I just put my kids to bed. Except I didn’t. I mean, I took them to their rooms after family prayers and I kissed and hugged each one and turned off lights and closed doors. But when I came into my office and sat down, I’ve been interrupted now 5–make that 6–times by four children in less than five minutes. They’ve come for extra hugs and to tell me how something flicked into their eye when they were brushing their teeth and how they aren’t sure they got a hug from Daddy. They’ve come out because they heard someone else out here, so they didn’t want to miss out on something. And now they’re making so much noise running between rooms and laughing that I’m going to have to go back down the hall to quiet them. Excuse me…
I’m back.
So here it is, not even 9:00 p.m., and the urge to absolutely SNAP at one of my children, the next one who crosses the threshold of their bedroom specifically, is very, very real.
And I know I should practice forgiveness. Nothing they’re doing is wrong. It’s not immoral. They’re holding glow sticks on their upper lips so it looks like they have neon mustaches. In all honesty, it’s funny, if I let it be.
But I’m more annoyed than amused. WHY? Because it’s inconvenient. Because I’ve been “on” all day, and I really want a few minutes to type this out. Instead, I was interrupted ONE more time by a child who was working herself up into absolute angst (I can only guess the drama that awaits when this child hits puberty) over a song from music class today about a boy who got eaten by a snake.
And I wanted to tell her to buck up, go back to bed and go.to.sleep!!!!!
I didn’t, though. She needs my honest attention. She needs me not to cater to her contrived fear. It’s not really that she’s afraid. It’s that she wants someone to see her. So in my heart, I practice forgiveness, and I look her in the eye. I promise her that there is no snake anywhere near here big enough to eat her. I play her a silly song on the computer and then move the bluetooth speaker to her room so she can listen to VeggieTales’ silly songs.
I want to be angry because it makes me feel better. Anger tells me that I can WIN this time. But at great and terrible cost.
The heart of a child.
The modeling of an unkind response.
The choice to ignore all that I’ve been forgiven of.
It might feel better for a minute–anger. So I too-often choose it over forgiveness. But I am learning to let it go and, in moments like tonight, I’m always glad I did.
