Unkindness

Oh dear.  Kindness was my last post and I was just unkind.  I'll explain.  Not excuse, mind you, just explain.

We pick up about three times more doggie-do than our dog makes.  The underground fence is a magnet for neighborhood pooches to come, visit, and make a deposit.  Yuck.  But today, one visited the front yard and was attached to a very nonchalant owner while it did the deed.

Oh I have had enough of this.

I'm tired.  The tired parents get when they are in the midst of temporary housing between moves. The tired that comes from the bottom-of-the-barrel patience that I have to dip into daily to deal with my very active, energetic, possibly ADHD, developmentally delayed child who may have other acronyms coming. Prayer slapping off the ceiling tired.  Tired of people trying to take advantage of me.  I want to shout; "Can't you see I'm fresh out of everything?  Money? Sleep? Patience? Help?  House square footage? Working cars?  EVERYTHING!  Stop asking me for stuff unless you have less than me!  Jeepers!" But I don't shout that.  I mumble it to myself in the shower.  I whine it out in my prayers.  I cry it out in my pillow.

So when miss sorority sister lets her German Shepherd squat on my lawn I'm done.  I shout out the open window, "don't let your dog do that again."  So she calls back, "do you have a bag?"  And I graciously reply:

"No, you are supposed to carry one with you."  Slam.

Lovely.

There is still foreign dog poo on the front lawn.  My unhelpful spirit left it there.

I probably startled her.

She probably deserved it.

But I am better than that.  I could have been gracious.  I could have said please.  I could have brought her a bag and watched her clean up the mess.

But I was mad and I just walked away.  I'm not proud of myself.  Oh, I know, it isn't like I murdered anyone.  I feel like I'm running out of nice.  I'm running out of everything, just like the Sidonian widow who sheltered Elijah.  Oh. Yeah.  That's right.  She was on her last meal and a cruddy one at that and she gave to the one who asked.

Great.

I know God directed her to.  He told Elijah that he'd already cleared things with the woman and to go get some food.  What was He thinking?  Send starving Elijah to the poorest of the poor, the least of the least, the woman at the end of her rope.  What must she have thought?  Even though God directed her to, the pangs of hunger were there in her words, Sir I have no bread, just a little flour and oil.  Her last resources.  The last thin barrier between her son and death.  And God shows up and does some interesting math.  The Elijah who drank his last drop from a dying stream and his last meal from a crow.  The woman with no protector or provider who was skinny and tired and out of options. The flour bin that never was full, but never ran out. The oil that kept flowing.

God has strange math.  And I'm so much richer than her.  I have a roof, money for food, a husband to protect and love me, a car that still works, a bank account.  Three beautiful children and two that have no problems at all.  And the one who taxes me the most, is also the most full of love and sweetness and life.

So maybe God wants to bring people to me and for me to give them the last ounce of patience I have.  He restores my soul. He leads me beside still waters.  My cup runs over.

So I don't need to be the cranky old lady who yells get off her lawn.  I need to break out the shovel and be grateful I have a lawn.