Sad Saturday

I had plans for today. Papers to write. Errands to take care of. And sleep to catch up on! I sleep in. For me, an incredibly late 9 am rising. I stretch. It feels good. Sugar is impatiently scratching in her tent. I am in a generous mood, and we take a long walk around the complex, something I have not done in quite some time.

But as soon as I get back to the apartment, the grumpies set in. I have to return a defective modem, but Kiel has moved the paperwork and I search high and low with no success. I finally wake him and endure the attitude while he pulls it out for me. Sorry. Today is the deadline and FedEx closes before noon. It takes forever to finish the task.

Back in the apartment my grumpies worsen. The kitchen is a wreck. The boys blissfully sleep while I tackle the dirty dishes - pots and pans with glued on dried on gook, gobs of garbage left sitting wherever they were when they unwrapped or unpeeled the item. I fuss and fume. I mutter finely crafted speeches about responsibility and how I will throw them out if they don't shape up. I even play the "go live with your father - you are just like him" card. Good thing the boys are NOT awake!

Somewhere inside I begin to feel uncomfortable. OK. I will clean up after them but I don't have to like it. After all, as a parent, its my job to teach them to be responsible. I let them get away with murder and they don't appreciate me at all. I work and slave and hold down two jobs just so they can have a roof over their heads and yadda yadda yadda.

I am angry. I want to shake them. I want to wring their necks - or at very least yank them out of bed and put them to work. I slam dishes about and run steamy water and feel very sorry for myself. How could they be so inconsiderate? They don't love me. If they really loved me, they would treat me better. I'll clean up after them. I'll be their slave, but I don't have to be happy about it.

Suddenly, I stop. What is wrong with me? I am so convicted. I am asking the wrong question. Not "if they love me" but "if I really loved them." What am I thinking? I am blessed to have kids, even when they are sometimes thoughtless and messy. Lots of people wish they had kids. My boys are good kids - they could be real trouble makers, but they aren't. I ought to be glad to show them how much I care about them.

Haven't I been hearing about servant leadership? Have I not just experienced the overwhelming love of God despite my own faults and failures? Did I not just have a fabulous Friday of contemplation and blessing? How could I so soon have slid back into childish pettiness and martyr complex? What is wrong with me? I shamefacedly confess my unloving attitude and ask help to undertake my tasks with joy.

Ah, me. Sometimes I think I will never get it right. Lord have mercy.