Volume 2, February 11, 2004

Greetings!

File this newsletter under God's Guerilla Tactics.

I keep separate journals for my three sons, like some keep Creative Memory albums for their kids. I'm too lazy to do Creative Memories; it's faster and easier for me to whip out a notebook and record a thought. I want these journals to serve like snapshots; maybe some day the words will bring a picture, and the picture will bring a feeling, and the feeling will bring a memory. And I'd like that memory to be good and heartening.

I tend to keep the copy light and cute, or prosy and sweet. I recorded something in Grayson's journal today, and flipped back to read a previous entry. It wasn't prosy and sweet, and not at all cute. It was more about me than him. I don't know how he'll remember this: I know how I did.

I'm sharing it now because, well, I don't know why. It stuck in my head when I thought about newsletter copy, so here it is, for what it is worth.

October 23, 2003

This morning I prayed no one would get up when I settled down with a cup of coffee and my Bible on the couch. I had settled in to a comfy, edifying reading time, with a luxurious half an hour on the timer before I had to get you guys up for school-and before I took a sip, you woke up, half an hour early.

All my serenity went out the window. I was mad at God for not answering my prayer, mad at you for interrupting "my" time. I went in the kitchen without even saying good morning to you, raking my fingers in my hair in a rude way, letting you know how frustrated I was. Then I stood at the coffee maker and fumed. Quietly, I thought.

"Did you just say a bad word?" you said from the livingroom.

I did, and your noticing it made me madder.

Then Evan called from Daniel's house and said he forgot his clarinet. I had to rush to get it, throw it in the car, fly to the bus stop.

I think that's why "Your will be done" is in the Lord's prayer.

My plan was to read. God's plan was to test my hot button. Sometimes His guerilla tactics do not please me, but what can you do with the Creator?

I asked God to forgive me on my way back from the bus stop. He said, Ask Gray first.

So I did, I told you how sorry I was for being impatient and frustrated and making you feel bad simply for the sin of waking up. You are more important to me than "my" Bible reading time. I told you so.

Sometimes I think I can push God around with my prayers. If he doesn't answer in the way I want him to, I get mad and whiny and say, "But God, I PRAYED the kids wouldn't get up so I could have time with YOU and your WORD!"

And that doesn't impress God in the least.

It could have been God who jostled Gray awake that morning, just to see how I would do, and it could have been that Gray simply had enough sleep and woke up naturally. Whether it was God or whether it was Gray didn't really matter; how I handled it was all that mattered.

The good news is I've gotten gentler with my kids in the morning. I've actually noticed it. The other day I sat down with a cup of coffee and my Bible and I swear I was just taking the first sip when a kid presented himself, tousled and blanket-creased, and crept onto the couch next to me and snuggled in. Well guess what? I didn't even sigh. I think I may have even smiled, though this could be my writer's license to beautify the facts. I know for a fact I took the kid into my lap and buried my face into his neck and held him close until the heat kicked on and he wanted to camp over the heating vent with his blanket. Then I picked up the Bible and read for a bit, sipping coffee and enjoying the presence of the little kid over the heat vent.

I have a sneaking suspicion it really was God's Guerilla Tactics on October 23. He will present to us less-than-optimum conditions just to see what we're made of, see how we'll handle it. I usually screw up at those times. The best part about screwing up is the redemption in it. Confess to God, confess to the kid or the person you offended, and look for something good to come of it. It may not happen right away, and actually seldom does; it may be that on February 11, over three months from the incident, you suddenly say, Hey-things are getting better. That's my kind of redemption, the quiet kind, the kind you know is going to last.

If you read this whole newsletter, you deserve a prize or something. Go treat yourself to some licorice, and read my updated homepage copy for the proper kind.

God's blessings of peace and serenity and Guerilla Tactics upon you.

—Tracy Groot

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