Before Murphy so rudely interrupted my thoughts on tantrums, I had planned to share the best experience I ever had with a stranger’s response to one of my child’s fits.
Several years ago we went to Sea World with my parents. Ransom was 4, Memphis was 2 ½ and Cora Jo was 1. We had just finished lunch, and we were divided about what we wanted to do next. Ransom wanted to go to the dolphins, and Memphis wanted to go to the starfish. As we were trying to make a plan, Memphis flopped herself down on the pavement, screaming, writhing, crying about how she wanted this that, never gets anything, while I was hoping a hole would open beneath her.
Before I (or my parents) could even begin the process of peeling her off the pavement, a man and his wife walked by, pointed at Memphis, smiled and winked and me, and the man yelled,
“Honey! Look at this! Get the camera! I’ve never seen one of these before!” He snatched the camera and popped the flash a few times and kept walking, muttering, “Wow! Glad we got that one…”
Before he even got two flashes out of that camera, Memphis had jumped up off the pavement and was hiding behind my dad.
Fit over.
We went to the starfish giggling instead of weeping and gnashing our teeth.
He gave the most beautiful gift to our family that day. He met our distress with compassion and a bit of humor.
This is the gift I want to give as I pass mothers struggling through a fit in public. I pray for them immediately. Sometimes, I offer an encouraging smile and a word to say, “We’ve all been there, sister.” I can’t know all that they are facing, but I can extend understanding. And sometimes, when I am really mindful, I see the tantrum as a picture of my own heart when I am fighting against what God has for me– whether it’s because I’m tired, hungry, stubborn, or rebellious, and I breathe deeply, “OK, God, Your way today– no tantrums.”