“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Psalm 16:11
Our daughter had some tantrums worth recording today. They were utterly typical in cause and extraordinary in their intensity.
- She was upset because the “lake” we made with the hose was too quickly absorbed by the ground.
- She was upset because a tiny flag she had made from yellow memo paper and a plant stake had gotten crumpled.
- She was upset because she broke the cheap bead necklace from Halloween she was using.
My own natural response to these outbursts is anger, not understanding. It infuriates me that our daughter can talk harshly to my wife or me and not feel sorry for it, and yet she sheds tear after tear over a piece of yellow paper she hasn’t used in three months.
Part of the reason I’m angry is that I know I often placate our daughter. I do whatever I can to set up circumstances so that she won’t have a fit. I compromise, I bend over backwards, and I build paths that are designed to get her to pleasure as quickly and for as long as possible.
Lately, God has been convicting me about the superficiality of the things I enjoy. There’s nothing wrong with donuts or dance jams or novel or tennis or hot showers or many of the things I love. If that’s all I love I love, however, my desire is pretty superficial.
I too can get up set when I don’t have Krispy Kreme chocolate fix or don’t get to hear the 1968 playlist I made or don’t have time to read Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain. I don’t throw tantrums, but I can pout a little.
I’ll give our daughter this: she doesn’t hide anything.
I pray that my spirit is more mature than my daughter’s, not just my outward demeanor.
I want to have a greater view of what matters — God and His kingdom — that sustains me through mishaps great and small.
I want more than to not have a tantrum. I want to be joyful, and I want the same for my daughter.