There are days, albeit few, that I wish I possessed a tranquil soul. I've heard of those ladies that just love life. The mothering, the staying at home, cooking, cleaning, and popping out babies. I kind of envy their state of mind. I thought I could do it when I had my first born son. I was never able to gaze at his face as he nursed and glow, thinking 'I could stare at him forever'. No, I thought "good gracious, is he ever going to stop sucking on me??" After that passed, my mind and eyes roved around my house to find something, a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, to keep me occupied before I went insane.
Don't get me wrong, I love my boys. It was my brain that needed a little more than the monotonous feed, change, and bathe of infants. I painted, I read books, and I concocted stories in those long hours of endless nursing (I had all boys and they loved to EAT!). I kept myself mentally chugging at high speeds.
And yet, I can't help but think that I must have missed the boat a little. I scroll through my Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts reading inspirational quotes about how to be happy. Happiness is being satisfied with what you do have and not wishing on what you don't. Happiness is the little things, the simple things, the quite moments, and a tranquil heart.
That last one makes me snort laugh. Just ask my husband, I've never been tranquil in my life. I look for direction, action, movement, and activity, which I love. I am happiest when I have a goal and I am working hard for it whether it be in publishing, fine arts, or sports. I prefer action.
I was driving home one night when a group of kids decided it was a good idea to egg my car. I've read the sappy Facebook stories where people take a moment to be patient super heroes and change lives of miscreants. If only there was a little more understanding in the world and what not. I get it. Kindness is good, but in a split second I realized that I could do one of two things: I could go home and act as if nothing had happened. After all, Jesus Himself said I should turn the other cheek and forgive seventy times seven. I've also been asked to be meek. The meek inherit the kingdom. Meek, doesn't mean weak. That is not a direct translation of the Bible. Daniel sure as hell was not weak when he was chucked in with a bunch of lions. Oh, hell no. That man was bold and had more courage than an army of men.
Which took me straight to option two: I could slam on the breaks, flip a U-turn and chase those kids down.
I took option two. I may have done the indecorous third option which was to jump out of the car and and yell "GET BACK HERE YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF SH%$!!" Which I am not terribly proud of. As they ran off, ditching the carton of eggs in the snow, I think they got the message that not everyone was going to be tolerant of crap behavior. I don't tolerate it from my sons, I wasn't going to tolerate it from strangers.
On the way home, I caught a glimpse of my boys in the back seat through the rear view mirror. Their eyes were sufficiently bugged out and jaws dropped. Dead silence. Then there were whispers. "Dude, I hope I never piss off mom." "No kidding. They picked the wrong car to egg."
There was a valuable lesson to be learned that day. First of all, being meek does not mean you get walked on like a doormat. Neither is it bad or wrong to stand up for what you know is right. Action doesn't mean you are not kind or that you're a troll or that you have to be mean to get a point across. Action means being a part of the solution and not a part of the problem. I regret swearing at a bunch of kids, but I don't regret the valuable lesson I learned:
I am a woman of action. Action is forward progression. Action takes discipline, heart, and courage. And there is absolutely nothing wrong or bad with taking action. I would rather die knowing I'd been the mom who lit a fire under my kids butts that action is a better option. It wasn't long after that incident with the eggs that my own son took action against a bully who tried to choke him. He took action and he doesn't regret it.
Neither do I.
Be the good. Act.
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