hit and punched and screamed at, even if it is from a three years old and its obviously not a personal attack. But still....I had a choice before me.

I could easily allow myself to grow angrier and angrier at the ridiculous display and allow my own logical parenting skills to chastise and condemn the methods that have brought this little man to the place where he now sees it okay to scream at adults and demand his rights to their face! I could have built up myself by reminding myself that if he was my child, I would have been a lot more firmer in consequencing this behavior out of him. (No TV for the rest of the week!!! Lets show HIM whose boss!)

I had a brief moment of such thoughts surge within me and the glittery road on which they were advertised entice me to come along for the fantasy tour...

Hmmm, tantalizing indeed.

And then... that twinge of compassion whispered in my ear so quietly, I wondered if it was just the wind blowing the leaves outside. Compassion? Empathy? Let him off the hook? Are you kidding?

How is he ever gonna learn? Who else is going to teach him this is NOT how we act in our society?

Though I wish that I was the kind of person who immediately erred on the side of grace by turning the other cheek, I will admit that these thoughts are often the furthest from my mind and the least natural to my personality. I actually resisted the compassion more than I did the anger - even though I KNEW the anger was foolish and unwarranted.

So, what changed in those brief moments in which I started off thinking of how to use this experience as a teachable lesson to grow from, was not a result of my awesomeness and gentle demeanor. They were nothing short of an intervention from Holy Spirit Himself!

I re-entered the little dudes bedroom by force after he slammed his closet door enough times I began to worry about the hinges. Upon hearing my ascent upstairs, he barricaded himself against his door with all 35lbs of his will in a hope to keep me from coming in.

I took one look at the sweat drenched, tear stained, fist raised, fire ball curled up on the floor and felt nothing but sheer love and tenderness toward him. Without a word, I picked him up, cuddled him into my arms - which he was more than willing to melt into - and just sat on his bed, holding him. We didn't speak for nearly twenty minutes. Just sat as his sobs subsided and his strong personality found its way back to its inactive state. He curled himself up into my arms, trying to make sure that he was held in tight, and I thought about the tender, fearless, ridiculous love of God my Father.

No better word than scandalous to describe it.

The undeserved, joy compelled love endowed upon unworthy me through Christ that is so irrational and full of warmth that I couldn't help but be in awe of my Savior for those twenty minutes this afternoon.

Worn out and bruised from being the punching bag, I thought of my beaten Lord upon the cross, reaching to one more sinner in His very last moments ... His LOVE compelled Him.

His love for US, compelled Him on that cross.

And I thought about how, in recent months I've ranted and raved just like an irrational three year old. Unable to see the end of the day from my vantage point, Im furiously angry at God for the things He is doing, or not doing, in my life, for my life.

I refuse to listen any longer to the words of comfort and hope passed on by well wishers and those whose faith has not been dragged through my emotional sewage line, and instead I just scream with angry tears about how completely unfair God is being toward me....

I justify my behavior because I do recognize the audacity and arrogance in which I am quietly fuming, so I divert my selfishness to instead get angry at God on others behalf.

Kristen dying, even though God made her a promise! That fire raged at God for a good long time and Im pretty sure is still not completely smoldered. There may never been answers in this lifetime, but man oh man, Im gonna give God an earful regularly!
My friends, who are so full of love that their hearts are bursting, but  are still unable to conceive or carry a child into this world to share that love with.
The stories I hear of unwanted babies being born into unloved arms and marriages that are crashing and burning - or on the verge of - for reasons not much stronger than the three year old irrational rant.
And these are ALL N.American, First World rants. Dont even get me started about the injustice and inequality of the world as a whole!

I argue with God that even if my own situation is not of His concern, at least He could manage to lift a finger to help those whose aches run deeper than mine. I scream from behind my door: “JUST DO SOMETHING! ARE YOU EVEN THERE? CAN YOU HEAR ME? BECAUSE YOURE DOING A GREAT JOB OF IGNORING ME!!!!!”

And then I hear Him coming up the stairs and in a fury of tattered pride, I barricade myself against my bedroom door as if the Creator of the Universe would be incapable of breeching my security.

I expect a reprimand.
I expect a detailed explained lesson in patience; of the difference between God's time and my time and blah, blah, blah....
"God, I just can't bear to hear it again. Can't you see my heart is in pain. There are needs all around me and I can't do anything to aid them and I feel so helpless and sorrow filled, and I just don't think that I can handle one more speech; one more sermon; one more song about holding fast. Can't you see Jesus, Im just so so so sad...."
And my Savior opens the door in one fluid motion, my barricade being of no resistance, and He looks down at me sprawled upon the floor, and with tender mercy in His eyes, He quietly reaches down and picks me up and sits me in the chair and quiets my soul....

Just like He promised He would.

Reflecting on a Thanksgiving Weekend

Reflections on a Thanksgiving Weekend

I've been meaning to write a follow up email since last Thursday's quick morning note regarding Kristen's memorial service. But instead, I've sort of wallowed in the taskless weekend with my parents and got a lot of sleep. Not that I mind in the least putting my mind to focus and coming up with a way to describe to you the beautiful day Thursday was, but I also know that putting my mind to focus means feeling pain.

And, it was during the memorial service that I first realized I've done a wonderful job of running from pain for six months. I've pushed aside my frustrations over the current plight of my entire life (namely, singleness) and instead just sifted through the shallow waters of menial tasks. That's not to say I haven't had some exceptional conversations and times spent with friends. Its just that in my own personal time, in my prayer life, my church attendance life and pretty much anything related-God life, I've been going through the motions for sure!

It took attending Kristen's beautiful life celebration service for me to recognize the depths to which I had allowed myself to drop the ball.
While Kristen faced death, and continued to choose day after day to honor and worship Christ despite her physical pain and the unknown future, I ran from God because I was tired of hoping for better things that just never showed up how I wanted them to.
Im not facing death - and never have to my knowledge. Im not in any sort of crisis that would justify my blatant disregard for friendships or world justice. I've just chosen to be angry with my life situation and make it God's fault.
Its been the small things of compromise that maybe you can't see, but I know are screaming at me with vengeance saying, "Do you really believe what you're subtly living? Do you really want to make these choices?"
I hope in fact, you have been oblivious to these compromises, because Im embarrassed of them. But at the same time, if you have seen nothing much different from me or in me over the last six months, God forgive me for knowing how to go through the motions so well!

I made a choice Thursday morning when I wrote my previous note, that I was going to dive head first into worship during the service. I didn't even make it to the service to start. Yes, worship for me is often characterized by singing to Christ, but its actually more than that. I spent the first four hours of the morning at the church prepping for the luncheons for both services (one family, one public). I didn't even  stop to sit once until it was time to go to my seat. Service is an act of worship also.
When Kristen's mom came into quickly say hi to all of her friends helping set up the reception, I broke down in tears. I immediately knew, there was no way I could have missed this day and still managed to carry on with my act of "Christian ease"

There is something powerful to be found in community. Or, as my friend Kate says, "her village" There's no expectation to like everyone in that community, but when all hearts are mourning together, there is a power and a strength that makes you realize you dont want to live without it, even in the face of personalities that drive you batty!

I cried through the entire service. From the time Mike (her husband) walked in carrying their oldest son (Beckett), I never stopped crying. And not just a quiet tears falling down my cheeks sort of cry. I cried the "ugly cry" of sobbing and shaking and sniffling. Only I was trying to be quiet and not distract from the beauty taking place in celebrating Kristen, so I had to choke back a lot of sobs and hold my breath til I composed myself numerous times. I'd grabbed a wad of kleenex from the box in the car before I'd left that morning and I was tearing through them like they were vapor, unable to catch the flow of joy and pain rushing from my eyes. I finally gave up trying to catch them and instead worked on pulling off my mascara so as not to have streaks. It was a better idea for sure!

Kristen's funeral was well attended. 1300+ people in attendance. As I mentioned last time her story had been covered by the news here in Edmonton so there were a few public faces (ones I would never have recognized) and many people who had just followed her story through the television.
But, as I sat there, completely broken, and yet finding my own heart healing as well, I recognized the greatest guest of all was Christ Himself.

As Kristen's dad said to us after, "Kristen would have wanted the service to honor Christ, and we wanted to honor her. It was a perfect blend"
From the specifically chosen worship songs, proclaiming the babe born in a manger (yes indeed there was a Christmas carol sung), to her own sister miraculously holding it together to play piano and sing the favorite song between them, to the worship leader breaking down for nearly thirty seconds before the congregational sing - and at just the right time to to make sure the flow of the service didn't wash over the impact of the sister's tribute. We all sat in silence while the worship leader attempted to compose herself three times and the words of Kennedy lingered in our ears. To the final song - sung by her entire extended family: cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents included:
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him all creatures here below. Praise Him above the heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen"
Every single moment of the hour and a half service brought your attention to Christ Jesus, by honoring a woman who chose to love Him faithfully and passionately to the very very end of her earthly life.
I can't remember ever being in such a beautiful environment. Not that I wish to experience this sort of loss ever again. But the trade off, somehow, in the end, was worth it.

Kristen lived her life honoring God despite her pain and her loss and her lack of understanding as to what was happening in her body. She chose to believe in a bigger good that required her to lose her life.
Oh that I would live the same.
Oh that my life would reflect the same.
Oh that we all would understand the love of Christ that is so wide, so deep, so high and so long, that it can not be explained and leaves other baffled in the face of death and suffering.

Our God is Good. Undeniably. And I know, that I know, that I know, that His good is at work in my life, in spite of what I might feel or experience or believe about my own current circumstances.

Surely, if Kristen could see that Goodness, morning by morning, certainly I owe it to her memory to attempt the same.

"Praise God, from whom all blessings DO FLOW!"

Happy Thanksgiving my friends!

The Hardest Day - Thursday October 9, 2013

Friends,

I started writing this email a few days ago, and then without warning, my device just stopped. The draft wasn't even saved, and all my words and emotions and thoughts were lost.

It might have been for the best to be honest, because I wasn't really in a polite frame of mind when I first sat down.

Not that I will be able to gloss over my feelings now either, but I will put a little more effort into my word choice.

 

In about four hours I will be at a funeral for a thirty years old mother of three. TODAY will be the hardest day of my life - without a question!

I grew up with Kristen and her family as part of my regular social life. Our parents are close friends and we regularly saw each other at church and then often on weekends also for family get togethers or summer time bbq's.

There's a whole slew of us that have lived alongside one another from the time we were first born, because our parents had been friends since they were teenagers themselves.

Now, the group has grown so incredibly big, with grandchildren in the picture, that we'd need a hall to fit us all in!

 

Having moved to Ottawa over fourteen years ago, I had definitely fallen out of the niche this community offers. Im probably closer to my parents' friends now than I am to their children who are my age, simply because time, distance and young children make it hard to keep close. I get it, and I understand it.

But that doesn't nullify this deep deep pain of loss.

 

When I was seventeen I started youth ministry at my church in Edmonton. I spent the first year out of high school mentoring five girls I had grown up with, but were young enough to still be in jr. high and have need of a youth leader. I LOVED IT; and I loved the girls. I had known all of them since they were born anyway, but this was now a time for us to do silly things on retreats and conventions and to laugh ourselves to sleep in hotel rooms or camp dorms.

Kristen was one of these girls.

 

All five of these girls are now grown, married and have children of their own. I learn about their lives through my parents and vice versa.

Three years ago Kristen's mother in law died of cancer in a very short time. It was a shock. Shortly after, Kristen, pregnant with her third little boy, was diagnosed with the same cancer if you can believe it! They gave her a year, two at most if they started chemo immediately.
She refused treatment until Lincoln was born and opted instead to do a natural medicine route that is not practiced in Canada.
More than a year into her diagnosis, she was thriving. Though the medical reports continued to come back saying she was getting worse and the cancer was spreading, you would have never known that she was even sick. She was still at home, caring for her boys, writing and singing about Jesus.

She held to a promise that God would heal her and she lived that testimony to the fullest.

 

As time continued however, the cancer leeched into all of her body. She was fighting tumors in her brain as well as throughout her body. Chemo and radiation were began, and she slowly became susceptible to infections.

Two weeks ago she went into the hospital with pneumonia and never came out. She went to meet Jesus last Friday morning.

 

Some may think that her death shouts that God is silent. And for a while I wanted to believe that also. I wanted to blame Him for His inaction. I wanted to scream at Him that He broke His promise to her and let her die prematurely. And while I still haven't reconciled myself to her death, I have captured something: Kristen lived her life in absolute faith of Jesus Christ. It wasn't a faith that depended upon her healing or upon her life lasting for eighty years. She chose to believe that God was sovereign and Lord inspite of what was happening in her body.

 

I honor her by choosing the same.

Today at her funeral, you know what I look forward to the most?

Worshipping!

Kristen was a worshipper. Her life was a song of glorification to her Savior.

And last night, as I sat in silence at the airport, exhausted from a long day and time change, I began to listen to worship music.

I do not have the answers.

I do not have a solid explanation that would help you understand.

But I have an assurance, a confidence. One that defies reason. And in that I CHOOSE to hold.

God is GOOD - even in the darkest, ugliest moments of life.

 

Pray for the family today. Kristen's boys are all under five. Her husband ... I can't even imagine what he's going through right now.
Pray for them all. Pray for her dad who has lost his baby girl. Her mom and her sister who have lost a best friend.

 

There's no words to say that will make this day easier, so don't feel you have to write back. My mind probably wont be able to respond to anything that comes through this inbox today, so just take a moment, instead of writing, to simply pray!

 

With Love,

meLissa