I Don’t Want it That Way

It never ceases to amaze (and slightly frustrate) me how God uses situations with my children to remind me of the truth I know. It’s so blaringly obvious too, not just this subtle, “maybe that could apply to me as well.” No, it’s this in-your-face declaration of “you do know you’re behaving like a two year old, right?”

This morning Eliot decided he didn’t want his banana and breakfast bar cut up. He was perfectly content to eat those things, but for some reason, cutting them up defiled them in his mind and he’d have nothing to do with it. When he realized it was that or nothing, he broke down into hysterics. Not just the forced, dry eyed whine, but genuine, face soaking, snot running, wailing. His little heart broken over such a silly matter. What’s the deal? What’s the difference? He’s still getting what he needs. He’s still being fed. The flavor isn’t even going to change. The end is still the same. He will still be filled and fed. As I stand over him, listening to his keening I shake my head in disbelief and wonder at him.

That’s the first mistake! I’ve learned that I shouldn’t wonder, shouldn’t ponder, shouldn’t even think really about my children’s behavior if I don’t want to be convicted. Conviction follows my little monsters everywhere they go.

Anyway, as I wondered why in the world he had to freak out over a cut up breakfast bar, I couldn’t help but think about me and Andy right now. We’re not getting what we want. Not in the way we want it at least. We know were getting the best, we know the larger story is being written by a good Dad that we can trust, but we’re stuck looking at a cut up breakfast when we wanted the whole thing in our hands–our way.

And I don’t know where to go from there, because we’re stuck in that for a while. Not sure how long. Hope it’s not too long. It’s not the happiest of places. Just trying to rest in Him while we’re here, be in His presence and accept that HE is our promised land, not his stuff, not his easy gifts. That’s not always easy to remember, but it helps when I see Eliot, smiling face, full tummy, the trauma of his mutilated breakfast forgotten.