Those Frustrating Frustrations

I seldom get frustrated... yes, traffic, or more importantly, stupid people in traffic, frustrates me, but that's only a few minutes at a time.  When my computer gets wack (is it whack?  or wack?  what do y'all young folk say?  does anyone even use that word anymore?), it also frustrates me, but again, only a few minutes at a time.

But let's talk about little Campbell Isaiah.  That kid is as cute as a bucket of puppies, but sometimes, he gets more more frustrated than I've ever been.  Now, this is the part where you email me back and say, "Oh, I know!  That's part of it!" or "I told you it would be like that!" or "Let me tell ya, it only gets worse when they go mobile!" or some variation of that, so its okay, you can save such responses.  I have already heard them.

As all infants of his size and age do, or so I'm told, he cries when he's hungry.  And he cries when he is feeling a little gassy.  And when he gets that poop out, he cries.  And sometimes, he just cries for no reason at all.  Just because, methinks.  And its frustrating.

The Cabana is the third house on the left when you turn on our street.  As in many subdivisions, there are plenty of houses close together, and there happens to be a tall white fence between each house, near the front.  Thats important to note because it means you can't just walk out our door and walk around the house--you have to walk around the block.

So, Campbell Isaiah is having a complete meltdown... I unlock my front door, then open my garage, and walk out through the garage onto the street.  I walk a few houses down, take a left, walk up the block, take another left, walk the front of these same three houses, and then into my front door.  I walk through the house, then back out the garage again... wash, rinse repeat.  I repeat this same circle about 9 times, cradling Camp, patting him lightly on the bum, and he calms.  The moment I go inside again, say to him softly, "Okay little man, I'm going to sit for a minute", well, he ain't having none of it.  So, I get up and make the Campbell Circle again.  And again.  And again again again...

I'm a guy who wants to fix it.  I want to figure out what ails him, and make it better.  Give him some mylacon, or his pacifier, or just bounce him up and down for a little while, or change his diaper and clean him up or, oh its been two hours and 39 minutes, lets feed him, then burp him or whatever it takes to make him stop crying... not because the crying is driving me nuts, but I know he's crying because he's uncomfortable, and I want to make it better.  So I give him every comfort and benefit I can... yet sometimes, you'd think I'd put on a Streisand CD and made him watch "Jack & Jill" (the latest Sandler movie) because he's crying so much and is pitching such a fit. 

And its so frustrating.  He won't let me fix it, he won't tell me what's wrong, he just cries anyway.  

God's like that.

I find myself with every benefit and blessing I could ask for.  I have a house. I have a car.  I have a laptop and an iPod (two, actually) and an iPhone.  I have a great church.  I have a job, gainfully employed with an awesome manager and full benefits and access to warm cheese danishes at will.  My friends rule, both outside and inside of the church family.  The Lovely Steph Leann is amazing.  And of course, I got Campbell too.  

When Camp does this, I sometimes get frustrated.  But when I
do this, God loves me even more

And yet, I cry.  I cry because I don't get my way.  I wail because the book of James is too black and white when it comes to sin, and I don't want to read it.  I moan because I'm reading "The Resolution" and it strikes hard and is uncomfortable.  I whimper because what sometimes what God wants is not what feels good.  I cry and I cry and I cry because I don't get my way... I'm even so selfish that I have used the word "I' over 23 times in the last two paragraphs!

In the same way I hold Campbell tightly, pat him on the bum and back gently, rock him and quietly tell him how much I love him and how much I want him to be okay, God squeezes us in the same manner.  He pats us gently, rocks us, keeps us safe and warm, and though we wiggle, writhe and sometimes scream our heads off in what many times are fruitless and pointless fits, He tells us that He loves us.  I'm sure He is a little frustrated too, but He doesn't show it.  

And like my own son, when we finally realize that we are safe, when we finally realize and understand that even being a little uncomfortable is okay, we can stop wriggling, writhing, crying and wailing, and perhaps just relax into His arms.  Maybe suck on a proverbial paci, however that works.  

And its thoughts like this that keep me sane when I do have a screaming child in my arms... keeps me from being so frustrated.  Cause frustration is whack.  Wack?  Whax?  

Yeah.