Friday, April 20, 2012

Rich Girls Don't Scream

So one of the beautiful things about this intense season of mothering a newborn, is that it brings up all of your deeply buried emotional hang-ups to the surface.

Since the addition of number five, I've realized that I have trouble asking calmly for things that I really want.

As in, I can calmly ask my husband "please pass me the sugar" while we're having a relaxed coffee on the side porch on a beautiful Spring Saturday. But that is all a facade of meekness and emotional maturity because
a) I don't really need sugar in my coffee and
b) I could easily reach over and grab the sugar myself.

Now, if it's 11 PM, and my toddler starts screaming in her bed from a combo of teething pain and allergy congestion, I do not meekly put my hand on my husband's shoulder and whisper "I'm so wore out after juggling crying Abigail all day, can we just skip the whole teaching Tess to sleep in her own bed tonight, please?"

No, like a crazy person I start immediately screaming "This was a stupid idea of yours! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

Its sort of embarrassing to be a crazy person. I've really tried my whole life to cover over my flaws with an Anne Taylor suit and an impressive about of notes on a legal pad. But I know that God is very kind, because he points out my flaws to me.

My new prayer mantra (which probably doesn't make sense to anyone else) is: Rich girls don't scream.

I picture this rich girl who grew up with attentive servants around her and she doesn't need to scream. She trusts that she will be heard. She knows she's got power. She's got influence. She's got authority. So she lets her wishes be know with a quiet confidence.

That's what I'm aiming for in both my prayer life and my marriage.

My God and my husband love me. They love me deep down to the marrow of my bones. Both God and my husband WANT to make me happy. They want what I want. And if God or Jon ever voice disagreement with me, its always due to my own best interest. For example, my husband pushes horrible tasting iron vitamin pills on me because I've just given birth to his child. Meanwhile, God forces suffering on me because He wants me to skip Purgatory and come join Him faster with an express ticket to heaven.


That's what I'm working on this season of my life.

I can ask for what I want both in prayer and in person, without resorting to screaming fits. (Yes, me and my toddler Tess are exactly at the same spiritual place. How is that for humility!)