Frustration

The van died last night.

As one would expect, it came at a most inconvenient place and time:  7:30, at the grocery store, on the way home.  The call came - not the call I was expecting, something along the lines of "Can you start the oven" or something like that, but "The van will not start".

Muttering under my breath, I got into my car and headed over.  My mind was not in a particularly good place at the time - 6 months ago we had the alternator replaced.  One likes to believe that car problems are few and far between (and generally, they are) - but every time they happen it seems like they have just piled on top of one another like leaves on the lawn, growing in a pile more quickly than they can be raked up.

As I was driving over the list of the day started to bubble up in my soul:  frustration over future plans, frustration over everything I should have gotten done which I did not, frustration over last minute items that suddenly needed to be dealt with, frustration with elements of my life.  A cauldron and pool of frustration lurching towards someone who themselves was frustrated with a car that did not work.

By the time I had reached the van - not more than a 10 minute drive - I was in full upset mode, looking for a place to affix all of my frustration and anger at things beyond my control.  The trouble, of course, is that this is simply impossible to do at things and situations beyond one's control.  It is like to trying to throw water into the wind:  it merely comes back on you immediately and you are simply wet.  You cannot be upset at people as mechanical issues are not their fault.

At moments like these I tend to spend a lot of time in silence, both because I have nothing useful to say and because I know that I am likely to say things which I will later regret.  So it was a quiet ride home followed by an evening completely thrown in chaos ( we did not eat before 9 PM last night) while I simmered and stewed and argued with myself.

So here is the funny thing:  to what purpose?

The van is not working any better before than it is now.  All the other issues of my life are no different for having been frustrated - because frustration not resulting in useful action merely burns energy and time instead of solving anything.

I am frustrated because I had an illusion about my life and my time and how I thought things were supposed to go.

John MacArthur has a philosophy about that:  We are disillusioned because we had illusions in the first place.

Makes sense to me.  We start with the illusions of something or another in our lives, some control we have or some fantasy of life we are clinging to.  When this fails - as it almost always eventually must - we are stripped of the illusion of the thing.  Our typical, human response is to become frustrated or angry.

But angry with what?  A situation we never controlled?  A thing that was never truly ours to begin with?  The Circumstances of Life that do not bend themselves to our will?  Ultimately, of course at God, because He did not work out circumstances to our pleasure or convenience or desires?

I would love to say there is a happy ending to this story.  There is not, however.  I am sitting here, gearing up for the day of co-ordinating school and work and car repair and figuring how all of this comes together.  The frustration is there in my soul, running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, trying to find something to attach itself to.

The disillusion is there; it is just that I still cling to it too tightly.