Clearly, it is not acceptable in the adult world for me to walk around with that sort of look plastered all over my face, but all too often I express the same sentiment. Huffy breaths may not ostracize me from the world of grown-ups, but I'm pretty sure that God is less concerned with whether or not people want to be friends with me and more concerned about the state of my heart.
It's the same root of selfish, independent, me-ness that resides in my son's tiny heart that also rears it's ugly head in my own heart. I know there are some differences ... he is 1 and I am 28; he only knows that Jesus is someone we talk to a few times a day, followed by saying, "may-meh" (amen), and I have known Jesus as my Savior for over two decades. But still, that root of self, that steely core that I feel rising up in my chest when I don't like what's going on around me or what I need to do, it's the same in both of us.
I may be a therapist, but I don't want a coping skill.
I don't want to passive-aggressively roll my eyes and huff.
I don't want to gripe.
I don't want to sting people with snarky sarcasm.
I don't want to just swallow it and pretend like I'm a martyr.
When life isn't going my way, I don't want to do any of those things. I want my heart to bow in submission and acknowledge that there is no reason life should ever go my way because, after all, it isn't even my life. I want to put to death that rebellious root of self that whispers the lies that I should never be inconvenienced or uncomfortable or unhappy. If I'm ever going to help my son learn that his life also isn't about him, I need the Holy Spirit to continue sanctifying this area of my life.
"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.
The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave
Himself for me."