Pox and Pax

A pox was upon our house this week. 

Yes, despite both of my sons being traumatized by the inoculation shots to prevent it, they still got the chicken pox. 

Please note that I said “both”. 

I’m not sure how they got it.  We asked them if they had been kissing chickens and they assured us, with utter sincerity, that they had not kissed any domestic fowl.

Regardless, we still got shown the “secret, special exit” at the doctor’s office. 

You know. 

The door in the back, by the dumpsters, that doesn’t send us through the waiting room.

So, I was “Mr. Mom” all week.  

Most days it was just me and the boys, but for a couple of  days I had Alanna too, since daycare thought that her mosquito bites looked suspiciously like The Plague. 

We were home and quarantined.

Let me count my blessings first.  Both boys HAVE received the inoculation shots and so their cases of The Pox were very mild. 

Let me complain now.  Both of their cases were mild and so they were at full energy and we couldn’t go anywhere with other kids.  Plus our middle child is being potty trained.  That means accidents. 

Laura came home, one day, to find me angry and speaking gibberish under my breath.

I held a shovel.

“What are you doing and…um….where are the boys?”

“I never thought I would have to do it.”

“Umm……do what?  And……where are the boys?”

“I never thought that I would have to shovel my own son’s poo out of the yard.  I want to throw up.”

Laura convulsing in uncontrollable laughter. 

I was not amused.

But I was apparently prophetic since we all came down with the stomach flu a few days later. 

Ahhh…the irony.

Needless to say, I found myself loosing my cool multiple times.  

As I’ve written before, I tend to try and organize my exterior world when my interior world feels out of control.  That meant trying to keep three children, under five, quiet and orderly. 

Fat chance. 

And so I yelled. 

I yelled more than I would like to admit. 

I yelled at my kids, I snipped at my wife, and I was, overall, a bear to be around. 

I wanted everything where it was supposed to be.

I wanted order. 

What I needed was peace.  

To use a little Latin: I had The Pox but I needed Pax. 

More than that, I needed Pax Domini.  

The Peace of The Lord. 

“The Peace of The Lord” is not synonymous with order, quiet, sleep, cleanliness, or any of the numerous things I set up as idols in place of it. 

It’s both a gift of God and a deep trust in His goodness and His sovereignty. 

You see, 90% of my frustration was due to the fact that I felt out of control of my life.  My kids had gotten sick and I had to drop everything to take care of them. 

The nerve! 

And if that sounds selfish….it’s because it is.

Welcome to the yuck in my heart. 

That is not an expression of is a deep and abiding commitment to care for my kids.  It also doesn't reflect my desire to be a father who reflects the heart of God, The Father. 

It’s an insistence that whatever I had planned for that week was of such cosmic significance that God couldn’t have other plans for me (i.e. learning what a selfish dad I was or simply being a father in general).  I was angry that my dominion of my life had been disrupted.  Please note how many times the word “my” appears in that last sentence.

The strange thing is that I experienced The Peace of God a few days later when it was 3 AM and I was throwing up. 

At that point, I had no illusions that I was in control of anything.  Not even my own body.  And so there, snotty nosed and bloodshot eyed in my bathroom, I began to experience God’s Peace.  Not quiet, rest or order (by any means) but a peace that surpassed my understanding. 

And so, while I don’t wish a pox or the stomach flu upon you, I do hope for this:

“pax domini sit semper vobiscum”

The Peace of The Lord be with you always.