I feel pressured and pulled in too many directions. First, I lash out at Mama, and then I cry.
This afternoon, Mama had already backed off so I could rest and think while she asked Papa about his schedule. I wasn’t crying then.
Something else happened during her absence.
You used to barrel race on horses. You know the twisted snaffle bit and the hollow snaffle bit? Trainers use them for horses with tough mouths. The twisted snaffle controls quickly – it’s harsh and draws blood. The hollow bit takes more time – it softens a horse’s mouth and it rebuilds trust between horse and rider. That’s what I chose to retrain a hard-mouthed horse that ran away with me the first time I rode him (he bolted up a hill, fell over in the soft dirt, and nearly killed me). With the hollow snaffle, I later rode Comanche for years of fun, hours of trails in the redwoods, even jumping 5-foot fences. I’ve never met an equal horse for speed, stamina, and eager jumping.
“When we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we can turn the whole animal.…. Likewise the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts.… praises our Lord and Father, and curses men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing.”
That’s when I started crying.
I remember Mama’s voice quoting:
“ ‘Instead, as we lovingly speak the truth, we will grow up completely in our relationship to Christ.’
“ ‘[T]he wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without hypocrisy.’ His wisdom really is good for everybody. The closer each of us grows to Him, the closer we will find ourselves to each other.”
Just like many people, when I first hear a truth I don’t like, I shoot it down in anger or berate myself with guilt. God doesn’t want either reaction. He wants an emotional recognition that I have an area of growth available to me. Then He steps back, letting me choose whether to angrily resist Him, collapse under self-inflicted guilt, or to let Him help me grow.
Tears are not always a bad thing. Sometimes tears cleanse my tension as I’m choosing growth.
You yelled at Mama, asking her why I was crying. You should have asked me.
My crying may have been the blood drawn from someone’s twisted snaffle. Or, my tears may have been the cleansing preparation for the growing ahead.
You said that you would die for me. For me, would you rein in your stated preference for harshly spoken truth? For me, would you be patient? Would you wait for me if I needed you to wait?
— Oooda
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A Foot in Two Canoes 
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