I think about writing here, but I know it will end up, like, a to-do list with bullet points or something, and really? You had to go and get yourself a blog to make your to-do list? C'mon now.
So I've promised myself no bullet points.
I had a bad day. One of the boys is being rough, and I'm trying everything I can to teach him to be gentle, and he's gentle most of the time, but you never know when the rough will pop out and bam someone in the head with the wooden spoon he's supposed to be using on the djembe. Or throw a handful of sand in someone's eye. It's normal 2 year old stuff and it, too, will pass. But oh, it's a terrible feeling to know that someone might be getting popped -or worse!- any minute of the day and despite your constant vigilance, you might not be able to prevent it. Today I failed to prevent it. Twice. Bad day.
Then in yoga, near the end of class, a class I spent in tense negotiation with the frustration I carried in with me, I heard a voice. It very distinctly said: Change your reaction.
And I knew it didn't mean change the reaction I offered the child. It meant change how I feel about it. Which sucks because I felt rather entitled to my frustration.
Not that it's doing me any good.
So I'm working on that.
And it would be the simplest thing in the world to say: Hey God, will you help me be better at this, please? Thank you!
But it's like I don't even think to do that unless or until I feel I've done absolutely everything I can do to improve the situation myself, and what's more I feel as if I shouldn't ask God for any help unless or until I've done absolutely everything I can do to improve the situation myself.
I think that's a fundamental misunderstanding I have about God.
So I've promised myself no bullet points.
I had a bad day. One of the boys is being rough, and I'm trying everything I can to teach him to be gentle, and he's gentle most of the time, but you never know when the rough will pop out and bam someone in the head with the wooden spoon he's supposed to be using on the djembe. Or throw a handful of sand in someone's eye. It's normal 2 year old stuff and it, too, will pass. But oh, it's a terrible feeling to know that someone might be getting popped -or worse!- any minute of the day and despite your constant vigilance, you might not be able to prevent it. Today I failed to prevent it. Twice. Bad day.
Then in yoga, near the end of class, a class I spent in tense negotiation with the frustration I carried in with me, I heard a voice. It very distinctly said: Change your reaction.
And I knew it didn't mean change the reaction I offered the child. It meant change how I feel about it. Which sucks because I felt rather entitled to my frustration.
Not that it's doing me any good.
So I'm working on that.
And it would be the simplest thing in the world to say: Hey God, will you help me be better at this, please? Thank you!
But it's like I don't even think to do that unless or until I feel I've done absolutely everything I can do to improve the situation myself, and what's more I feel as if I shouldn't ask God for any help unless or until I've done absolutely everything I can do to improve the situation myself.
I think that's a fundamental misunderstanding I have about God.