Hey, Jealousy

"You can make the choice to be happy, " my husband says as I grab the car keys.

"Its hard to be happy when each day is hell," I growl back, stuffing my hat on my head. "Besides, that's easy for you to say. You don't even have to make that choice!" I slam the door behind me.

Is it the curse of every stay-at-home mom to envy her husband? I justify my jealousy with the irony that my husband is currently living out a dream of sorts, writing and illustrating children's books, while I quickly lose my mind at home with an autistic child and a two year-old.

On this particular day, I drive around for over an hour, feeling sorry for myself and pleading with God for rescue. Ironically, it is my sons' constant bickering over who should get what toy that put me over the edge. My eldest son suffers from a particularly extreme and bizarre case of sibling jealousy. He must always be in possession of the exact number of toys as his brother. If his little brother has five stuffed animals downstairs, then by golly, he better have five animals downstairs. Does his brother have a toy car? He simply must have a toy car, even if sits next to him unplayed with. Every object down to the cup they drink from has to be labeled with an initial, lest one child have something that the other does not. It is obsessive and constant, and it is the root of nearly every conflict we have throughout the day.

"Does he have the same number of animals in his bed as I do?" he asks before bed.

"What is he playing with?" he queries hundreds of times each day. Usually followed by pouting and a declaration that he had wanted to play with that item, or that said item is bigger than his item.

"How many cars does he have?" he asks as we all play together. Whatever my answer, there will be a meltdown until the portions are equal.

And Lord help us if its an object of which we only have one!

I return home and head upstairs to take a shower. Down below I hear my husband trying to navigate the impossible waters of yet another declaration of outrage on the part of my son.

"You are only making yourself miserable, " he tells my whining child, "You have so many things to be thankful for! Many children don't have anything and you make yourself so unhappy obsessing over the things that you think you must have. Please just find joy in what you do have!"

Of course, our stubborn son doesn't see the truth in his father's words. But I do. Now, that isn't to say that I roll from bed each morning or welcome my husband home brimming with happiness. I do, however, find that I can face the battle with a slightly different attitude. And God has been gracious to rescue me...even if it is simply from myself.

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Very few are born to riches, very few

Very few of cherished wishes ever come true

But that won't matter much at all

On the day your name is called

When this earthbound life is through

And your Father says of you

This one was born in Zion

Make no mistake

This one is Mine

This one was born in Zion

This one will never, this one will never

This one will never die

Very few are ever famous, very few

Very few will ever live the dream that they choose

But that won't matter much at all

On the day your name is called

When this earthbound life is through

And your Father says of you

This one was born in Zion

Make no mistake

This one is Mine

This one was born in Zion

This one will never, this one will never

This one will never die

And every dream left unfulfilled

And every worthy goal

Is just a shadow of the joy that waits

Forever to unfold

-"Born in Zion", Wayne Watson