Seeing Red

Red, as in the emotion, is not a good color on me. Although, come to think of it red isn’t a good color on me period. My closet contains zero pieces of red clothing. That’s symbolism if I ever saw it. If I avoided anger the way I do red sweaters I’d probably be a lot better off. Impatience, frustration, competitiveness, hunger, fatigue: these are all things that prime the slippery slope of anger for me. I’m embarrassed to admit I slide down it far too often.

Last month, during my daughter’s last soccer game of the season, I made her cry. It wasn’t intentional of course. I just got too wrapped up in the excitement of the game, and since it was her last one I desperately wanted her to play hard and give it her all. So when she played anything less than aggressively, I spoke up… loudly. What Providence lacked in aggressiveness I made up for in spades. I thought my tone was encouraging, but apparently my own voice drowned out all my self-awareness. I was seeing red. I can’t even remember exactly what I said to her that did it, but as soon as it came out of my mouth my husband put his hand on my arm and said, “Annie, that was too much.” I watched my little girl choke back tears as she ran up and down the field. Some of the parents next to us noticed and asked me, “Why is Providence crying? Did she get hurt?” I hung my head and mumbled, “Yes.” Bless her heart she continued to play through her sobs. I waited quietly until the quarter break. As soon as the whistle blew I bolted onto the field and knelt down in front of my daughter, begging her forgiveness. Providence is the least competitive kid on the planet. She apologizes to the opposing team when she dribbles the ball away for heaven’s sake. Not once has she asked what the final score of a game is. She genuinely just wants both teams to have fun. (If confirmation is ever needed that she’s not biologically mine, there it is.) She struggles to understand why I get so emotionally invested from the sidelines. I sulk after a loss, and she just shrugs and says, “It could’ve been worse!” Providence never sees red; she wears rose colored glasses, always. I know pink is a great color on me. I should give her glasses a try.

Just four nights ago I was yet again asking my children to forgive me for my behavior. My son Justice and I had matched wills while walking into his karate class. What we argued about is trivial but let’s just say I was absolutely right and he refused to accept it. Even after his teacher supported me and told Justice the same thing I’d been telling him, he still wouldn’t budge. The argument became circular and I was beyond exasperated. I took a very firm hold of his wrist and with my harshest glare I gave him the choice to join his class or go home. He chose to go home. I saw red. Every rule I’ve enforced about slamming doors, yelling, and losing control of emotions went out the window. I did every last one of them. I knew I was sliding down that angry crimson slope. I could have put into practice all the things I teach my children to do when they’re angry: take a deep breath, walk away, ask God to help you stay calm and express your feelings. I could have, but I didn’t. I hated the way I was acting. I even thought to myself as I huffed, “I do not like this color on me.” I could make excuses and tell you I’d been going off just four hours of sleep. (We have a new puppy and that basically means we have a newborn again, only this time I’m almost forty and feeling every bit of it). I could tell you I had a lot on my mind. I could tell you I had a headache; I had missed lunch on account of cleaning dog poop and urine off my floors all day. All of these things were true. There were a lot of contributing factors to my meltdown, and Justice’s stubborn defiance was the last straw. Even so, not a single one of them justified my behavior.

When we got home I told Justice to wait in his room until I could calm down. Later, I came in to find a packed suitcase open in the middle of his floor. I gave him a questioning look. “I’m running away. I’m sick of you yelling at me,” he declared with his arms folded across his chest. I stared at the table lamp, box of crayons and Harry Potter wand he’d carefully pieced into his luggage. I was remembering a six year old me, packing up a metal lunchbox and my favorite quilt and escaping to the driveway (as far as I dared to go) in an act of protest against my parents. I remember feeling misunderstood and unheard. I wondered if that was how Justice was feeling. I sat on the edge of his bed and cried. “I was not at my best today,” I admitted. “I was so focused on my own frustrations that I didn’t even ask you how you were feeling. I didn’t stay calm, and because I didn’t stay calm I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m so sorry I lost my temper. It’s never okay for me to speak to you like that. Will you forgive me?” My sweet boy cried right along with me. He graciously forgave me. Then, without any prodding from me he admitted he’d been stubborn and that he’d held his ground because he was feeling embarrassed about the scene we were making in front of his karate teacher. He just wanted to get out of there. In my anger I had missed that. All I’d seen was red.

I realized shortly after my chat with Justice that I needed to apologize to my Providence too. She had witnessed the entire thing. Even though my anger wasn’t directed at her, I’d set a terrible example for her. I ventured to her room next. After tearfully seeking her forgiveness as well, my precious girl said to me, “I know that wasn’t the real you Mom. We’ve all lost our temper when we’ve been tired or hungry or stressed. Do you need a hug?” Right then and there my ten year old was Jesus in the flesh, offering me grace and mercy I didn’t deserve, and the love I so desperately needed. I realized that’s what I’d been missing. What I needed wasn’t more sleep, more food, more patience or a puppy that was house trained. When all I’d seen was red, I needed to see Jesus.

Anger, in and of itself, is a God-given emotion. Jesus himself felt anger and frustration from time to time. It’s what we do with our anger that matters. Anger leads to sin when we allow the red to take over. The red blinds us to the things that will keep us from sliding down the slope: calm, humility, patience, mercy, relationships with those we love. We sacrifice all of them when we put on the red glasses and see our situation through anger’s lense. “In your anger do no sin. Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold,” say Ephesians 4:26-27. It’s expected we’ll feel angry from time to time, (and with good cause), but red is the devil’s favorite color, and left unchecked our anger can lead us down a path we can’t easily come back from. I’ve repented and sought forgiveness from my children, but I don’t believe for one minute they’ll easily forget the things I’ve said or the ways I’ve acted in anger toward them. They have each admitted to me they’ve felt “afraid” when I get mad. This breaks my heart. I need to earn their trust back by consistently exemplifying control and calm in the midst of my anger, but I can’t do it without Jesus, and you can’t either.

Ephesians 4 continues, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” (I should have had this embroidered on my Soccer Mom sweatshirt as a stark reminder. Maybe next season.) “And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you,” (v. 29-32). There it is, plain as day: our rage and anger grieves the Spirit of God. We would be a lost cause without His forgiveness and compassion. When we’re seeing others through a lense of red, God help us extend forgiveness and compassion too.

“Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God,” (Ephesians 5:1-2). Walking in the way of love is a sure way to avoid the color red. The way of love won’t lead us astray, but it’s a narrow road; it has to be. A wider path gives the devil plenty of space to roam or grab hold. A wider path offers us justifications for our sin. The way of love has been made clear by the sacrifices of Jesus. On it we won’t find any thorns to snag us, any boulders to block our way; He’s removed them all. We need only to follow His footsteps. So when fatigue sets in (because it will), when our stomach begin to rumble (we all get “hangry” on occasion), when our patience wears thin (unavoidable), when we’re digging in our heels with righteous anger (of course we’re right, as usual), when we’re starting to see red, let’s ask God to remove the lenses from our eyes so we can see the way of love He’s set before us.

You’ll never see me wearing red, but if you catch me seeing it, feel free to set me back on the straight and narrow.