Tag Archives: Tantrum

“Get it Out, Little Dude”

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I am weary with my moaning;
    every night I flood my bed with tears;
    I drench my couch with my weeping.

Psalm 6:6 (NRSVCE)

This past week I was in the dentist’s chair. Neither Wendy nor I had braces when we were young, and we both have some dental issues as a result, so we’re finally pulling the trigger on doing Invisalign and doing it together. So if my voice sounds a little strange on my podcast for the next year, know that it’s because all of my teeth are wrapped in plastic!

Anyway, my dentist and I got into an interesting conversation that started when he asked me how long I’ve been doing this chapter-a-day blog. I don’t think he expected to hear that it has been fourteen years! We then proceeded to talk about some short posts that he has been writing and posting on social media, which I’ve been reading and enjoying very much. He then shared with me that he found himself with these things he was feeling and thinking that he “had to get out.” I couldn’t help think of the prophet Jeremiah when used the metaphor of the message God was giving him being a “fire shut up in my bones” that just has to get out.

Today’s chapter, another song lyric by King David, is one of the examples I have used when I tell people that the psalms read like the blues. I’m sure that the ancient music didn’t sound anything like the blues, but I’m quite certain that Robert Johnson or Jonny Lang would identify with David’s spirit and could do something amazing with the same lyrics.

In both the cases of my dentist, and King David, the same theme has contrasting lessons to teach. Sometimes, there is stuff inside that I’ve just got to get out. With the former, there is something positive inside that needs to come out because others need to hear it, learn from it, be inspired, encouraged, or comforted by it. In the latter case, there is negative energy shut-up within that needs to be exorcised and expressed so that it can’t do spiritual, emotional, mental, and relational damage that always occurs when I suppress and hold in my shame, loneliness, fear, anxiety, anger, pain, frustration, grief, hurt, [insert your own negative emotion here].

Wendy and I are opposites when it comes to handling negative emotions. As an Enneagram Eight, Wendy tends to explode with volcanic eruptions of emotion that often run hot like lava. But she exorcises those emotions quickly and then quickly settles and becomes solid rock again. As an Enneagram Four, I tend to broodingly hold the negative emotions as they boil and churn deep in my heart until daily life begins to tremor and toxic fumes start seeping out in my words and actions. It sometimes takes Wendy, or one of my close companions, to consciously drill down with me in order to release the crap that needs to be released.

Along my life journey, I’ve both experienced in myself and observed in others the tragic consequences of suppressing and holding in the toxic shit that builds up as we walk through life and relationship. I love David’s lyrical laments because they remind me of two things. First, I need to get out the crap I’m feeling even though it might be negative, raw, and even toxic. Better to get it out than to let it wreak havoc in my life. Second, God is not surprised by nor worried about my emotional crap any more than I am worried when my two-year-old grandson goes into full-tilt tantrum mode for the silliest of reasons. I totally believe that God looks at me in full tantrum mode and says the same thing to me that I’d say to Milo: “Get it out, little dude. Then take a nap. You’ll feel better.”

Want to Read More?

Click on the image, or click here, to be taken to a simple, visual index of all the posts in this series from the book of Psalms.

There is also a list of recent chapter-a-day series indexed by book.

About This Post

These chapter-a-day posts began in 2006. It’s a very simple concept. I endeavor each weekday to read one chapter from the Bible. I then blog about my thoughts, insights, and feelings about the content of that chapter. Everyone is welcome to share this post, like this post, or add your own thoughts in a comment. Thank you to those who have become faithful, regular or occasional readers along the journey along with your encouragement.

In 2019 I began creating posts for each book, with an indexed list of all the chapters for that book. You can find the indexed list by clicking on this link.

Prior to that, I kept a cataloged index of all posts on one page. You can access that page by clicking on this link.

You can also access my audio and video messages, as well.

tomvanderwell@gmail.com @tomvanderwell

Humanity in the Toddler Stage

At that time the Lord said to me, “Carve out two tablets of stone like the former ones, and come up to me on the mountain, and make an ark of wood. I will write on the tablets the words that were on the former tablets, which you smashed, and you shall put them in the ark.”
Deuteronomy 10:1-2 (NRSV)

For many years now I’ve been mulling over a concept that the story of God’s relationship with humanity is the story of a parent (God) and child (humanity). When humanity began in Genesis and the early chapters of the story, it reminds me of infancy. There was something innocent and naive; there was very little knowledge or understanding of God. Humanity was undeveloped. Life was messy and base.

With the story of Moses and the giving of the law in the book of Deuteronomy, it feels to me that we’re in the toddler stages of the relationship. God has to do a lot for them. Rules are simple and direct and put in black and white terms. Good behavior is rewarded and bad behavior is swiftly punished. Humanity, meanwhile, is strong willed, stubborn, willful, and…well…childish.

I was reminded of this concept again in today’s chapter. Moses, in his unchecked emotional tantrum, threw the stone tablets God made for him on which the ten commandments were inscribed and smashed them in pieces. God’s response? Like a true parent God tells Moses, “Now you’ve done it. You smashed the tablets I made you. Well, you’re going to have to replace them, young man. I’m not making you another set. You’re going to have to learn to take care of the things I give you. Now, make yourself tablets to replace the ones I gave you and I’ll inscribe them for you.” The replicas would be a word picture, a constant reminder to Moses (and the rest of the family) of his tantrum and its consequences.

In our weekly gatherings of Jesus followers we’re doing a series of messages on how we tend to confuse our relationship with our earthly father and our relationship with our heavenly Father. The former quite regularly distorts the latter. I tend to believe that this is part of the DNA of creation and it requires generous doses of wisdom, discernment and grace to untangle the two. At the same time, it also helps me see events like those in today’s chapter with greater clarity.

Chapter-a-Day Jeremiah 13

scream and shout
Image by mdanys via Flickr

Do I hear you saying,
   “What’s going on here? Why me?”
The answer’s simple: You’re guilty,
   hugely guilty.
Your guilt has your life endangered,
   your guilt has you writhing in pain. Jeremiah 13:22 (MSG)

I’m reminded this morning of being a child, sent to my room because my dad caught me swearing. It was summer. It wasn’t even 8:00 p.m. yet and the sun would be shining bright for another hour or more. Out of my upstairs bedroom window I could hear the sounds of the neighborhood kids continuing the game of kick-the-can from which I was pulled to serve my bedroom interment.

“It’s not fair,” my preadolescent brain wanted to argue. But my reasoning couldn’t make it very far. I said the “G.D.” word. There was no getting around it. Arguing that dad misunderstood what I said would be an exercise in futility. His hearing wasn’t that bad.

My brain continued to spin. I wanted to blame my brothers. They were the ones who taught me those words. They swore all the time (and never got caught). But, I knew that argument would go nowhere. Dad was judge, jury and executioner. He wouldn’t buy it. “It still doesn’t excuse you saying it,” I heard his voice saying in my brain.

I had to face the facts. I was stuck in my room, and it was my own “g.d.” fault.

Like children cloaked in adults bodies, I still find myself and others clinging to “why me?” sorrows while wallowing in the muck of our own making. We drive like demons on wintery roads and grieve the tickets and body shop bills. We ignore relational pains and then wonder why the relationship broke apart. We eat too much, sit in front of the television, and despair when our clothes don’t fit.

There are times when tragedy strikes without warning and wreaks havoc on life in unjust ways. However, like a child confined to his room and trying unsuccessfully to spin a plausible defense, I have to confess that much life pain is simply the consequences of my own making.

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Chapter-a-Day Isaiah 49

Tantrum But Zion said, "I don't get it. God has left me.
   My Master has forgotten I even exist."
Isaiah 49:14 (MSG)

What an interesting contrast this verse gives to the previous section. God paints a beautiful word picture of all that He is doing for his children to provide, protect, honor and establish them. Then, in a one verse temper tantrum, the children turn their backs and cry out that they are victim of a Father God who has abandoned them and done them harm.

Wait a minute. I know this one. I've experienced it on both sides of the relational ledger.

I've been the child crying "foul!" in my circumstantial pain, blinders over my eyes that keep me from seeing so many things around me. Ignoring the part my own choices played in finding myself in that particular place. Ignorant of the larger perspective my parents and my Heavenly Father possessed. Relishing, for the moment, the deceptive satisfaction and empathetic attention I receive from choosing my victim status.

I've also been a father hearing his children cry out in anger and resentment. I've witnessed the tears. I've seen the icy stares and received the relational indictment. I understand the frustrating mixture of compassion, confusion, and consternation that a father feels with an irrational child.

Today, I'm reminded that in life's painful moments there is a larger perspective. God has a bigger picture He's painting. We can choose to believe it, step back from our temporarily powerful negative emotions, and wait for the picture to emerge and reveal itself. We can also choose to deny it, turn our back, and resentfully lick our wounds. I've tried both. The former, a more difficult choice in the heat of the moment, has proven itself more beneficial in the long run than the latter.

Creative Commons photo courtesy of Flickr and jakevol2