Where Do You Dump Your Junk?

Where do you dump your junk? That's my question of the day. Maybe the week, month or year at this point!

This particular thought entered my mind, I think by God's divine intervention, while writing in my journal this morning. You see, yesterday I took my son Nate in for a follow up evaluation on speech development. He is in the bell-curve, but definately border line on the bottom. As we drove home together in the car after a stop at Starbuck's to enjoy some mommy-son time, I struggled with my desires for Nate's success in life. Not that the speech delay will necessarily be a big deal...but the stubbornness in his little personality may very well! I want the very best for Nate. Ultimately, he makes his own decisions, though. As parents, Eddie and I guide him and walk with him through life, but he will be responsible for the decisions he makes.

Nate's stubborness manifested itself in a gruesome way upon our return home. He chose, for the hundreth time, not to use the potty for his excretory functions...twice. My frustration mounted. We've been working on this issue now since January and the child has no intention of cooperating with our grand plan of freedom for him in this area of his physical development! As I was writing this in my journal this morning, lamenting my potty-training woes, a thought forced it's way into my mind, "Amy, where do you dump your junk?"

Frankly, I was flabergasted! First, who knew God could speak to me in the midst of such crude functions of life? Second, ouch! That hurt! I am as bad as my son in this area, actually worse since he's 3 1/2 and I'm 32. God wants me, is trying to teach me, to rely on him. He knows what's best for me and desires for me to make the right choices in my life. He wants me to mature, to grow. And yet, when difficult times come my way, I don't turn to my Creator. For that matter, I often don't turn to him during the good times of life, either. Instead, I rely on myself, friends, vegging out at the computer. I'm not good at releasing my issues and joys to the one who created me, the one who has promised to stay with me, to comfort me, to nourish me, to help me grow.

I've been dumping my junk in the wrong place, too. God wants the best for me and I have continued doing life my way.

The difference between God & me in this potty-training metaphor is the way we deal with the offending party! Poor Nate got an earful yesterday of why my way was right! God, on the other hand, spoke love and healing to my heart.