Some days I’m a 5-year-old. These are not proud moments where I’m raging against justifiable injustice. No. Usually it’s simply I didn’t get my way. School was an uphill battle. The bread I spent over an hour on came out wrong. I cleaned the bathroom and ten minutes later there’s an “accident” in there. Some how, some way, I have an expectation and the result flops miserably short of it. Then I just want to yell and scream and stomp my feet that it’s just not FAIR!
Who can relate? I constantly have to tell my kids that life is not fair. We have a whole book in the Bible to draw out all of life’s unfairness in detail in Ecclesiastes. We have Jesus, the perfect Son of God, on the cross for the sins of man. Talk about unfair! And somehow I think my failed plans should justify fairness. In rational moments later I wonder at my audacity to even feel that way when my Lord endured far more injustice. I yearn to have that part of me removed or matured. I yearn to remember Him in those moments of temper tantrums which will help me do so, little by little, as I cannot come close to comparing my suffering to His. By His Grace, the 5-year-old inside will grow up.