I woke this morning in the funk of disappointment and frustration. And while I wouldn’t normally share a dream with my dear readers, this one holds an object lesson for us all.
I dreamed I was getting a massage and the therapist spent the whole appointment talking to me instead of massaging. She was a very nice person and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I let her go, but at the tail end of my appointment, she rubbed a few muscles and then said, “I’m sorry, but we are out of time.” I tried to argue but she said she had another client waiting. So I got dressed and went to the front desk to pay for my appointment. I mentioned my frustrations to the receptionist and she offered the services of two massage therapists who happened to have time free because she didn’t want me to leave dissatisfied with my experience. When I told her my time was committed elsewhere she smiled and shrugged. “Well then, how will you be paying today?” To which I did not respond in a way that is appropriate for this blog. When I pay for services, I expect services to be rendered and I refuse to pay for my own wasted time.
I realize this is just a dream, but it mirrors many of the frustrations I face in everyday life. It’s bad enough when I waste my own time, but I get very frustrated when others waste it. On a small scale this looks like waiting in a doctor’s office for an hour and a half only to be told by said MD that my symptoms “aren’t that bad” and he will not refill a prescription that has been the only helpful medication for a miserable skin condition. On a larger scale this looks like working overtime for months on a project only to have the work dismissed by the leader who asked for it because they didn’t know what they needed in the first place. It is increasingly apparent that our self-focused society is waging war on community to the detriment of the human psyche. The majority of the time we seem to so value our own thoughts and feelings to the detriment of others. And we wonder why so many people are angry all the time.
But since we can’t change the disrespectful behavior of others, we are left to manage the damaged feelings caused by wasted time that our fellow human beings carelessly dish out. Be it the woman who cut me off in traffic on the highway yesterday and then slowed to a crawl so she could more fervently inhale her cigarette or the tantruming adolescent who spoiled family dinner because the meal wasn’t to his liking. We are always free to choose how to respond, but living in the tension between “love thy neighbor” and “smack the stuffing out of my neighbor” is quite the tight-wire walk.
And so it was this morning after the dreadful dream. I was cranky and irritable as I started my daily routine. I felt the black cloud hanging over my head from my prone position on my yoga mat and no matter how much I tried to “pep talk” myself out of it, the cloud just got drippier and more clammy with each crunch. Right about the time I had decided to quit my job and join the circus, my youngest child arrived on the scene. I had turned on a television program I hoped would encourage and inspire me but he did what all behaviorally challenged children tend to do; he began to make noises and create distractions that would make even the most stoic person want to yank their hair out in chunks. And rather than kindly say, “Honey, could you take it down a notch?” I turned into Miss Hannigan from the movie Annie and started shouting, “Kill! Kill! Kill!”
“Mommy, why do you have to be so mean?”
So after I failed one of the people I love most in the world, I finished my workout and climbed into the shower. I felt the surge of anger growing as I considered all of the injustices I deal with in life and that I was justified to scream at him the way I did. Emotions don’t generally listen to common sense though and today was no exception. Except that it did occur to me that I didn’t have to go on raging against the world because I was in a bad mood. I could in fact “turn that frown upside down” and just pretend to love everybody until the feelings followed. The problem is, that course of action felt shallow and false. So I stood there weeping while hot water (a tremendous blessing that millions of people on the planet would love to have the pleasure of and never will) streamed down my (not starving or nutritionally challenged) body while I cried because I’m in a bad mood because I don’t get what I deserve from the world.
Ahem.
It would be funny if it weren’t so sad and despicably true.
But my emotions were still crummy because I can’t turn them on and off like a light switch. And so I had to decide something very important. I could either proceed into the world full of darkness and vitriol or I could pray to a God who loves me, thundercloud heart and all. Because I had no hope of overcoming the frustration, sadness and despair that racked my person. It was too big for my faint heart. As I considered how I would face the work day and the stresses and challenges that were sure to overwhelm me, I knew I couldn’t. The reasons are many.
My life is not as I planned it. I don’t have the dream job or the dream spouse or dream children. I don’t have money to cover all the bills and a swanky vacation planned this summer. Shoot, I can’t even afford to send my children to summer camp! I’m scraping by on gristle and bone while others are eating steak and it’s just not fair! So maybe, just maybe, I do deserve a break today! Maybe I need McDonald’s fries and Chick-Fil-A ice cream and homemade chocolate chip cookies. Except that those things don’t make me happy either. So maybe I should go shopping and buy a new outfit. Except that won’t make me feel better either. And so I wept more, because if I have learned anything on this journey toward discipline it is that I can take the long and drawn out path to peace by way of sampling anesthetics or I can run to the Heart-Healer whose embrace will offer true solace during life’s most tender moments. The choice is mine. But some day’s this choice is just really, really hard.
Some emotions are too big for the standard Bible fare. This felt like one of them. And lest you compare your pain to mine, remember, pain is pain and we all bleed. Job was a man who lost all his children in one day. He lost his fortune. He lost his health. As he lay sobbing on an ash heap, his three friends came and heaped more shame on him. Regardless, he said some of my favorite words in scripture, “Though he slay me, yet I will hope in him.” (Job 13:15) I can relate to a man like that because I know that suffering produces grit. Anyone who can suffer as he did and say the wise things that he did has something to teach me. Today running to Jesus meant reading the words of Job. And I will be candid, it was much more satisfying and peace-filling than chocolate chip cookie dough.
Too many times have I visited the doctor or the grocery store and been the unwilling victim of some unhappy person spewing their unhappiness all over me. More frequently I have been the King cobra spewing my toxic venom at anyone who comes too close. The world needs fewer of us. We need more peace-proliferators and fewer peace-snatchers. We need more healers and fewer wounders. We need more forgivers and fewer seethers. But we can’t do it on our own. We can’t manufacture peace. We can’t breed love. Maybe we can pretend for a while, but when we stumble and bash our big toe, the truth comes out. And that is why I run to the Prince of Peace. He is the source of all my joy—yes, even when something as small as a bad dream sets my head on backwards. But more importantly, when I fail the ones I love most. Today if you are reading this and the cold and clammy cloud of frustrating circumstances has perched about your head, don’t lose heart. There is One whose love is mighty and pure. If you let him, He will give you the grace to endure it. And grace, when applied properly, is an not an umbrella that will stop the circumstances altogether, but rather the strong arms of a father who holds you and weeps with you.
Shadow of the Almighty by Elisabeth Elliott
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