One of the wonderful qualities about small children is that they display human nature in its raw, uncensored form. It’s beautiful and ugly at the same time. Sometimes, when we try to teach our children to subdue the ugliness in their nature, we inadvertently teach them to squelch what is good.

James recovering after a tantrum during which he removed his shirt and demanded that he needed the fish net.

I don’t know if it’s happening because he was sick this past week or because he’s entering a new developmental stage, but James has taken tantrums to new heights recently. They start with wining and quickly escalate into screaming, kicking legs, and endless tears. They last for as long as half an hour.

Yesterday he went into a fit early in the morning. He was playing with his trains and became upset because he was having difficulty fitting the track pieces together. I offered assistance, but it was too late. For consolation he asked me if I could “carry” him. I held him in my arms for a short time, but when I sat down he erupted (apparently he wanted me to keep standing with him. My back couldn’t handle it). From this point on, nothing could be done. So I took him to his room and told him to stay in there until he cooled off. Screaming, crying, kicking, and rolling ensued–for about twenty minutes. I checked to make sure he wasn’t destroying anything. Then, almost suddenly, I heard his voice transform from sobs into his normal sing-song chattering, as he was recreating some movie scene with his Cars 2 toys. Shortly thereafter he skipped into the kitchen and politely asked for a waffle.

I pondered this scenario for the rest of the day. I knew that this was normal, but I wondered…why?

From birth, we instinctively cry out when we perceive that something isn’t right. It’s too cold, we’re hungry, we get an “owie,” and those train tracks just won’t go into place. Later in life, we’re disappointed, we lose people we love, our pride is wounded, and our hearts are broken. Our feelings are closely linked to all of our physical and emotional needs.

At two-and-a-half James is currently discovering those powerful emotions which can cause destruction if left untamed. This is one reason parents train their children to control their emotions–to prevent them from hurting themselves and others.

No matter how their parents train them, people eventually establish habits in the way they respond emotionally to life’s challenges. Some have healthier habits than others. I was a very sensitive little girl and would cry when my team lost a soccer game, when I didn’t receive a perfect grade in school, or when any of my peers said anything that wasn’t nice. Somewhere around the age of 11 or 12, I learned a valuable skill: stuffing it. While I’m still sensitive at heart, I’ve become a master at concealing my emotions. I’ve even managed to fool myself.

You probably have this skill to some degree. The problem with it is that no one can really stuff emotions forever. They eventually come out, sometimes after fermenting for years, in much uglier and more violent forms than toddler tantrums.

So what are we supposed to do with all of these feelings that are simply an unavoidable part of being human? My current postulation is to throw a “productive tantrum.” This is essentially what James did in his room. He was able to unleash all of that negative energy without hurting himself or someone else. Then he continued with his day.

For an adult, a productive tantrum could take several forms: a good cry, a heartfelt prayer, or a truly honest conversation with a trusted friend or counselor. For those of us with complicated emotional issues (everyone), we often need to have many of these productive tantrums before we are able to move forward and eat waffles.

Psalm 88 captures a productive tantrum moment:

¹LORD, you are the God who saves me;
day and night I cry out to you.
² May my prayer come before you;
turn your ear to my cry.
³ I am overwhelmed with troubles
and my life draws near to death.
⁴ I am counted among those who go down to the pit;
I am like one without strength.
⁵ I am set apart with the dead,
like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more,
who are cut off from your care.
⁶ You have put me in the lowest pit,
in the darkest depths.
⁷ Your wrath lies heavily on me;
you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.
⁸ You have taken from me my closest friends
and have made me repulsive to them.
I am confined and cannot escape;
⁹ my eyes are dim with grief.
I call to you, LORD, every day;
I spread out my hands to you.
¹⁰ Do you show your wonders to the dead?
Do their spirits rise up and praise you?
¹¹ Is your love declared in the grave,
your faithfulness in Destruction?
¹² Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,
or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?
¹³ But I cry to you for help, LORD;
in the morning my prayer comes before you.
¹⁴ Why, LORD, do you reject me
and hide your face from me?
¹⁵ From my youth I have suffered and been close to death;
I have borne your terrors and am in despair.
¹⁶ Your wrath has swept over me;
your terrors have destroyed me.
¹⁷ All day long they surround me like a flood;
they have completely engulfed me.
¹⁸ You have taken from me friend and neighbor—
darkness is my closest friend. 

I love this Psalm because it’s so human and honest. This guy is basically saying, “God, hello, do you hear me? My life sucks; I hate everything about it! I keep asking you for help, but you don’t answer. Why don’t you rescue me when I know you can? Hello???”

What guttural despair. And this is Holy Scripture, given to us as an example to follow? Yes.

Much more could be said about what makes tantrums productive, but this is already a long post so I’ll stop here. In conclusion I’ll just admit again that I have a lot to learn from my kids.

Earlier I wrote a post called “Healthy Habits” to start a series about the value of incrementally developing a healthier lifestyle. And so I begin this series with my nemesis the ever-elusive good night of sleep.

I call it my nemesis because it taunts me. We square off every day. I try to capture it and it slips through my fingers. I desire it deeply, but I hate that I need it. I have to work very hard to even have a chance at getting it.

Adequate sleep boosts your energy, immune system, cardiovascular system, mood, judgment, memory and productivity. It also curbs your appetite! On the flip side of the same coin, chronic lack of sleep leads to other health problems including diabetes and mood disorders like depression and excessive anxiety. Logically, sleep is a foundation to good health because you’re more likely implement your other healthy habits when you’re not tired and cranky.

I burned the candle at both ends in college and have been trying to retrain myself ever since. I confess to occasionally having this thought: “Imagine how much work I could get done if I didn’t have to sleep!” It’s hard to make consistent, sufficient sleep a regular habit. Fortunately, our bodies know what we need and demand that we take a break, even while we push and torture ourselves. Why do we fight? Back in the good ol’ days before regular people lived by the clock, they went to bed when it was dark! (Okay, friends in Alaska and other high latitude locations, this logic does not apply to you.) We’re slaves to our culture, society’s demand to make the most out of every minute, for work or play.

Surprisingly, having kids has actually helped me sleep better. Sort of. While breaking up my sleep with middle-of-the-night demands definitely hasn’t helped, routine and consistency has. I go to bed roughly at 11 every night and wake up at 7. I don’t know the science behind the importance of sticking with your body’s rhythms, but I can feel its effectiveness. If I stay up too late, my body goes into rebellion.

I’ve experimented with different routines, such as getting up earlier to get things done, but I always fall back to this pattern. Since it works for me, I generally build the rest of my schedule around it, instead of making sleep my last priority. I try to avoid the temptation to adjust my sleep pattern so I can fit something else in, which usually ends up being counterproductive anyway (with exceptions of course–I’m not advocating fanaticism about the schedule when stuff comes up).

It takes self-discipline to sleep well, but in my opinion it’s worth the effort. My nemesis isn’t so elusive when I attack it with the same tried-and-true tactic over and over. On that note, it’s just about my bedtime.

My watch broke this week, and it has been driving me crazy. It feels like such a waste of time to fumble through my pockets or purse for my phone every time I want to see a clock. Ironically, I haven’t had the time to get the watch fixed.

Moms value their time like it’s precious gold. And it is. Every moment seems to be consumed by meeting someone else’s needs–changing diapers, cooking meals, attending events. Occasionally we get “me time.” I cope with the constant demand by mentally scheduling out each day, prioritizing what needs to get done. I work hard and sleep harder. I often find myself more likely to be in a foul mood when I think I’ve been “unproductive.” If you’re nodding your head, I’m not alone in thinking this way.

This obsession with the “tick, tick” of the clock is largely cultural. About a century ago, Max Weber wrote The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. I read it in a political science course as a freshman in college and it still sticks with me. Weber argues that Americans have an “economic frame of mind” that is rooted deeply in our nation’s hard-working religious heritage. Benjamin Franklin captured the sentiment in the classic adage: “time is money.” Think about the way we talk about time as if it were money: we spend it, waste it, save it, and sometimes lose track of it. This mentality has contributed to some spectacular advances in production like assembly lines, light bulbs and computers. It has also made us very, very busy.

We are constantly aware of how we spend our finite days, hours, minutes, and seconds. Even if you’re incurably lazy, you probably feel at least a little guilty about it.

As Weber’s title would indicate, this mentality isn’t all bad–there is, in fact, some Biblical truth to it. Ponder these:

 Proverbs 6:6-11: “Go to the ant, you sluggard, consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest. How long will you lie there, you sluggard? When will you get up from your sleep? A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest–and poverty will come on you like a bandit and scarcity like an armed man.”

The “wife of noble character” of Proverbs 31:18, 27: “She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night…She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.”

2 Thessalonians 3:11-12: “We hear that some among you are idle. They are not busy; they are busybodies. Such people we command and urge in the Lord Jesus Christ to settle down and earn the bread they eat.”

Ephesians 5:15-15: “Be very careful, then, how you live–not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”

Also look at Matthew 25:1-30, the parables of the 4en virgins and the talents. Jesus implies that you should make the most of the time and resources you have during your short life on earth before he returns.

I gather from these Scriptures that God values hard work and sensible planning. But I don’t think he had 80-hour work weeks and exhausted, cranky mommies in mind as the intended outcome of mankind’s labors. As usual, we take what is good and we warp it ever so slightly into something destructive.

Another adage comes to mind as I’m thinking about how to make the most of the time I have without destroying myself: “Stop and smell the roses.” There’s certainly value to that. Time seems to slow down when we pause to drink in the everyday beauty that we often miss. That’s why a lot of people find therapy in the things that bring calmness: beautiful scenery, children’s laughter, yoga, a warm cup of coffee, a delectable piece of Belgian chocolate (or maybe those are just the things I like).

Still, those spaces in between the proverbial roses wear on me. When I have two kids screaming at the same time while I’m trying to get them out the door because we’re late, this never comes to mind: “Wow, God, what beautiful children I have. Let me drink in this moment!”

I’ve known I’ve approached the issue of time all wrong. But I’ve had a hard time placing my finger on what was wrong, since I do put a lot of Godly principles into practice with my time scheduling. It dawned on my while I was writing this that the “spirit of capitalism” did me a huge disservice: it implanted deep within my soul a false entitlement to my time. If time is money, did I do anything to earn it? No! In fact, Jesus paid for my life under grace with his blood (1 Corinthians 6:19-20 says, “You are not your own; you were bought at a price.”). Is not every millisecond that I breathe a gift from God?

This is humbling, thinking this way, that it is not my time, that this mist of a life is a gift. The Spirit of God is shoving the spirit of capitalism out of my mind and heart. It doesn’t necessarily change a whole lot about the way I spend my time, but it does change my attitude about it (study the Greek word “metanoia,” which when translated to English means “repentance”–and you’ll know better what I mean). I’ve been trying to find the small roses amidst the “busyness” of my life, when in fact I was missing the giant rose, which is the gift of life itself and every moment in it.

In conclusion, my epiphany seems pretty basic–be grateful I’m alive. Not exactly an original or brilliant thought. But, as Ann Voskamp says in the book I’m reading, One Thousand Gifts, we have “spiritual Alzheimer’s.” We constanstly need to be reminded about the basics. Voskamp also says, “Contemplative simplicity isn’t a matter of circumstances; it’s a matter of focus.” If I strive to focus on the big picture/rose, I might not get so distressed about my bare, watchless wrist.

Some people seem to attract all of the bad luck. I often wonder why God allows the most difficult trials to happen the same individuals seemingly without a break. I know in my head that he “works for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28), even when we can’t see it, but sometimes it’s hard to wrap my heart around that concept and believe it.

Over the past week I’ve caught a glimpse of God enlightening people through their trials. I woke up one morning to a text message from one of my best friends, Tracy, who lives in another state:

“Hopefully i’m not waking you but please be praying. My water broke at about eleven last night and i started having contractions. They have been able to slow the contractions down but i will have to deliver w in the next few days that being best case…I’m only at thirty weeks.”

My heart sank. “Oh, no,” I gasped. I texted back optimistically that I was faithful it would turn out okay.

But as faithful as I wanted to be and to appear, I was already bracing myself for the worst. It didn’t seem fair. Tracy is the type of woman who always seemed to be destined for motherhood. When we were in college, she talked about her life dreams to be married and raising her family. I, on the other hand, dreamed of world travels and launching my career. I figured I might get married if I found the right guy in my late twenties or so and think about a couple kids later. Now, at 28, I’m the one who has been married for five years and has two kids. This was her first pregnancy, and it had been very difficult. My eyes brimmed with tears as I was imagining her heartache…all the anticipation and hope built into the pregnancy, and the probability of going home in loss and grief instead of love and joy.

If you’re unfamiliar with pregnancy, 40 weeks is the normal gestation period. Guessing the due date isn’t an exact science, so babies are considered full term after 37 weeks. In the age of modern medicine, many babies are born prematurely and live, but they can have a lot of health complications, particularly with their lungs. If they’re born at about 28 weeks or later they have a pretty good chance of survival with help from NICUs (neonatal intensive care units).

Under normal circumstances, Tracy and her husband Chris’ baby, Jude, would have had good odds, and I wouldn’t have been so anxious that morning. But these circumstances were far from normal. Baby Jude had a tumor called a teratoma growing on his mouth. According to the ultrasound results it probably wasn’t cancerous, but it was blocking his airway. If he were born normally, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Tracy planned to have a rare procedure done by a special team in one of the few select locations in the U.S. that it is available. She was scheduled to have a C-section at 36 weeks. During the procedure, the baby would be partially removed but still connected to the placenta. Apparently this is difficult to do because the baby could lose oxygen if the conditions around the umbilical cord weren’t perfect. With the baby still connected, a surgeon would clear the airway. Then the baby would be fully removed.

The main prayer Tracy asked for in the weeks leading up to the scheduled surgery was that she wouldn’t go into pre-term labor. That would have turned a difficult situation into a nearly impossible one. It’s hard enough for a premature baby without undergoing a major surgery. Chances of pre-term survival for Jude were “slim to none.”

I spent the morning her water broke pacing, praying, and trying to act normal. My kids always act strange when I’m in a weird mood, so I tried not to upset them. I received a text around 10 a.m. from Tracy’s sister: “Tracy is in good spirits. She’s been having contractions all night.” Good spirits??? When I was in labor with my textbook pregnancies, I remember thinking very seriously that death would be better than the pain I was feeling. Tracy wasn’t even supposed to experience labor pains at all according to the plan, but here she was, in good spirits.

Then she went into surgery, as the birth couldn’t be postponed any longer. I cried and waited, as did the many, many friends and family who love Chris and Tracy.

An hour and a half later, my phone beeped, notifying me of the text I anxiously awaited yet dreaded. I fumbled with the touch screen and gasped when I read the news. Jude made it, and both he and Tracy were stable. The doctors were amazed. I teared up again, imagining now the pure joy and gratitude that they were certainly feeling.

The story of this little miracle is far from over. In the week since that unforgettable day, Chris and Tracy have experienced a lot of emotional ups and downs as they hold Jude’s little hands and watch and wait. He still has to have the teratoma removed from his face when his lungs get stronger. He may have cerebral palsy. I’m guessing he will continue to need reconstructive surgeries and therapy in the future.

Tracy, certainly groggy and exhausted a few hours after the birth, noted on Facebook the meaning of Jude’s name: “praise and thanks.” And though I’m hundreds of miles away, I can feel her gratitude emanating from every message and update I get. Chris has updated their blog with a similar sentiment and humble remarks about how powerless we are. While my heart aches for them as they undergo these trials, I can’t help but think how fortunate they are for the their faith and the opportunity to know and understand God in a way that few of us do.