Lord, Deliver me from my Irritability

This morning, the sound of my 6-year-old virtual twin girls giggling in the back of the car on our way to our weekly occupational therapy (OT) appointment was a welcome reminder of the joy of family, the blessing of two little girls from the same heritage getting to grow up as best friends and sisters forever.

Our morning had gotten off to a rough start and my mood had been sour--initially irritated by childish behavior--and then deflated as I steeped in the guilt of allowing my irritation to turn to harsh words.

You see, we have been spending two hours each week doing OT--Lilly for some issues with lack of flexibility and weakness in her right hand, Isabel for her deficits in gross motor and visual motor coordination.  This chunk of time in our week has been a sort of mixed blessing to me. 

• The services the girls have received is top notch and the results--especially for Isabel--have been astounding.  She is making wonderful progress in so many areas.  Their occupational therapist is wonderful, thorough, caring, and knowledgable. 
• But (as you might have gleaned from my previous post), time has been my most treasured commodity in recent months and these many Thursday mornings spent sitting on a hard chair in the OT waiting room has felt like an unjust imposition on my selfish heart.  Each Thursday I find myself feeling annoyed that I don't have a morning to just stay home, catch up on housework, and drink an extra cup of coffee.

So, this morning as I drove, I was wallowing in mommy guilt for having raised my voice at Isabel as we got ready to get out the door.  She had come to me, as she often does, to ask whether she had gotten her shoes onto the right feet.  This is something she almost never got right when she first came home from China.  These days, nearly 9 months later, she gets it right about 75-80 percent of the time. 

When she doesn't get it right, however, she dissolves into a pitiful floppy puddle of whines and moans on the floor.  The fact that the shoes are on the wrong feet might baffle me, but it doesn't upset me.  It's the whining and stomping and sudden physical limpness that does. 

And this morning, I got annoyed.  My voice was not pleasant.  OK, I admit it.  I sounded REALLY mean.  Poor Isabel just froze, then cried harder.  Lilly, on her way down the stairs to the front door, stopped, stunned, to quietly peer through the banister at me.

Just moments before this incident, the girls and I had been sitting together over breakfast reading about Moses receiving the ten commandments. We had looked at the passage in Galatians 3 that discusses our captivity under the law and the hopelessness without Christ. Our little devotional had encouraged us to confess our sins--and I had led out in prayer as an example to the girls by asking God's forgiveness for those times that I get impatient or irritated with my children and speak words that are not kind.

And then this.  I immediately sought Isabel's forgiveness for speaking harshly. She granted it freely through her snotty tears. 

I am in need of better strategies to guide Isabel to successful independent dressing. 

I am in even greater need of better strategies to help me with mommy irritability.

Above all, I am in desperate need of grace.  Both showing it, and receiving it.  And the transforming power of the Holy Spirit in my heart.

 Moments after Isabel had granted forgiveness and we had finished getting the shoes on the right feet, Lilly felt compelled to chime in "but Mom, you just prayed about that. And you still yelled."

Yes, my sweet child, I did.

Praise the Lord that He gives grace feely and shows what it looks like so clearly through His laying down of His life.  He doesn't yell harshly at me when I mess up. 

May I give it as freely, laying down my frequently unrealistic and selfish expectations more often.  And may I receive it more freely when I stumble.

Above all, may my children learn more from how I recover from my mistakes than they would from any attempt at perfection.