Zip-off pants and angry tears on the floor

This morning Son 1 sat on the floor dissolving in angry tears. He’d zipped on one leg of his zip-off camo pants, but was struggling to zip on the second leg. He kept saying over and over, “I can’t get it!!!” He never bothered to ask for help. And I was standing right beside him.

Nearly every day I’m amazed at the things I say to my children. Not because they’re brilliant breakthroughs in Godly parenting, but because I could easily imagine God saying something very similar to me.

So, back to story about Son 1: I say to Son 1, “Please stop crying and just ask me for help. I’m standing right here!”

Hmm. Nothing like being hit over the head by your own words.

Ok. Back just now from rescuing Son 2 who was trapped in the back of the coat closet. He was practicing in the dark with his new dollar store flashlight and sat down in an extra booster seat I keep there for guests with small children. He buckled himself into the seat and couldn’t get out. He on the other hand when needing help was yelling rather cheerfully, “Mama, can you come help me???” *sigh* Oh, the differences between children. But that’s a topic for a whole nother’ blog post.

As I was saying, there is nothing quite like being klonked with your own wisdom.

The last several weeks have been difficult. There are things I’ve been struggling with emotionally, financially, parentally, spiritually. I want to sit on the floor and cry angry tears as I wrestle with the “zipper.” But I can’t fix it. It just won’t go. There isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. No wait. I do sit on the floor and cry angry tears. I confess.

All the while I think the Father is standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop crying. Waiting for me to simply ask for help.

Last night I finally started asking for help. And believe it or not I’m not asking for money (although some greenbacks could help out a little). I’m not asking God to change my children. I’m not asking God to change my husband. I’m not asking God to change my circumstances.

I’m asking God to change me. The “zipper” in this case is me. I guess you could say I need a serious faith and attitude adjustment. *sigh* (again)

Ironic isn’t it that my dear pastor-husband is preaching a summer series on “faith.” Ironic too that our senior pastor (dear, kind, wonderful man that he is) prayed last week that we’d have a bad week. He says that when we have bad weeks, Daniel’s messages are richer.

Nuts. Why didn’t anybody tell me. Or at least warn me. It should be in that little packet of things they give the new pastor’s wife. You know. A little brochure that says “What to expect in your marriage and family when your husband preaches on certain difficult topics.” Oh wait. There was no little packet.

Back to last night. Somewhere in my reading, may have been a blog, may have been facebook, doesn’t matter, someone said something about “coming to God.”

Duh. I should know these things. I am after all a missionary kid, and now a pastor’s wife. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve studied it. Good grief, I’ve taught it. “Come to God.”

After that amazing revelation, I hit my knees and cried some more. Asking God to change me. Nothing more.

Today I’m remembering, and being reminded that “coming to God” is something I must do nearly hourly in this difficult season. It’s not rocket science. It’s just showing up and saying, “God, here I am. I came. Oh yes. There You are. Now I can see you again. You got everything under control? Ok. Thanks. See You in another hour.”

Well, something like that. I think you get the picture.

My faith is being tested. But it’s ok. It’s good in fact. Sure doesn’t feel good. But it’s good. Yup. It’s about that time.

Uh, God? I’m coming again. You there?