The temper tantrum

John John and Bart Simpson, hanging out in a glacier. No big deal. :)

Our new home is absolutely breathtaking.

Do not fear, for I am with you; do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10

I am tougher than you may think.

The voice, the eyes, the...pleasant plumpness, the accent (deeper at some times than others)...they all make me appear to be a blonde marshmallow, a pushover, someone who is easily moved and manipulated. In reality, though, I can be pretty fierce. (Out there in the land of those I've taught, people are giggling, because they think fierce is...maybe a little understated.) Especially when it comes to my family, I am aptly named. (My name is Celtic, and it means warrior.) Do not mess with my family, or the wrath of Kellye will emerge. And it's not pretty, friends. I am a tigress in defense of my family. Like all parents, I want my children protected from harm, from those who would taunt and ridicule, from those who wish them ill for no good reason. It is in a parent's nature, I think, to stand straight in front of their children to protect them from evil. Isn't that why it's such an aberration when a parent harms a child? Isn't that why abuse of any kind shocks us, horrifies us? Because that is not the nature of parenthood. Parenthood loves and protects. It's how we are wired by our Creator.

So here is the question I have run smack up against in the last couple of weeks/months: when do I step aside and allow my children to learn the hard lessons? When is my protection, my stepping in and fixing things not part of what God has for them? And how is it possible to sit aside and watch my children struggle and suffer, taking comfort in the knowledge that the God who loves them even more than I do is the One in charge?

I'm going to be honest and tell you that I have no solid answers to these questions. In fact, on Tuesday, while I was walking in the morning, I had a complete and total meltdown next to the Danube river. Yep. Threw a temper tantrum at my Maker, right there in front of Him and everybody else. I did everything but jump up and down and stamp my feet. I was MAD. Mad because every time Marc leaves the country, every single thing goes wrong. Mad because he's in Tasmania and doesn't have internet access, so I have to handle everything without any help from him. Mad because Sarah Beth is a continent away. Mad because Hannah and John are dealing with bullies. Mad because other people get to live around the corner from their parents and I don't. Mad because other people's kids get to see their grandparents all the time, and mine don't. Mad because other people get to see their sisters, and I don't. Mad because my life seemed, at that moment, SO HARD. Why am I here, where I can't speak the language? Why can't I just live a normal life? (He must have laughed at that one. What is a normal life, anyway?) MAD, MAD, MAD!!! (Seriously, I was pretty upset.)

And you know what the kicker was for me? Hannah's light bulbs in her room went out, and I couldn't figure out how to get up there and fix it. I'd tried, but I just couldn't reach it. That was what pushed me over the edge. Light bulbs. I am not proud of that, my friends. I really am not. But I think if we're all a little more honest than is comfortable, it's almost always something small that is the backbreaker in our lives. It's rarely the big stuff that gets us. For me, it's allowing stuff to accumulate, to build and build in my heart (while, by the way, I tell everyone who asks that 'I'm doing fine') that makes me blow a gasket. And that's what I did on Tuesday. It wasn't really about light bulbs, of course. It was about my kids struggling and suffering. I don't like it. I don't want it. Don't mess with my kids, Lord. Haven't they given up enough? Hasn't Hannah spent enough of her life overseas and unhappy? C'mon, God! Cut them (and me) a break!

I'm going to be honest--I heard no voice from heaven telling me to be still and know Him. No touch comforted my soul. Nope. He just let me throw my temper tantrum, let me get it out of my system and go on with life. I went out that night with ladies from our organization here in Vienna, and it was a time of hooting laughter and comfort and encouragement. That helped. Things didn't look so dark, suddenly. There is something about people who know what this life is, who have experienced or are experiencing many of the same things...it's very comforting. And to share those things with people who love Jesus like you do, who share that foundation of complete commitment...it turns out that iron really does sharpen iron. Reminded by them of real truth, my prayer over Hannah that night was a sobbing cry to the God of both our hearts, praising Him that while we do not understand all that has happened here, and we don't know what He's up to or what He's doing in all of it, we do know Him. He is good. He loves us beyond measure. We have not just read about Him on Sundays. We have not just listened to sermons about Him. We know Him intimately. He is the lover of our souls. He holds us in his righteous right hand, never ever to let us go. And so the things that trouble us might not be better--stuff still goes wrong, has to be handled, people are still mean and vicious, we still miss Sarah Beth, we want Marc to come home--but we rest and are strengthened by the knowledge that the God who loves us brought us here, called us to this life, and walks the path with us day-by-day, minute-by-minute, second-by-second. We are never alone. Amen and amen.

The light bulbs got fixed, by the way. It had not occurred to me to ask for help. That's another topic for another blog--my inability to ask for help. I have two friends within a 30 second walk from my front door, and I had not considered the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone tall (really, really tall, by the way) might be willing to come in and help. Urgh. I frustrate myself, sometimes. Okay. All the time. But she has light in her room, and she can play her guitar in there, which was her main concern. And Wednesday was a little bit better than Tuesday. That helped. :) But I'm realizing as I continue to grow into this life, into this love affair with my Savior, that His love for me and for my family (and for you) is far beyond what I can comprehend. It might not always look like I want it to--comfortable and easy, like a great recliner. In fact, it almost never looks like that. But I would not trade it for a comfortable life around the corner from my parents and Sarah Beth and my sisters, a life full of cake mixes and easy food preparation, a life of speaking English all the time. His love for us, his plan for our lives...better than anything I can imagine. So I walk on, apologize for the temper tantrum, ask Him to help me with my unbelief and my lack of faith, and believe. In Him. In His love for me. In His love for my children.

Wherever you are in the world, I pray that your life is wrapped up in the Lord who loves you and created you and not in being comfortable, and that you are visiting a snowglobe museum later today, too. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye