I remember three being a tough age for my son, but now that my middle daughter is three, I'm wondering if I am mis-remembering that toughness in the same way I mis-remember the pain of labor and delivery. I can objectively say that labor and delivery was painful, but somehow I forget exactly the magnitude of it until I am in the thick of it and pleading with my husband to just take me home. Perhaps it's the same with the "terrible threes." Most recently, the situation that sets off my threenager goes in the following sequence: She is playing with some toy or doing some activity. Her brother or sister is playing with some other toy. She decides she wants that toy, and tries to take it out of their hand.
My husband or I reprimand her and remind her that she does not own every toy in the house, nor can she just take things out of someone's hand.
She dissolves instantaneously into a fit of tears, body convulsions and obstinate disobedience that lasts for...well, maybe only ten minutes, but I swear it feels like days.
Today, the forbidden object of desire was a stuffed bear that belongs to her little sister. I'm not certain of the chain of events that transpired upstairs that led to the actual meltdown this evening, but certainly my incredible husband toed the line, and refused to let our three year old call the shots regarding toy distribution. She came downstairs in tears, and when I offered my hug and a listening ear, she told me that she was crying because Daddy wouldn't let her have her sister's bear. I offered my condolences, and gently reminded her that the bear was not hers, that her sister JUST got it yesterday, and that she has approximately three trillion other stuffed animals on a bookshelf in her room that would really love for her to snuggle them. This was not what she wanted to hear. She proceeded to lay on the floor, bawling, immediately underneath me while I tried to load the dishwasher. I tried ignoring her, but she made her presence increasingly un-ignorable as she began kicking the cabinet doors to the rhythm of her sobs, directly between my legs. As I picked her up to plop her in a time out on the stairs, I found myself yelling over her protests something about how if she had just listened, followed directions, and been obedient, she'd likely already have gotten a turn with the bear by now. Because it's not that we forbid her from snuggling her sister's teddy bear, it's that she needs to learn that not everything is hers, on demand, free for the forcible taking. And the Holy Spirit whispered to me, "Get it, Emily?" Because the truth is, nothing in this life - certainly nothing we covet in our humanness - is ours, on demand, and free for the taking (forcible or otherwise). When I consider everything I want, it revolves around comfort. In my humanness, I'm never content (unless I work at it through prayer, asking for God's grace). In my humanness, I'd love enough money to not worry about family size and debt and bills. I'd love a dry basement where I can store soft goods without worrying about mold so that I don't have to walk out to my barn and climb into the loft to get the upcoming season's clothes. I'd love my back to not hurt. I'd love for the laundry to do itself, the toys and school supplies to self-organize at the end of each day, and to live off of paper plates from now until the day I die so that myself and the dishwasher can take a night off every now and again. I'd love a renovated kitchen like this friend's, a garage like that neighbor's, a property like this family member's, a body like that person's. I'd love a family size like this friend's, a social life like that neighbor's, a job like this family member's, a recreation life like that' person's. Like my daughter, what I've got just isn't enough. When I suggest to her all of the other stuffed animals she has, her wail is "But I don't want those! I WANT THE BEAR!" Don't I have an incredible gift in my children? Don't I have a safe home in which to raise them? Don't I have a fine property that's great for playing and gathering? And a great old barn we can use for storage and machinery? Shouldn't I be thankful for the great health and wellness we've been afforded as a family? Shouldn't I show some gratitude for the overabundance that we have in our home of clothing, books, toys, and food - and even the dishes on which to serve and eat it?
I deserve nothing, just as my three year old didn't do anything particularly special (outside of her incredible act of simply existing) to earn or deserve an entire bookcase filled with stuffed animals. They were given to her, over time, out of an expression of love for her by those whose lives she's touched. But here she was, throwing a fit for the one animal that she couldn't have. This evening, it became clear that the only function her plethora of stuffed animals has served is a desire for more stuffed animals. Everything I covet stems from a blessing I've overlooked, a gift I've already been given. All the things I think I'd like or want or would enjoy, they're not mine to have, and they certainly don't foster my relationship with God - in fact, they would foster my self-reliance, and likely drive me to believe I need God less. The only thing I ought to covet is a stronger relationship with God - a stronger spiritual life. Certainly, the connection between my daughter with the forbidden bear and Eve with the forbidden fruit was not lost on me here. Adam and Eve's original sin was the temptation not only to covet a forbidden object, but to covet making themselves their own gods. Through my daughter, I was reminded about this temptation. It wasn't just about the bear, it was about having what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted. But again, what stuck out to me was that, if she had been kind, asked nicely for a turn, and waited patiently, trustingly, and obediently until it was deemed acceptable by her father, she'd have had the bear to snuggle and play with for the entire evening.
It caused me to pause and reflect on what, in my life, am I being too demanding of with God? What do I have unreasonable expectations that I should have, that I somehow deserve, even though I royally mess up living virtuously every single day? Where have I lacked trust and patience and obedience to my amazing Father in heaven? Where have I failed in self-control and temperance? What blessings have I grown desensitized to? If I just stopped whining and crying and throwing a fit about how I don't have what I want, and focus my eyes on what I do have, then one of two things will happen. I will be given what I was asking for after showing some self-control and obedience, or I won't be given what I was asking for, but it won't matter because I will be content in focusing on all of the blessings I've already been given - my own, figurative bookcase filled with stuffed animals.