I pause, breathe, and say shortly, "Yes, it has."
"Oh, sorry," she coos, "I can't help you. They're so strict on our coupon policy here." I glance longingly out the window at a nearby Chick-fil-A, wishing they sold school supplies because their coupons never expire.
I should have stopped with my curt "yes," but respond sarcastically, "Well, I tried to use it a week ago when it was in-date, but your store won't accept coupons via phone, even though I pulled up a perfectly good copy on my email. I went home, printed it out, and when I could finally manage to get back here, it has now expired."
Looking as if someone has just stolen her last cookie, she quietly says, "There's nothing I can do about it. The company has a strict coupon policy." Behind me stands a long line of antsy customers, customers she's been helping non-stop all day during the store's busiest season on one its busiest days of the year, and I hear the hint of exasperation and exhaustion that has crept into her voice.
"Well, it isn't good customer service," I snap, grab my bag, the hand of my daughter (oh, yeah, she was there, too), and walk out of the store and.....I.....feel....horrible.
I sulk to the car, wait for A to buckle, then turn on the ignition. I feel the Holy Spirit nudge, reminding me of all the beautiful verses I love to quote but just failed miserably to follow, so I say, "Okay, God. I know," and turn off the car. "What are you doing, Mommy?" I hear from the back seat.
"Mommy needs to go apologize. I was rude to the lady at the counter."
"You were rude, Mommy." Oh, my sage seven-year-old. A takes my hand, and we walk back into the store. I get back in line looking very inconspicuous with my merchandise-free hands. The lady in front of me has decided to purchase all of her classroom needs for the entire decade at one time, and I fidget as the sales clerk rings a pile of posters. I hope she doesn't notice me until she's finished, so I can whisper my apology as indistinctly as possible. She looks up and asks, "Did you forget something?" Rats. Why, yes, my manners and dignity are right there under that giant stack of Pilgrim posters, and I'd like them back. Christmas may no longer be allowed in public school, but by George, Thanksgiving is getting celebrated in one classroom.
I stand for a moment while the clerk and now, the pilgrim-poster lady, both stare waiting for my reply. "I would like to apologize for my rude response. I know it is not your fault that my coupon expired, and I directed my frustration at the wrong person. I hope you will forgive me."
She politely acknowledges my apology with a cautious nod, then says, "It's no big deal. I didn't take it personally."
"Well, it was rude, and I know you didn't need that on a day like today." or any other day.
"Thank you for coming back and apologizing." I say, "You're welcome," smile then leave and send the home office an email that outlines my frustration as politely as I can muster.
Few things are more humbling than having to admit you were wrong in front of an entire store of shoppers on one of its busiest days of the year. It's hard to admit a mistake let alone make sincere amends for it in front of an audience. Even if I had a legitimate beef with the company, I didn't handle it in a Christ-like manner; add to that the fact that my daughter was watching and absorbing the scene. Granted, even though I didn't shout, swear, or lose my cool too much, I failed to handle myself the way I'd like or the way I'd like A to handle a similar situation one day. As if it isn't difficult enough to make sure our children are fed, showered, educated, and well-rested, we're also called as parents to model and to teach our children to love God with their whole heart, soul, and mind and to love their neighbor as themselves. I've really been convicted lately about being the kind of person I want my children to become. There's a great picture making the rounds on Facebook of a boy praying beside his father and the text reads something like "Your children are watching. Be the man you want them to become." That's daunting.
Of course, I'm not suggesting that we become perfect parents. That's impossible. Actually, the above scenario prompted a rather odd reflection. It caused me to wonder how often do we allow our children to see us make mistakes, and how often do we allow them to see how we respond to our failures? My reaction to frustrations or failures is to so often hide them from my children, from the world. I tend to hide my true self, covering everything with a "mommy's got this" smile. Mom gets disappointed, burns dinner, dislocates her toe, gets a call that a student actually lost points on the ACT? I'm smiling; I'm happy; I'm good. Mom isn't sure how to handle a challenge that arises? No worries. The kids decide to give the dog a bath in your shower while fully dressed minutes before you're expected for family photos. (It hasn't happened, yet, but I fully anticipate it.) Super mom will grab her cape and be right back. It's disingenuous and chances are my kids see right through it. How unsettling to have a mom whose reaction to everything is to grin, bear it, and try harder. Never let them see you sweat, right? While I don't think it's healthy to lose it when things don't go my way, I do think it's okay to express disappointment in a Christ-like way. Jesus expressed frustration on more than one occasion in scripture.
As a homeschooling mom, I have the unique vantage point of watching my children as they learn and practice new educational concepts. I've noticed my daughter has developed quite an aversion to making mistakes in her work. If she doesn't get something on the first try, she tends to close her book, push away from her desk, and exclaim, "I'm not doing this. It's stupid." Effective, I know. I'm bothered by her notion that it isn't okay to make mistakes along the way to learning a new concept, that she has to get it right on the first try. As her teacher, I usually encourage mistakes and try to explain that it's through our mistakes we learn how to do something correctly. She's grown tired of the tales of how many strikes Babe Ruth had, how many failures Thomas Edison encountered on his way to the light bulb, and how many races Danica Patrick has failed to finish. I encourage her to try and if at first she doesn't succeed to try again. I teach her how others have responded to their weaknesses, failures, and mistakes, but how often do I model that for her myself? When something fails to go my way or I get overwhelmed and my daughter asks me what is wrong my usual response is, "Nothing sweetheart. Mommy just has a lot to do today." Wouldn't that instead be a great opportunity to model for my sweet girl what true dependence on God looks like, to say, "Mommy is overwhelmed with planning lessons for a new school year and isn't sure where to start, but you know what, I 'm going to pray and ask God to help me come up with a plan." How exciting to share with her as God does help me develop a plan and overcome a challenge as I lean into Him for help and for direction. Sharing challenges that she's mature enough to handle and that would serve as good examples, I can model what Christ's strength in our weakness really means.
While I'm disappointed in myself for losing my cool at the store this weekend, I'm actually glad my daughter was there to witness the event. She saw Mom have a real reaction to a stressful situation, she watched as I followed the prompting of the Holy Spirit, she observed Mommy swallowing my pride, humbling myself, admitting a mistake, and asking for forgiveness from a complete stranger. Plus, A helped me come up with ways that I could have better handled my disappointment. When God called us to be parents, I don't believe He called us to be robots who never make mistakes. Rather, I believe He expects us to be (appropriately, based on their ages) real with our children, to teach our children what it means to truly depend on and follow Jesus, to show them that we make mistakes, we fail, but in His infinite mercy and grace, God forgives us and guides us. We can discuss with our children how to handle their frustration, failure, and disappointment, but showing them how we handle our own frustration, failure, and disappointment in a way that honors Christ carries so much more impact. It's a lesson that is difficult for our children to grasp if they never see it
in action.
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