When we got our new car, the big girls pitched a fit. They wanted the old one, they wanted a blue one, they wanted wanted wanted what we did not and would not have. In fact, they wanted what was actually worse for us to have. What we have now is a better, prettier, newer car. The next day they set to complaining about something else we had that was wonderful, and sometimes they would kind of get each other going--"But Savannah has a new such and such and I just really really wish that my (stuffed) cat had purple ears too." "But Elizabeth's blanket is so fluffy. Mine isn't. I wish my blanket was so fluffy and snuggly." Stuff like that. Kip was at work; I was putting folks to bed; and all that whining about the good things in our lives took me past my tipping point. The girls got a first class lecture about how wrong it is to complain about the bounteous blessings that we have been given, especially when other people don't have such blessings, especially when what you have is perfectly wonderful and good.
"Well," I thought, "hopefully they improve."
A few days later I got a mother's ring in the mail. After Mom died, I became oddly obsessed with getting a mother's ring. I had a bit of money from selling some gold that Mom had and I decided that I would use it to get myself my own mother's ring. But not any Grandma mother's ring. I found an artisan jeweler who crafted rings and she agreed to craft this new design (as dictated by me) for me. She did it for a very reasonable price. The ring was lovely, but just not quite exactly how I had expected it to look. I fussed over it for several minutes--turning it over, inspecting it, worrying that it wasn't quite exactly the most perfect thing ever in the entire universe of ringdom. I got online and looked at the original ring that I'd gotten the idea from. Ha. It was slightly different--one of the bands was less chunky and it was lower down on one part and etc etc. After an hour or two of critical obsessing, I realized that I was doing just what the girls had done. I was taking something that I'd been blessed to have the money for and that--truly--was amazingly beautiful. And I was complaining about it. Complaining in that pick-apart-tiny-details sort of way that is the worst kind.
Of course, I was sure that I didn't usually do that. Of course, I probably was only doing it then because I'd been thinking about mother's rings for months.
Yeah, right. I do it all the time. Over the next several days I caught myself doing it over and over again. I would have something that most people in this world could not even imagine having and I would complain about it because it was, in some way, inconvenient; or because it was, in some way, imperfect.
I'm kind of ashamed and embarrassed about this, but here's a (very incomplete) list.
-I complained about having to rush to an event because we were so busy (oh, poor us--when I could be spending my Saturday nights carrying firewood on my back through the dangerous jungles of Africa in order to make my stew of roots and water--yum)
-I complained about the hassle of finalizing paperwork with some of my mother's inheritance (woe is me; my mother actually had some money left to give to us--money she had refused to use for fun things when she was sick so that we could all get some)
-I complained a waiter who was slow to get our bread to us--it came just before the salad (the horror--do I even need to elaborate on my lameness here)
-I complained about shopping online. I complained about shopping in stores. (Oh, poor me; I have all this money to shop for things we don't need, but that are fun)
-I complained about traffic. (Oh, poor me; I'm not on a horse or my feet or the city bus)
-I complained about a new piece of clothing that didn't fit right (Oh, poor me; I have plenty of clothes that fit and are pretty and money to spend on more)
-I complained about shipping costs (Oh, poor me, someone else is going to get stuff together for me and I will get to sit in my house and then get a package and not even have to spend money on gas.)
-I complained about my credit card company messing up a Christmas order. (Oh, poor me I have a credit card and--again--plenty of money for buying plenty of Christmas presents which are definitely non-essential items.
-In the past (though I'm doing better this year), I have complained about needing to play the piano for a lot of people at Christmastime (which can get stressful, but still). (Oh, poor me, I have a talent that people would like to hear. And I even have college level training in that talent. Woe woe woe is me.)
-In the past, I have complained about gaining weight and about having too much junk food in the house. (Oh, poor me, I don't have to eat tubers and rice every day. My life is such a struggle.)
And then the shooting happened and I will not dwell on it because it is just too too sad, but I caught myself over and over--even on that day--unthinkingly complaining about things my beautiful, perfect, healthy, alive children did. They whined, the tried to stay up late, they begged me to watch more movies, they didn't obey the first time, they pooped in their underwear (okay, only one did this).
I'm ashamed. And yet. I still catch myself doing it, although I guess that is the first step and I am trying to change.
I have been thinking about how all of these things--all of these great blessings--they do sometimes cause some frustration or inconvenience in our lives. They do sometimes demand things of us that we'd sometimes rather not give. I was thinking about how--in a way--a blessing is almost by definition something that demands something of us because a blessing is something that causes or allows us to move, shift, change, and participate more actively in life. I was thinking about my children. I don't think any of us (of sound mind anyway) have children because it is convenient or will increase the convenience of our lives. We have children because there is something in us that knows that they bring with them a richness and roundness to life that things of perfect, lazy convenience cannot.
I am grateful for those things. And I will try to do a better job expressing that in my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment