We pull out the red box and the content of the box are set
up and divided out for the game. Two rounds in and this girl with her dark hair
on top of her head in a top-knot told me not to make that face and she was just
teasing but I was not in the mood. And I decided to take my face and leave if
she was going to be like that and driving home I couldn't figure out where the
anger had come from, where the frustration and irritation had come from- over a
word, a game, a face.
Really this started a month ago. 3-0. days.
And it was over changed plans and mis-communications and I
had never really said anything and she had never really noticed anything and it
came to a head.
Then I start to think this;
“Why did she have to
point out my lack of flexibility, my lack of spontaneity.
And why can’t she play
by the rules?! And why can’t she stick with the plan?!”
Yeah, and there’s this anger that I grow inside.
My demand that things be right. Be planned. Be organized.
“Is that really too
much, is that really too hard?”
And I’ll be angry at the inconvenience of her at the thoughtlessness of her.
But honestly I’m insecure in me too.
“She’s fun and
entertaining and tells a great story and doesn't think anything about taking a
day to go over the mountains and two cities away for coffee.”
My favorite thing is being in bed before 9 and I think hot
yoga makes a great Friday night and laying out vitamins and taking Sunday to
make up lunches and mop floors just makes me happy.
And I roll my eyes and roll down the window and irritated I
turn past the yellow gas station to drive until I’m over it, stuffed it,
distracted from it.
But it’s there.
My anger? It's really
just this, joy less.
So in that moment I chose anger over joy. I chose self-power
over sustaining grace. I chose.
And behind this anger is this insecurity that has been plaguing
me for months. That when measured next to her… to so many her(s) that I’ll come up short.
The insecurity that God doesn’t care about the little
things, doesn’t care to bring justice to the mundane... at least not quickly.
Behind my anger is me carrying around this 11 inch ruler.
Behind this anger is a search for gospel in all the wrong
places.
Because when I walk around with my 11 inch ruler I’ll never
find beautiful feet.
The way to joy, the way past the angry moments, past the
lingering insecurities? It’s a Jacob-wrestle to see God face. to. face.
How do I get face to face with God? By tuning my senses to
see his graces.
So I thank him for top-knot and how creatively she sees the
world, how her spontaneity is a constant reminder that people are life so there
are no interruptions.
I thank him for picking out a pear shaped body just for me.
I thank him for sun kissed cheeks all the way across the parking lot. I thank
him for the man that stands in the card isle picking out paper encouragement. I
thank him for the string green beans in my lunch and the two girls sitting
talking about grace this morning.
After top-knot and I talk I realize that Ann is right
“Joy is not blind, joy is holy vision.”
