unconditional love
I was wishing her ill-will. And I hated it. Someone had wronged us (at least that’s how I felt) and I wanted nothing more than to retaliate. I was frustrated and angry.
I knew it wasn’t right to have these thoughts—certainly wasn’t a common occurrence for me to feel this way— and yet I did. I couldn’t shake it. I walked around unable to think well of this person and their slight of us, coming up with all the things I’d like to say to her, ashamedly, all very unkind.
“I’m angry,” I whispered to my husband later that evening, “and I hate it. Hate what she’s done. Hate that I want to wish her ill-will. Hate that I have such awful thoughts about another human being. But I especially hate that I feel so helpless and out of control to do anything about the situation.”
And there was the heart of my anger, truly, I hate when things are beyond my ability to control and that, most often, expresses itself as anger.
It’s a familiar struggle in my life.
It rears it’s ugly head when my kids don’t obey me or my husband Kyle doesn’t take the advice I’ve offered.
Kyle, who is often much more even- keeled and level-headed than I, looked at me with love and sympathy in his eyes, “Honey,” he stated, “what good will it do to hold onto your anger? You can’t control it, you need to let it go.”
I knew it wasn’t right to have these thoughts—certainly wasn’t a common occurrence for me to feel this way— and yet I did. I couldn’t shake it. I walked around unable to think well of this person and their slight of us, coming up with all the things I’d like to say to her, ashamedly, all very unkind.
And there was the heart of my anger, truly, I hate when things are beyond my ability to control and that, most often, expresses itself as anger.
It’s a familiar struggle in my life.
It rears it’s ugly head when my kids don’t obey me or my husband Kyle doesn’t take the advice I’ve offered.
Kyle, who is often much more even- keeled and level-headed than I, looked at me with love and sympathy in his eyes, “Honey,” he stated, “what good will it do to hold onto your anger? You can’t control it, you need to let it go.”
This morning I forgot what day of the week it was. If it weren’t for school and the few activities my kids are in each week, I may never remember the dates as the year rolls on with no clear differentiation between one 24-hour period and the next. At times, life can seem rote and mundane.
My forgetfulness isn't because I don’t have things to do; in fact, if you haven’t heard we’re writing a book. WE’RE. WRITING. A. BOOK. And after having four deadlines this summer and, now, looming edits due to our editor (the second of which just passed, thank you, Jesus), I feel extra pressure to put my head down and whittle away at stories a little at a time. Sometimes I forget the joy, the magnitude of seeing a dream fulfilled with the pressure to actually do the work that it takes to finish the project. (Dreams have a way of being way more work than you ever imagined, who knew?)
Thanks
for being with us as we co-host for Make A Difference Monday, a place
to get intentional about starting our week focused on the positive and
dream up ways we can make a difference in the world.
 |
| Four generations of women in my family. |
Mother's day. This day brings a deep appreciation for my mom.
She is my safe person - the person I can call, sobbing, without a thought as to what she will think of me for breaking down, for freaking out, for momentarily just wanting to run away and go live on the beach of a deserted island.
She can handle my worst self and loves me anyway. She looks beyond my words in order to listen to my heart, and when she speaks, she speaks truth - even when it is hard to hear.
The beautiful thing is that my mom, as much as I love her, is not the only woman who mothers me, has mothered me, will mother me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Social Icons