"Cease from anger and forsake wrath"

--Psalms 37:8. One recent Wednesday morning when I was enjoying those last moments of sleep before starting the day, Christopher realized that he had ignored my nagging instruction to take everything belonging to him out of the backseat of my Camry the night before. Tuesdays are our one jam-packed busy day of the week when Christopher gets off the bus at just before 4 pm, then we leave almost immediately for the high school to pick up Lindsey, when I take the kids to back-to-back piano lessons from 4:30 to 5:30, followed by football practice from 6 to 8 pm.

They have their backpacks with them to be able to work on homework when the other is having piano lessons, plus my car is filled with piano music bags, and often something food related for either an after-school snack or dinner on-the-go. It drives me crazy to have junk left behind in my car, and I constantly remind them to bring every single thing inside when the day is over. I remember hearing an annoying response from him, "I know, I know" as we pulled into the garage when I uttered the familiar drill.

I had a number of tasks scheduled for that particular Wednesday, and since my hand had been in a splint, recovering from a painful fall on my bicycle, this was my day of urgency to piece together a surprise quilt for my sister's birthday, a joint effort by my other two sisters, Valerie, Julie, and me. I was flying to Kansas City for the big 50th celebration bash the next morning, and also had plans to catch up on all the laundry that had backed up while I had been one-handed for four weeks. When it was clear to me that I would have to drag myself out of bed earlier than I had intended, I was exceedingly cranky and unpleasant to my son. I was bothered that I would be gypped of a little bit of sleep, then have to drive my husband's car to the early morning seminary location (on a day that I had declared a no-drive day for myself) where my car was parked as Lindsey had driven to school that day, and retrieve Christopher's backpack, then drop him off at school. He usually rides the bus, and is very good at getting to school on his own. I've only had to take him one other time so far this school year when he overslept and was slightly late, so one might think that I could have cut him a little slack.

Instead, I was shouting out at him, telling him how he should not have left the backpack in the car, etc. I'm sure he was disappointed in himself and felt bad. While I was tired and miserable over the situation, I kept complaining about it in the car en route. Then I tried to call Lindsey, who obediently silences her cell phone during seminary class to not be distracted. I began to get annoyed that she would most likely not get my message and I would not reach her prior to leaving the seminary parking lot, but would drive across the street to the school, where I would need to search for the beige Toyota, row by row. Such was the case. Our cars met at the intersection and she had not gotten my call, and I proceeded with my theatrics now aimed at her.

First I was mad that she had not turned her phone back on to check to see if I had tried to contact her between seminary and school, and second, that she had not removed any personal belongings from the car before taking it for the entire day. As we met, I extended my unpleasantness toward her, retrieved the backpack, then dropped Christopher off at his school.

During the brief drive from the high school to the middle school, my conscience finally kicked in and guilt filled my gut. Here I was yelling at my children for the last twenty minutes, being so unreasonable and unkind, and this was how they would start their day. What a horrible feeling it was to realize that I had gotten to a point where I allowed this anger for such a mild offense to occur. I thought about how blessed I am to have an incredible 18-year-old daughter who not once has ever yelled or raised her voice to me, and here I was filled with rage and treating two of the most precious people in my life so rudely.

I wondered why I sometimes treat my loved ones in a cruel manner. My husband never yells at me or the kids. Why do I? I don't do it very often, but even occasionally, I realize that it is completely unnecessary. The words to the Primary hymn came into my mind, "I'm trying to be like Jesus; I'm following in his ways. I'm trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say." Obviously, Jesus would not be as put out as I had behaved in this situation. At that moment, I had an epiphany and concluded that from now on, I would make a conscious effort to control my anger and never allow myself to yell at my kids again. I thought of a previous character flaw that I had overcome, and had succeeded in forsaking years ago, and knew that with determination, I could master this as well.

When I got home, I told Kelly about everything that had transpired, and expressed my gratitude to him for being a wonderful example to me for all these years, being one who remains calm in similar situations and not blow things out of proportion as I sometimes do. I told him of my commitment and he was loving and supportive, encouraging me to become a better parent and to exercise kindness and love when disciplining and teaching our children. That afternoon, I apologized to my sweet Lindsey and Christopher when they got home from school and told them of my plan. I committed to them that from that day forward, October 7, 2009, it would be the last time they would hear me yell at them in anger. It's been nearly two weeks and I'm surprised at how easy it has been, once I made up my mind. I'm grateful for my Savior, who teaches me through his perfect example.