No More Holy Hissy Fits

I’ve decided that I can’t be mad at God anymore.

I am not constantly mad at God, but sometimes it feels like a default setting for me.   When times get hard, especially an ongoing trial that is out of my control, my reaction tends to be extreme frustration.  

Maybe mad is not the right word.  Rather, I should say argumentative.  Mostly it consists of me trying to convince God that He has brought this trial to the wrong person.

I try to convince Him of this in many ways.  First, I show Him I.D.  “See you brought this trial to me. To Stephanie. I believe you were looking for someone stronger, wiser, more organized.  Try down the block.”  Next, I might cite past history. “Remember when I had a meltdown because I didn’t make homecoming court? Is that really the kind of person you want handling this?  I’ll most likely, not make You look good. So…”   I remind Him that I break easily.  

When I’m not convincing Him that He has the wrong person, I shift the argument to the fact that the trial has been long enough.  That my endurance, that anyone’s endurance really, would have timed out by now.  As if I am informing Him of a kettle that has been on too long.  Or that His cookies will burn if He doesn’t pull them out of the heat.  

So see, I’m not mad; I’m just trying to make a point.

This is putting it all too nicely.  The truth is, when I face yet another situation, when what we struggle with gets uniquely hard, when another doctor has no answers, when sickness dictates that we can’t attend another activity as a family, then I coil up inside.  I coil and say in an altogether snotty voice, “You’re not listening.  You don’t care.”

I’ve mentioned this before, but this angst against God is really more about me trying to hold God hostage with a good old-fashioned tantrum.  I think, if I’m convincing enough, He’ll swoop in and say “No, no, look, I hear.  No, I care. See, I’ll fix this for you.”

In these tantrums I hold up promises, promises like “mighty to save,”  “I will not leave you comfortless,” “God is a healer.”  I hold them up, and in a bratty teenage snark I mumble, “Prove it.” (Yup, I too wonder why my hairs are not singed from lightning strikes.  But as I have said before, “My sweet Lord always hears the wounds louder than the words.”)

I thought about this a few weeks ago as I was experiencing some “parenting scenarios.”  

It happened on a day when my little one had missed her nap, and it was past her bedtime.  We were having a large meltdown.  It revolved around not wanting to put on pj’s and a few other small things that were too much for an over-tired three-year-old mind.  And for all my “parenting strategies” and reasoning, she was just too tired to listen.  

Finally, the whole episode resulted in me putting her to sleep in my bed, stroking her hair from her face, and just saying “I love you” over and over again.  

She would fuss, “I don’t want to be here.”  

To which I would respond, “I know sweetie. Shhh. I love you. I love you.”

Then my smart kiddo looked at me quizzically and asked, “How many I love you’s are you gonna say?” 

I chuckled. “As many as it takes sweetie.  A whole basket-full.”

“I don’t want to sleep.  I want my dress.”

“I know.  Shhhh. I love you. I love you.”

And as her eyes began to droop, mine filled with thick glassy tears. My “I love you” became the voiceless moving of my mouth, as I couldn’t speak through the lump in my throat.  I choked back the sloppy tears and continued the “I love you’s.”

It occurred to me that night that this is what the Lord is doing to me.  I stomp and fume and demand what I want.  I don’t listen to reason.  I’m not able to see any other way.  But He knows what I need, and when I refuse to understand, He is forever patient.  And whispers,“I love you.  I love you.”  

“But I don’t want to be in this trial.”

“I love you. I love you.”

The Lord says “I love you” to me in a hundred different ways.  In the loving support of our families, in the goofy sweetness of our little girl, in the kindness of my amazing husband.  God shows His love to me in the encouragement of His word, in the prayers and well wishes of friends.  In every listening ear, warm hug, kind smile, and helping hand.  He uses the saints to pour out His love towards me, again and again.

“How many I love you’s are you gonna say?”

“As many as it takes.”

During our episode the other night, our little girl couldn’t understand why I was sticking to my guns, but she could trust in my love. And eventually, she rested in that.

That night, the Lord began working on my heart. 

A weekend or so later, we had another health setback, coupled by close friends of ours dealing with some devastating health news for their son.  And I coiled up, I didn’t understand such sadness, and my mind couldn’t stop running with thoughts that asked and demanded things of the Lord.  

Finally, while I was walking to get something out of my car, I stopped in my tracks and muttered, “I can’t do this anymore.”  

I can’t argue with God any more over things I don’t understand.  It’s tiring.  

Tragedy and trials are just a part of all of our lives.  It’s just the way this fallen world works.  And if our current trials pass, there will be others.  And this M. O. has to go.

About a week later I was having a hard time over something else, and through the tears and worry I just kept praying, “I’m not gonna be mad at You.”  I continued the prayer asking the Lord to fix me.  Asking for Him to step in and take that part of me that coils up and fill it with something else.  

Because the more I think about how I parent when my child throws a tantrum, and how the Lord deals with me, the more I see that the parallels just keep going. There are a lot, actually.

But the thought I keep mulling over is, what am I trying to teach my daughter, when I don’t give in to that kind of fit?  I don’t want her to think that’s how things are done.  I want her to respect me and my authority.  I want her to trust that I have her best interests at heart. Overall, I’m trying to teach her how to be a person.  I am trying to instill the maturity it takes to not get what we want and still function.  I am “growing her up” for lack of a better phrase.  

In short, I am trying to help her become the best sort of person she could be.

And I know that the Lord is doing all that, and infinitely more, with me.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” –Philippians 1:6 

So I will still ask the Lord for things He has not yet granted.  And I will still go boldly before the “throne of grace” as commanded. But no more tantrums.  

No more fits.  Just me trying to figure out what it looks like to be “grown up” in the Lord. And holding His “I love you’s” close to my heart.  A whole basket-full.