Some days I wake up so excited to see everything you will do
I wake up hungry to hold your soft hands that are learning so well to hold a spoon
But the feeling so quickly disappears with your first resistance to my direction
My anger swallows the patience I thought I had for you
My heart runs off to needing: space, a book, flavored coffee, and my journal
What I let stay present is a giant of entitlement that says I am right and have no idea how you feel.
In that moment when oatmeal and raisin hit the clean tile floor any empathy I had for you falls with it
Have I never been angry for not getting my way?
Have I never spit back at the Creator who has given me breath?
Have I never screamed for Barabbas after the hosanna feeling faded?
Do I consider myself so worthy of perfect gratitude that I have forgotten how much has been given to me?
Have I never thrown the provision of grace into the dirt?
Can I not look into your angry, rebellious eyes and see myself?
Can I not hear my own demanding as loud as the banging spoon?
Do I know so much that I can’t come hold your little hand in mine and do the most precious thing we could ever do together