The Tantrum

It was a smokey, hazy morning. Dear husband and I were preparing to drive two hours north to our family’s place in the hills. We thoughtfully packed in case a day trip unexpectedly turned into two or three, a survival impulse my husband holds from years of teaching and practicing such things. It was a Friday, so we could stay over, but had too much going on with family and home to do so.

It had been a very busy week for both of us – hubby woodworking in the garage, me writing furiously in my office. We were both in our happy places doing the creative things that bring us great joy and satisfaction. Though our bodies are aging, our minds and spirits feel young and yearn to keep living, now and on past this life. It is a privilege to walk these years of “maturity.” Of course maturing is a process, and I must disclaim that I am not fully there yet! Evidence of that fact comes to me at times with astonishing clarity, much to my chagrin.

This particular morning was another case in point. Perhaps from years of hospital work, walking long halls, I have learned to save steps, endeavoring to carry all that I must in one trip to wherever; today, to the car. It usually works well, unless I fail to pack securely. Bundling gear in both arms I was able to navigate locking the house door, and open the car door. Putting things inside the car was the coup de grace: my iPad slid from my arms, flew open and face-planted perfectly on the hard concrete.

I have seen the results of such accidents with other’s electronics; cracked screens, broken glass falling out, annoying visual disparities clouding the screen. Dumping the rest of the things into the car, I gingerly picked up the iPad, and examined it. Yes, there was evidence of brokenness. I had became a member of the cracked-screen club. Even more astounding was the tantrum my seventy-plus year old, supposedly mature self, began acting out. Evidence of that original fall of man. With pouty lips and furrowed brows, I rushed back into the house to see if I could fix beloved iPad. With no explanation given, I’m sure dear husband was left wondering. The crazy glue didn’t seem to do much, so with screen saver holding all in place, I soldiered on, irritated and grumpy for the next hour or so as we traveled north. You’d think I was two, or maybe four. Definitely childlike in an unpleasant way. And struggling to get my child self in control! Goodness, woman! Grow up! Be thankful the iPad still works!

When these evidences of my fallen nature jump out to remind me of my deep, ongoing need for the Savior, for One to transform me, to grow me from my infantile ways, I am thankful for God’s unfailing mercy, grace and forgiveness. Do I revere and idolize, value my iPad above the relationship I have with my husband, and with God? I surely hope not. Yet, when I watch our young grandchildren stomp away in anger or frustration over something to their dislike, I recognize the same stomping attitude I had just displayed. Praise God that He can pull us from this mire of clay! 1 John 1:9 (NKJV) promises:
9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness

I have seen evidence of this over and over in my life, and though it grieves me that there is still much dross to be skimmed off of me, it is with great relief that I can look for restoration through forgiveness from those I’ve wounded with my stomping, and transformation of my nature by God’s grace as I humbly confess my messy self to Him. It is a process. And for some incredible, unimaginable reason God has not given up on me, or any of us, yet! Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!

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