Controlling your emotions through prayer

We moved into a new home recently. Everyone who lives in this area is very proactive because it’s a cool place and they wish for it to remain that way. It has been quite the learning curve for us to keep our lot within the bounds of “coolness.” 

It’s a bigger space so we tend to make a bigger mess.  Raising four children is a perpetual struggle for compliance so let’s just say having a pile of yard waste on the curb for more than a week isn’t a hot item for me. I see no harm in a basketball goal in the driveway. I love to destroy the kids in a game of Around the World as often as possible. 

But I am also a rule follower so when I encounter moments where things can be perceived that I am not obedient I’ll get spun into a full blown tizzy. We pay these bills but also we chose a neighborhood with a HOA. Feels like I’m in a pickle at times. What a first world problem to even mention so as I write I ponder how I could definitely use moments of humility. 

There are other little things that occur that give me  educational opportunities. Our kitten, SunTzu Honey Bun Eldridge, has been posted on the neighborhood page enough times to give me anxiety if the kids don’t “click” the garage door closed. Our dog, Cookie Rose Eldridge, will slip through the fence gate after inattentive children to harass golfers at the sixth hole. She is one of those special dogs that smiles so at first she looks like Cujo until you see her thick rump shaking and begging for a rub. I’ve seen grown men use their sand wedge to try and fend her off until they realize she is full of chubby love. 

These wonderful rascals habitually leave their toys and ride-ons on the sidewalk and later I’ll find them neatly placed under a tree or in a safe area by one of our next door neighbors who are sweet angels. 

The kids are loud. I am loud. My husband is always reasonable but, by association, gets rolled into the average family volume of loud. We draw attention inadvertently. 

Reflecting on all this I get a tinge of discouragement because I think at times our parenting mistakes are being spotlighted and no one is taking into consideration that we are trying to raise children and all the challenges that come with it.  I do submit that I may be too tender about what people think and that is rooted in vanity. I’m working on it y’all.  

But this reflection also comes one day after the feast of St. Therese, whom I love dearly. In her autobiography we learn how she was once hypersensitive but then transformed into someone who took delight in the chance she would be misjudged or wrongly accused almost to the point of not being cast in a very bright light. 

St. Therese at first wanted to defend herself in one particular case of defamation but instead held back to retain her peace. It wasn’t a huge thing. It’s all part of her little way. She and another sister were arguing over some keys that were rightfully St. Therese’s responsibility but the racket woke up the sick prioress and the other sister blamed The Little Flower. She accepted it as Christ did his cross.  

One afternoon all I wanted to do was respond to a person on social media for suggesting that “whomever the tiny orange cat belongs to please be a more responsible pet owner,” with a litany of guilt trips.  I was so eloquently going to say how you should show mercy to the noisy, messy people on the corner.  They are genuinely trying to teach their kids how to care for animals and their belongings and it is, at best, a work in progress. I went over my possible comment for a good 20 minutes and realized that nothing I would say would make me feel better and I was sure it would not make the person who made the comment feel great either. 

I confess that just the act of thinking of what I would type sucked the peace right out of my soul. The advice from the lady walking by probably came from a good place, and I’d even bet she didn’t intend to make me feel the way I was making myself feel which was like a negligent momma. She simply didn’t want Honey Bun to get hurt. Maybe the mercy I wanted the woman to show me is the mercy the Lord wanted me to show her. 

In another instance along the same lines, instead of getting all worked up about a message that said “I moved the kids bikes again” it should remind me that people still care no matter if the way they show it isn’t delivered the way I like to receive it.  And you know that pretty blue Huffy could have just  “disappeared” if they didn’t relocate it.  I’m certainly no petit fleur and I don’t recall ever consciously asking God to give me hardships that I could offer up for others but I am learning to not be so reactive and all bent out of shape through prayer. 

A LOT, a lot of prayer and reading about our friends the saints. 

Eldridge is a Catholic mom living in the Diocese of Baton Rouge facing the same challenges all families face.