Two weeks ago, a neighbour on our street pulled us aside, so angry her voice shook and she had tears in her eyes. Turns out, all year long, she’s been recording the number plates and arrival time of our guests. Some of whom have parked in front of her house. Not on the verge (public land anyway) but just on the street. Apparently she doesn’t like it… She really doesn’t like it. She finally confronted us only because when she went to the council and they didn’t do anything. Because unfortunately for her, it’s perfectly legal for people to park on the street.
The last 5 days and nights, Felix has had my number and he’s called it every. two. hours. to eat. It’s frustrating, and super exhausting.
Honest moment: I didn’t live up to my own standards when these things happened.

I rehearsed the most epic burns in our kitchen about the parking.
I thump the pillow with my fist when I see it’s only 10:40pm, and 1:20am, and 4:05am and 5:50am.

But in my head, I want to be a good Christian, hell, I’d settle for being a decent human. Someone characterised by love. So after the rant-rehearsal ends and my feet swing out of bed and hit the floor in the middle of the night, I’m left with a choice:
Do I do what they do and carry these feelings into the situation, let them define the experience? Or do I live higher?

…I’ve made my choice (for this week at least:)

 

So if you visit us, please don’t park on the street opposite our driveway.

And tonight when his little mouth drops off and he belly laughs his way to dreamland, I’ll kiss his cheek and whisper I love you… 

Because love, I’m reminding myself, is something proved again and again by choice, not by feel.