She's screaming bloody murder because she wants a bowl of mush like the Boy has. She's already eaten spaghetti, and strawberries, and turned down the choice of chicken or more spaghetti. It is pure unadulterated covetousness. "I WANT WHAT HE'S HAVING!"
He's eating porridge because he got an expander mostly installed today, and it hurt, and he cried, and it's still not all the way in, but they are hoping it will go the rest of the way by itself because it was too much to take out now. She doesn't understand the whys, she just wants what she sees her brother having. "My teef hurt too Mommy, I need some."
She is tired. Past the place where correction is useful, or understood. It is time for mercy. So I gather her screaming body in my arms and take her to the bathroom where I brush her teeth, while she screams in outrage, and I carry her to bed.
I rub her back and sing. Her sobs gradually subside into little hiccups, then slumber, and I think, as I often do, of how childish I, we, all of us, still are in so many ways.
I WANT WHAT HE HAS!
I don't care to know what he has suffered, he has it and I want it.
We rail at God, if we believe in Him. Or at the government, at injustice, at the unfairness of it all. Yet while we do He continues in mercy to give us what we need; to clean us up, to make us rest, to give us the food that nourishes us, even when it's not very appetizing.
We must learn, as a child must learn, to trust in the one who cares for us, and to stop our kicking and screaming and crying in order to receive at last the mercy we desperately need and often fight against.