The screaming of our wrath

Often we hide away our emotions, our fears, the evils that live within, as though to pretend they aren't there means they really aren't.  I've decided to stop this practice of self deceit.  It's not that I will offer up the darkest parts of my inner being to the world because any public figure who shows even one kernel of flawed humanity falls victim of judgement and persecution in the public eye.  While I am not, and may likely never be, a tabloid sensation, acquaintances, which outweigh friends by 100 to 1, will hover their magnifying glass over these things alone.

The truth does set you free and we must shine a light in the shadows to chase our own bogeymen away.  It stands to reason that the more we shove them down inside, the more we invite them to fester, to become harbored secrets, shameful burdens.  In all reality we try to hide them from God Himself who is a discerner of hearts the way Eve tried to hide her nakedness, which was there beneath the leaves despite her best efforts.

So now, because I most want to be rid of my hidden vices, I must yank the covers away.  I must stand before the face of God, and those I know will not harbor my flaws against me, however heinous, and reveal the dirt in the corners.  Sometimes it is as simple as saying, as I go about the day, God I am angry with you for letting this, whatever this may be, happen.  I am doubtful. I am selfish. I harbor evil imaginings.  I expect too much of myself and too little of you.  Sometimes it is as hard as admitting that you stole an employee's crackers from the top of the fridge in the breakroom weeks after they relentlessly blamed it on someone else, but only within your hearing.  Every now and then, admission comes with heavier consequences, jail time, losing someone important, ridicule or a tarnished reputation.

God is a gentle father, a loving listener.  He sees when we hide the vegetables under the table and pretend to have eaten them.  He knows when we hate someone and feign friendship.  He hears the cries of His broken children and those of their enemies. God hears the screaming of our wrath, the desires of malice.  We pretend but He knows what we are too afraid of ourselves to admit. 

We fear changing some one's perception and so step out with a smile of such dazzling whiteness we intend to blind others to our blacker bits.  In all reality, we make ourselves a prisoner to our shame.  One by one we have the power to step out of the locks, the bars, our cage.  Admit it, if only to the One who loves you above all else, or the earthly equivalent of that.  Confess and fly free.

Poor is a dirty word

When I was growing up, my parents always got hung up on money.  I remember not being able to afford anything and the FACT that this somehow made us lesser, like we had to hide in the shadows.  Truthfully, we weren't poor.  Our guardians liked to have "fun" and not the Cleaver family kind, more like the Fear and Loathing version.  Once I snorted a pixy stick up my nose and the only reason I can conjure for such painful behavior is example. I mean, surely powder is powder, right?

The point is, I remember being ashamed when the teacher sent the class out to get soda from the machine and I was the only one who stayed in their seat.  Every now and then she even felt sorry enough to spot me the money.  Jealousy was taught like some people ingrain manners.  I still struggle with it.

I don't want my kids to come up with this kind of growth ring.  I try to do fun things like go to the park but all I can think is that I'd like to take them to the pool which, of course, costs a little more than I have to spare.  I try not to let them hear my worries or mold them into my envy but sometimes my frustration shows through and I am harsher with them than need be for no reason that they know.

Then, there is guilt because marks are left in their minds.  Mommy is too often out of sorts, too often inside in pajamas.  Somehow, I have not broken the worthlessness in being broke.  Once, I took this spiritual giftings quiz and poverty was number one but it feels more curse-like at times. 

I quit a good job to raise my kids but there is more at stake if I fail now.  Their habits, health, education, spiritual leanings are all on my shoulders and every time I pay for groceries with food stamps I can hear all the ultraconservatives chiding me for my decision to leave a government gig.  I mean, even when I was talking about having kids, all anybody would say about the number we were shooting for was, "if you have the money". We don't. 

The most haunting thing is I think I may be teaching my kids that poor is a dirty word.  I may be showing them that it's acceptable to lose your temper or plummet into depression if you don't have the money you'd like.  I am definitely doing my husband a disservice by pushing him too hard, by demanding more than he can provide.

I try to think of third world mothers with dirt floors and one meal a day.  I envision muddy creek banks used for bathing and washing or war torn fear of missile sirens.  I try to remember all the women who say their only regret was not quiting work for their kids.  But right now all I can cling to is the fact that my babies are still babies and no irreparable damage has been done, yet.  There's still time for me to change and with God's help and the willpower He put in me, I can stop sowing these seeds in my family.