Hot tears streamed down my face in a torrent.
It was March of 2010. Almost five years ago now. I sat in an enormous auditorium, alone yet surrounded by thousands of strangers, listening to Nichole Johnson perform her piece “Playing with Fire.”
She shouted. She yelled. She screamed with narrowed eyes and hatred in her voice. She said the same things in the same tones I’d heard all my growing up life. The echoes of that former time were eerie in that she, too, knew what I'd heard behind closed doors. But worse, I heard myself. I heard myself, not quite two years in to parenting my more challenging second child, on the verge of emotional collapse, relying not on what I knew to be right but what came out on instinct from years of being shouted, yelled, and screamed at myself.
"I … am…. an…. arsonist" she slowly said.
"I have set fires in my own home. I’ve been as careless with my words as others have been with cigarette butts that they just flick away in a dry forest."
Pierced. My heart was pierced right through and the pain was nearly overwhelming. Not being a public cryer, I couldn’t have been more thankful to be at that conference alone so that I could indulge those tears. Allow them to fall, streaming one right after the other as if they were releasing, and forgiving, every harsh and thoughtless word I’d allowed to erupt in selfish fury.
I knew in my core that God had made all this possible. It had all led to here. God had woven a tapestry, as He so often does if we only look.
- He’d orchestrated the family that spent a short period of time at our church before moving on to somewhere else.
- He’d orchestrated her hosting a moms get together in her home one day in 2007.
- He’d orchestrated that I was brave enough to go, just the once, and ventured out with my 3 month old first born son.
- He’d orchestrated that she’d mention a book to me, Professionalizing Motherhood, that I’d balk at because of the title. Having loathed the corporate world, I wanted nothing to do with “professionalizing" anything.
- He would orchestrate that title continued to pop up in my mind over time until I ordered it in September of 2009.
- He orchestrated that I’d discover the Hearts at Home organization through that book.
- And He orchestrated me being able to attend the national conference in Illinois - many many many hours from Tennessee - the following March.
In the months leading up to the conference, anger was the theme I kept bumping into. It was everywhere I turned. Something about anger in the mom and how it affected the kids was unavoidable on every blog I read, every commercial I saw, every radio blip I heard. And then this performance. The culmination. I was broken.
Nichole Johnson’s piece on anger CHANGED me forever. I got home hoping so badly to find it on youtube to link and share with others. I couldn’t find it. I had hoped to watch it again, every year, to remind me how powerful our words and our anger are. The inspiration for the piece was James 3.
"Now if we put the bits into the horses’ mouths so that they will obey us, we direct their entire body as well. Look at the ships also, though they are so great and are driven by strong winds, are still directed by a very small rudder wherever the inclination of the pilot desires. So also the tongue is a small part of the body, and yet it boasts of great things. See how great a forest is set aflame by such a small fire!”
I promised myself I wouldn’t be the angry mom. I promised myself I’d break the cycle. I tried. Real hard. But I was trying in my own power, and our own power is never, ever enough.
Last March, I was reminded of Nichole Johnson’s piece and went to search again. I found it was available to purchase and download. I watched it then and was reminded of the POWER of our words, and our anger. Yet time took its toll, and now that December is upon us, my patience has worn thin. I’ve stepped back from THE source of power and started to rely, albeit unintentionally, on my own power to control my words, my tones, my body language — all the methods of communication — that can either give life or indicate anger. My own power will always, always fail. And anger and frustration have been saturating my communication with my children.
The first step is always to return to THE source of power, God’s Spirit inside of us, that can help us. The second step is to apologize to my children for my mistakes and ask for their forgiveness as I try with God’s help to do this better, daily.
I believe this isn’t something I can be healed from. This instinctual defense of anger will always be a thorn in my side. I can either humble myself before the Lord and allow Him to help me, I can try (and fail) to change it on my own, or I can give in to the temptation to spew hatred and fury when things don’t go my way. I will always need to choose to let God speak inside of me. It will be a daily choice.
I am thankful for God’s tapestry that brought me to this place. I am thankful for the opportunity to break the cycle. And I am thankful that despite my many, many mistakes in anger, these children forgive with loving hearts that give big and genuine smiles like these.
