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.