: fetal-position-on-the-floor meltdown days

Two or three times a year I have meltdown days when I question everything from whether or not God is real to whether or not I’m going to make lattes in Green Hills forever. They are hard days. I cry and throw my hands up and yell at God while pacing around my room. On Tuesday I found myself curled up in a ball and fuming at God because everything was stressful and completely out of my control and he could fix it but he wasn’t. And as I yelled at God I simultaneously apologized for yelling at God because I know he’s never wrong since he’s God and I’m not. But it didn’t change the fact that I was mad and overwhelmed and wanted to yell at someone.

I don’t want to talk to you. I know you’re not mad but I’m afraid you’re mad and I can’t handle what you’re going to say. I’m frustrated and I feel like everything’s caving in and I know I’m being irrational and I know you’re good but I can’t talk to you right now.

And in those moments I realize how much of a child I am. How much of a Father he is.
I talk to him just to let him know all the reasons I don’t want to talk to him.
When the reality is I’d be lost without him. I know it. He knows it. I know He knows I know it.

It’s startling similar to the way my three-year-old niece acts. There are days I say hello and she won’t even look at me for one reason or another. I get close to her and say, “What’s going on, sugar plum!” and she turns the other way. If I try to play with her, she grabs her trains and says, “No!” Yet the moment I walk away, she yells my name. She doesn’t want to talk to me but she doesn’t want me to leave. Who knows the reason why– really, it doesn’t matter. She’s a three-year-old kid and I know she loves me. She knows I love her. We both know we love each other. And that’s that.

The funny thing is, I pitched my fit and woke up the next morning and carried on with life. I sang to God and talked to him and he talked back and I was still his child and he was still my Dad. Irrational, fetal-position-on-the-floor days do not uproot my identity as a loved child of God. If anything, they affirm how good a Father he really is.

If you’ve found yourself having a meltdown day (or week or month or year), be encouraged. You’re his child and he’s your Father. Uncross your arms and call on his name. He hasn’t gone anywhere because you need him and you know it. He knows it. He knows you know you know it.

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