I shared my frustration in a couple of tongue-in-cheek posts on Facebook, and this morning in my inbox I had a message from a kind friend, reminding me of where my head and heart should be, especially in the midst of days like yesterday. You see, he saw through my attempts at humor to the true nature of what I was expressing. Which was, essentially, selfishness with a hefty helping of impatience. Now, I want to clarify that while I believe he saw that in me yesterday, I know he wasn't judging it. He chose to encourage me, because he's been there. He has young children of his own. He's been through this, too. But he's also a tremendous example of what Christian brotherhood should be. We should be lovingly correcting each other (just as the Apostles corrected and instructed the new Christians!), reminding each other of what's truly important. And I thank him whole-heartedly for that.
It led me to further reflection today about the parallels between my son's suffering and frustration and our own in relation to God.
Helplessness. There is nothing I can do to ease the pain of teething for my son, with the possible exception of some Tylenol here and there. I can't stop the teething process, I can't stop the runny nose, or his misery. Whether we like it or not, those teeth are going to push through, with all the accompanying discomfort. And it won't be over until the purpose has been accomplished - in his case, shiny new teeth.
It's much the same way with our suffering here on earth. God cannot always take our suffering away. We merited it through original sin. It's part and parcel of our existence. It's going to happen whether we like it or not. And it won't be done until the purpose has been accomplished - usually, to bring about a greater union with God.
Comfort. I can't recall the number of times yesterday that I tried to rock Max, soothe him by singing or shushing, or just talk to him, hoping he would stop screaming and hear my voice. But he screamed over me, and it was only when he had exhausted himself that he would suddenly look at me, as though he had forgotten - in the midst of his misery - that I was even there.
I wondered this morning, how many times to we do that? How many times do we scream, or yell, or curse, or grow impatient, or wallow in anger or misery, instead of hearing God trying to comfort us? Isn't He there, just as I was with Max, trying to be heard over our complaints? Isn't He trying to console us, even when He can't remove the suffering entirely? He wants, just as I did, to be able to show us his His love for us, hoping that we will accept it as consolation and comfort. How often do we drown him out?
Selfishness. I spent most of the day yesterday consumed with how Max's teething was affecting me. I focused on the exhaustion I felt, the frustration I felt, the imposition on my time and energy. Looking back this morning with new eyes, I stand ashamed, embarrassed at how much compassion I lacked for my own child.
Aren't we lucky that God has none of our human failings? Aren't we lucky that His mercy and love are inexhaustible? For as much as I felt shame and embarrassment, I also felt such love and forgiveness surrounding me as I came to the realization of just what yesterday's purpose was. God wanted to teach me more about suffering, to show me an example of the way I was suffering - namely, that I wasn't doing it very well! He showed me a clear picture of the way I have handled myself for the last three months. I've done everything but stop and listen. Anger, impatience, frustration, even spite. And yet, through it all, He waited patiently until I suddenly remembered He was there the whole time. He waited until I could be quiet enough to hear His voice.
And I'm so glad He did.
