Scowl crosses forehead. Deep and pressed, much like that of a pouting four year old. Brown soft curls frame a tear stained face, complete with small sniffles of snot off a button nose. Big brown eyes, edged in red from salty tears. Slightly slitted eyes look forward with a sense of uncertainty, almost as if to say “I don’t know how I feel about you.”

The difference is however, the little girl with the tear stained face has long sense passed her fourth birthday. In fact, there have been 20 birthdays since this type of tantrum would have been expected. In some ways, the pout hasn’t changed since her last four-year-old-tantrum. But even in its similarities, some things have changed to make it all more serious. In her mid-twenties, the game is bigger now, the stakes are higher. We aren’t playing for cookies and barbies anymore. And when the four year old gets jipped its only the matter of jax and dolls. The world has gotten bigger since then, giving us so much more to be jaded about. 

Even through the tear stained scowl, there is a little bit of a smile, an acknowledgement that this is trivial and childlike.  Because it is. Who tells God “You stay on that side of the room, because I didn’t get my way, so I don’t know if I want to be close with you anymore.”? Does that happen in the life of an adult? Well, it is happening, so a better question is, SHOULD it happen in the life of an adult?

And aside from the inner four year old who knows they are being a child, there are still some deep seeded truths, some things that cant be shaken.  Something that says “This isn’t a silly little moment, something so trite and trivial. this is the deep and dying truth of what I have been working on.” I cant seem to get life how I want to, to make it all line just right. And it seems such a cruel joke, even when it does line up just right, it all seems to fall to shit anyhow. And at this point: “enter four year old –  stage left”. Please stamp feel and cry about how the whole thing is jilted, and tainted and shaded, and wrong.

Does the little girl with the big brown eyes and beautiful curls have to to soothed? Does the whole thing need to be rectified? Do we need to rock her to sleep and wipe the tears from her eyes? Does she need to be sufficed by the adult that needs to be rational, logical and sensible? Can we leave it a mess? Can we leave the tantrum hanging in the air and the tears fresh on the face?

Let’s not clean this one. Let’s not convince with trite explanations of how “God is in control, and this is all for the best.” Let’s not box this one up with what “Should be done” and how rational and logical we can make the ending. Let’s side with the indignant kindergartner. We may have been warned, and we should have known that life doesnt work this way, but for once, let’s toss the adult logic and throw a fit.