Fritos in my laundry room just to make it through.
It's one of those weeks where that area of struggle and sin in my life that I thought I had made so much progress in rears its ugly head again and leaves my heart reeling, too.
I'm struggling with anger.
I'm wrestling with right perspective.
I'm aching to live holy, live fully in the freedom of thanksgiving. In the freedom of Christ-first, me-last service.
I'm falling short.
My desire to control comes out in the shortness of my answers, in the sharpness of my tone. I'm sure my babies can hear it in my long huffy sighs. See it in the way I crack my neck before I crack out a reply.
I'm grumpy and I'm grouchy and it's all a choice I don't have to keep choosing.
Instead of wanting to suppress the boisterousness of boys I could celebrate it.
Instead of cringing over my need for quiet I could join in and make some noise.
We could stomp together. Growl like tigers together. Leap like lions together.
I could model joy by being joyful with them.
Today, instead of soothing my mama woes with more salty Fritos, I chose to let go and be free. Instead of responding to poor table manners and ugly brother banter with harsh discipline, I chose to redirect with humor.
Mad mommy became Robot Mommy: Food Enforcer!
Soon my crazy, stiff-arm gestures and silly, computerized-voice instructions about chewing food before you speak had us all laughing so hard we could barely stay in our seats.
My mouth was sore from smiling so wide and the ache in my heart had been replaced by one in my side.
It's hard to be angry when you're laughing.