My seven year-old daughter’s face was a mash-up of horror and sorrow.
Her body tensed with anger and she shrieked like a siren, “But… it’s miiiiiiiine!” I had picked up a pencil on the table and handed it to her brother. We were doing homework and he needed a pencil. There was one on the table. Only it was Emerson’s. At least that’s what she thought.
Her high-pitched rage triggered something in me. The sound and the face were terrible, but I recognized it all. I feel the same way more times than I want to admit.
Something happens that’s different than my plan. Something I’ve worked for gets taken away. I share or I flex my plans, because I’m a grown up, and compassionate, and a pastor. But my heart screams that same shrieking protest.
Not getting your way is painful. We all want control. Children wish they had it and imagine that adults can do whatever they want. Most adults know the sad truth. Very little of life is ever in our control.