Mar 6

Mar 6 No More Angry Mom

There was a time in my motherhood journey when I thought I would never be able to see the day when angry didn’t define me.

Angry was my identity.

Irrational was my guilt.

Banshee was my shame.

It seemed that no amount of prayer, Bible study, or church-going would ever make a difference. It didn’t matter if I started every day in the Word and begged God to give a gentle and quiet spirit.

There was no change in the temperament of my soul.

I might start off on the right foot with my mind set on being a kind and loving mom. I could sit through devotions with my preschoolers and play through puzzle time with a quiet countenance. But as each morning became afternoon and afternoon turned into evening, the battle within my soul raged on.

Eventually messy rooms became pig styes.

Rolling eyes triggered sharp-tongued lectures.

Unpredictable changes in my schedule caused hot-temped meltdowns, and not just in my toddlers.

The vows I made years ago about how I would be as a mom seemed to make no difference. Where was that woman I thought I’d become?

Why wasn’t Jesus enough?

Well, He was enough, but I wasn't. He was willing, but I was unknowing.

My anger was an outward sign of an inward problem.

Deep within my heart, where Jesus should have taken up every nook and cranny, He was crowded out by freeloading tenants. I never gave permission for guilt and shame, rejection and regret, bitterness and unforgiveness to set up camp and stake out my life for their own cause.

When I gave my life to the Lord as a junior in college, I thought I was giving God all of me. I was ready to move on from the past and press on toward the promise of eternity, placing my hope in cultivating a new life in Christ.

But the problem was that to find new life, I needed to reconcile my old life at the cross.

Instead, of emptying it all out, I just put it into storage in the depths of my heart, hauling it with me everywhere I went. It took me a decade before I realized that was the problem -- the every day, every moment, fuel to the fire of my anger.

Through the help of a Christian counselor, I went through a spiritual heart transplant. I gave God every permission to walk with me back to the memories, back to the places of shame and guilt and hurt. And I invited Him to speak truth to my soul. In the process, I discover how desperately I needed His forgiveness and also to begin the process of forgiving those who hurt me.

God healed my heart. He took the pain and replaced the new spaces with more of Himself. That transformation was slow but also powerfully evident to my husband and children.

The pig styes became rooms that needed picking up.

The rolling eyes became hearts that needed a Spirit-led adjustment.

The unpredictable schedule became an opportunity to join God in His re-routed work.