Sometimes I Hate It...

My husband's job, that is. I know I shouldn't complain - the man has work! Solid, substantial, secure work!
When the economy plummets and morality plummets, my husband gets a raise.
Ok, so not really, but you get the idea.
For years my love has worked a pretty great schedule and the quiet city he works in has stayed fairly quiet.
Until, of course, the day that we have arranged to stay in a hotel and have a wonderful little date night away.
That, of course, is the day that he calls to say, "Sorry, the boss-man has spoken, all hell broke loose, and I'm staying late."
Seriously? Of all days?
Sometimes, just sometimes, I really, really hate my husband's job.
Sometimes.
So after I stomped around at that news for a while and grumped in my head about the stupid jerks that don't realize that this Mama had PLANS...I stopped...and hung my head.
You see, when Mr. is stuck at work, it means someone else is having a MUCH. WORSE. DAY. THAN. SELFISH. POUTING. ME.
And, as a follower of Christ, shouldn't my first reaction be to pray for that someone? No matter if they are the victim or the perp or whatever?
Maybe I should stop and think more about the wives all over this country who have babies all alone while they're husbands are fighting in a hot desert thousands upon thousands of miles away.
Maybe I should think about Saeed Abedini and his wife, Nagmeh, and their little childrenand how that family is laying their life down, their security down, their great longing to be reunited -completely denying themselves -because they love Jesus and won't back down from those that want them to STOP. LOVING. JESUS.
Maybe I should think about the crazy stuff that happens in a person's life that drives them to behave in ways that make my husband stay late at work, for the safety of our community.
Because the thing is, we can go on our date another time. The hotel already said it is super easy to change the date. Our babysitters are flexible. Even if we couldn't change the date, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't.

Sometimes I hate it. This selfishness of mine and how quick it is to rear it's ugly, stupid head when things don't go just how I want them to. Just my way.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I really love when Jesus stops me as I rummage in the drawers and cabinets for pity chocolate and He reminds me that because He lives, I can love.
HE. GIVES. SO. MUCH.
Including the grace I need to stop pouting, start praying, and be thankful in all things.