How often do you feel guilty about how you've handled an exchange with your kids? Or with your husband?
Okay, don't answer that. Too depressing, right?
I have a story about this. Read on if you can sit a spell.
Earlier this week I took to the backyard with my baby, my preschooler, and my eight year old. Baby Beth, like all my babies, loves the outdoors. They
all made a habit of standing by our front door, peering up at me with pleading eyes, hoping I'd stop the chores and put on their shoes and mine.
And how can I resist? Freedom. Babies love it. Houses contain far too many no nos.
Once out there I had to keep pulling Beth away from our so-called porch, created by the previous owner using large, square, brick tiles. Grass and weeds grow in between the tiles, making an unsightly mess I have little time to manage. There is no porch overhang, so rain and snow pound any items we leave out there, including trash cans.
Now my husband loves the outdoors, but not outdoor work. He routinely mows but never edges our yard, and neither of us make time to weed it on a regular basis. In short, our yard doesn't impress our neighbors. I suppose I've learned to accept it, with the hope that when my children are older, I'll have time to spruce it up, creating my own little piece of heaven.
Well. A small trash can sits out there, used in the warm months for disposing of dirty diapers. Husband unfortunately put things in there without a trash bag liner, on occasion.
Apparently, last fall--the last time we needed it--he put a filled diaper in there as well as other trash. Despite no bag! Then, he never took care of it before the winter temps and snow arrived. All winter it remained filled, with no liner, and with the lid partially dislodged.
Beth wouldn't stay away from it, or from other dirty things on our so-called porch. What should have been a fun backyard time ended up exasperating me. I couldn't play ball with Mary or Peter, or do anything other than pull Beth away from no no's.
I decided that cleaning up simply couldn't wait. I quickly gathered some gloves and a trash bag from the house, dumped the trash can--half-filled with water--onto the grass, and began bagging the trash.
Oh, people! I almost gagged. It was so smelly and disgusting--very upsetting to all my senses.
Anger welled up in me.
Making matters worse, Mary has a fear of bees, and began crying for me to take her inside. The baby also began crying. Peter was asked to keep the girls away from me, but couldn't manage the task. I was totally incapable of comforting, since my hands, although gloved, were mixing with very dirty things.
I was
never more angry with my husband than at that moment! Trying not to gag, I bagged just as quickly as I could--even as I realized that the diaper he left in there had disintegrated in the water, leaving chunks of wet, awful-smelling poop for me to pick up.
The girls kept coming close to me, only to then cry louder as I sternly told them to stay away from the dirty mess.
Did I mention the neighbor behind us was a witness to this, as he mowed his lawn?
Inside I raged, wondering how husband could be so irresponsible and careless. I confess I started to cry from the stink, and from the stress of having crying kids in my midst.
My son stayed near me, sensing the unraveling of my sanity. He asked why I was crying. Instead of just saying how awful the smell was, I told him I was really, really, really mad at Daddy, because he doesn't keep the yard safe and clean for children to use.
As soon as the words left my sinful mouth, I grieved. Then I cried over my shame. How awful to drag my son into my anger at my husband! How awful a wife and mother could I be? How disrespectful to say such a thing about his Daddy! (Their relationship already has its problems, due to Peter's ADHD symptoms and the stress they cause Daddy).
I could tell my words hurt Peter. At that moment though, I was still so angry. I didn't retract my words or apologize to my son. The girls were still distraught, and I needed to hurry.
After finishing the dreadful clean up, I scurried into the house to disinfect my hands and change my clothes. Then I went back out and scooped up the whining girls, bringing them inside. I nursed the baby down after giving Mary a snack.
Then, I called my husband. Relaying my ordeal, I angrily criticized him. He said he would have taken care of it as soon as he'd gotten home, so why hadn't I just waited?
Well, the answer is that I hate giving him Honey Do chores. It makes me feel like a drippy faucet wife. Why can't he just put value on having a safe and clean yard, and to that end, deal effectively with trash? It seemed like something I was going to have to do myself, if I wasn't willing to nag. I was the one bothered by the mess, not him.
Still very angry, as well as thirsty, hungry, and headachy, I hung up on him after saying my peace.
I ate something and took some Excedrin, all the while feeling like a witch for how I'd treated my husband.
I called back and apologized, saying I had no right to treat him so disrespectfully, regardless of my anger.
You won't find a more forgiving husband than mine. He never holds grudges, and kisses me within several minutes of any little tiff. My heart melts easily from this treatment. Now.
Years ago, it took me longer.
My son--who will probably remember this fiasco longer than Mommy and Daddy--asked if I was talking to Daddy, just as I shut the cell phone off.
"Yes, I was."
"Did you tell him you were mad about the poopy diaper?"
"Yes, I called him and yelled at him. Then, I called him back and apologized."
"Why did you apologize?"
"Because even when we have reason for anger, it's never okay to treat someone disrespectfully. Mommy was wrong to get so angry at Daddy. I'm sorry for my behavior, Peter. We should always apologize when we do something wrong. The Holy Spirit gives us a clear message when we need to apologize."
My son just looked at me. No words. But in his eyes, I saw relief. Mercy, even, for his imperfect Momma.
I am responsible for how he views his dad. He gets his cues from my respect, or lack thereof.
My tone isn't always respectful. My heart not always forgiving of husband's tossed-aside dirty socks, and sloppy ways.
Each time my tongue and my heart sin against husband, I'm mindful of the effects on my children. And yet my shame never seems to be enough to deter my heart. I sin again, the very next time I'm over-burdened with chores and feeling overwhelmed with my life.
My behavior erodes the children's respect for their father, and ultimately, their respect for me. It makes me a hypocrite, as I talk to them about the ways of Jesus.
My heart's audacity this last time--as I told my son I was angry at his father--frightened me. Will I
never learn the gentle-and-quiet spirit thing?
The answer is no. I never will. I'll never be the perfect wife. The perfect mother. The perfect neighbor.
I do, every day, let my kids hear me thank God for my husband...for his hard work, for his love, for his forgiveness, for his kindness. I pray they'll remember my thanks-giving as they grow up and develop their own marriage relationships.
Lesson: Thank God for your spouse, even on those days you can't stand him (her)--e
specially when you can't stand him.
What's the answer, I ask myself often, to continually disappointing myself, and my children, in my parenting? I want so dearly to raise God-loving children, but how can I be believable? How can I truly impact them for Christ, despite my sinfulness?
I think I know the answer, after all these parenting years. Eight years, that is. That smelly poop was a blessing!
We have to confess our on-going sinfulness to our kids--admit to them that we'll never be the perfect parents their hearts desire. When they witness our repentance before God, they'll know how to deal with their own sin. They'll let go of pride, readily.
"Don't look at
me, Son. I'm a sinner like you. Without Jesus, I am nothing. Keep your eyes heavenward. There, you will find your inner peace...your joy....your perfect parent."
If we were perfect parents--successfully meeting our child's every need--what need would they have of God then?
