Lucy wanted my corndog. I wanted my corndog. Mamma won.
Throwing a fit…
I didn’t want the corndog because I have some great obsession with such fine cuisine, I just didn’t know what else to eat that had meat.
Anyway, I watched Lucy throw a fit about her denied demand. Eventually she hit her head on the corner of the kitchen table. Surprise, surprise… in the midst of stomping, screaming and flailing, she got hurt.
I held her, and set her on my lap. I tried to kiss the “owie”. She greeted my effort in compassion with straightening her body to get away from this monster who dared deny her the pleasure of a corndog.
As she shot away from my lap, she ran right into the wall of the kitchen island. Unstopped but unbalanced she stumbled her way toward the other end of the kitchen table – narrowly missing another head wound and impressively negotiating her feet enough to avoid what should have been a good, hard fall. She looked like she belonged in a pinball machine… except she wasn’t silver, round and shiny.
As she continued to be mad, my mind wandered… If that is what a fit looks like to a parent here on earth, what does my Father in Heaven see when I throw a fit?
Each time any of my children launch into a fit there is quite frequently some physical consequence – not given by me – a natural consequence.
I find myself thinking, “Oh, you’re gonna get hurt, you’re gonna get hurt…” And as hard as I try to protect their bodies from scrapes and bruises, the hurt just happens.
I throw a different kinds of fits over issues with anger, frustration, or discontent. I wonder if my God looks down and tries to remind me… “You’re gonna get hurt, you’re gonna get hurt.”
And as much as He loves me and wants good things for me… natural consequences take form.
