Have you ever read James 1:19-20? I have. Quite a few times, actually. Yet, I just never seemed to quite understand what this phrase really meant...
“the wrath of man does not produce the justice of God...”
I don't think I fully got it. It has been slowly coming, though. Gradually, in the last few months, I think --or more like hope-- I finally am, you know?
These haven’t been the worst times we’ve experienced in terms of sickness, busyness, or life in general. When one of us gets sick, life inevitably gets trickier. When one of the littles gets sick, it gets even trickier! Perhaps you've caught on that Victoria came down with the most bizarre case of shingles. It is quite a puzzle, but her symptoms match, her rash looks just like it, and although she is already being treated as such, we’re only waiting for the lab work to confirm it beyond any shadow of doubt. Taking care of a 2 ½ year old that gets hit with waves of pain that she can’t explain —although short lived— can be draining. Throw a nursing baby, five other busy children, try to fit in home school in there somewhere, and well —just life— and it’s very easy to get flustered in the shuffle!
Yesterday at some point, having finally settled the baby to nap, tended to the umpteenth toddler call for a blanket, juicy, a show, or whatever-she-felt-could-take-her-momentary-pain-away at that moment, I got called downstairs. Not in a nice-way "Mom we need you" kind of way... it was more like "MOM SOMEONE IS DYING YOU NEED TO COME NOW!" kind of way. I grabbed my phone on one hand ready to dial (either Ben or 911 -- I wasn't sure yet), and ran down those stairs ready to manage a major catastrophe. Before you laugh at me, you gotta cut me some slack... it has been one of those "what now?" Seasons! Poor Victoria! She has gone to the ER for a cut to her forehead for jumping right behind a broom at the wrong time, to an emergency dentist visit to replace a crown that she lost (we don't know how), to this crazy outbreak of a painful rash. You can imagine how happy I was that all I had been called down for was a silly sibling squabble! Well, I wasn't... This is where I imagine every other mother I know thanking God for the fact that there wasn't a real emergency. Not this one!! I just got plain MAD! Shamefully mad. About 2 minutes into my diatribe (ok, not 2... more like 5) as my mouth seemed to have taken over, the Holy Spirit (seriously, because no human could pull ME back from that one!) forced me to really look at my offending children's faces and ask myself: "What on earth am I doing?" ...and those words... "the wrath of man" my anger, the fury I was unleashing unto them wasn't doing anything to fix anything! I wanted justice. I wanted to be treated fairly because I was tired, spread too thin, and can someone please have some compassion for me? But those young souls? They were learning nothing else from me at that moment, except to react, and be dramatic, and selfish.
Should they have been fighting? No. Was I right to want to correct them? Yes. But I was completely wrong at being right... wait, what? As right as I was in principle, in my method I lost the chance of teaching them. I missed an opportunity to encourage them to be forbearing, and remind them to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger, in having myself been too quick to speak and get angry. I blew it... but Jesus. I still had a chance. I could still backtrack and let Him redeem the situation and bring His righteousness to our mess. I think I must have changed mid-sentence! I took a deep breath and said something along the lines of "This is wrong". I wish I could tell you that with the eloquent and beautiful words of a humbled spirit I won my children back... no... it was awkward. I had to swallow my pride, humble myself, and admit where I had failed. Repentance and forgiveness flowed, nonetheless: from me to them, from them to me, from one child to the other, and vice versa.
The Gospel is a beautiful thing. If we call ourselves believers, Christians, we are called to live out the Gospel in our lives. Only somewhere down the line, I have become too naive thinking that walking out the Gospel meant not having any conflict. When it really is the complete opposite. Walking out the Gospel is looking up from our muddy, yucky brokenness and "repent and forgive" constantly, repeatedly. Just like breathing! Out comes repentance, in comes forgiveness, again, and again, and again.