You know that verse in the Bible that says “…be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to become angry”?
Yeah, that one.
This weekend, I seriously questioned whether or not it technically applies to PMS.
Because, yeah right. Slow to anger seems utterly impossible to me during the monthly days of mental (and physical) torture. Also, I’m convinced the author of Proverbs 31 did not wax all poetic about the godly woman during “that time of the month” for his wife. But then again, you know how women in the ancient days all gathered in that red tent thing during their monthly cycle?
Yeah, I’m pretty sure that tent was devised to contain The Crazy.
And you know what else? It’s mind-boggling to me that this tempermental hell catches me by surprise every single time. Shouldn’t I have caught on by now? But no. Just this weekend, I questioned my sanity when, for the life of me, I couldn’t identify this foreign, effervescent rage that bubbled underneath my skin.
There may or may not have been a point where I bawled my eyes out, and begged God to tell me what in the world was wrong with me. Because frankly, I felt like I was being invaded by a flu-like case of psychosis or something. Until 48 hours later, everything made sense. Like, oh yeah, that sure explains a lot. And here I was beginning to think this must be my new personality.
Alas, it’s over, and the sun is shining; the sanity has returned; and life is great once again.
But oh the horror.
Speaking of that slow to anger verse (James 1:19), PMS essentially proves James’ logic, you know. He asserts that anger does not produce the righteous of God. Which is likely to be voted the Biggest Understatement Ever. Because I’m not even kidding. On at least two occasions over the weekend, words full of muckety-yuck leapt from my mouth, as the sane part of me sought desperately to rope them back in. (Who knew that PMS included out-of-body experiences?)
I don’t know. Maybe I really do have some freakish mental disease that presents itself once a month as borderline psychotic. All I know is that it’s bad when I start to get on my own nerves.
Perhaps I should wear a warning label during these special days:
That’s no joke.
So anyway, yeah. I need to start keeping track of the cycle, so I can proactively approach these days with an attitude of grace. Maybe with a heads-up, I could be more effective at the “slow to anger” thing. Since frankly, when the Crazy comes out of left field, I don’t give a lick what James says about it. Hot Mad seizes all the emotional gears, and lovingkindness is not on my radar.
It’s so sad, really. I hate it.
It’s during these times that I marvel at Larry’s patience, and pray with great intensity that Luke won’t be forever scarred by this monthly madness. Because honestly, I already have a list of the things he’ll probably one day discuss with a therapist. And I hate to think I add to that on a regular basis.
(Lord, have mercy.)
In all seriousness, I haven’t found any sort of caveat or monthly pass for PMS in the entirety of the scriptures. So I’ve decided to plot against the PMS. Next month, it won’t blind side me. I’ve decided that two days before it comes around, I will start covering myself in prayer over this thing. And yeah, there was a time when I would have totally rolled my eyes at someone praying the PMS away. But y’all…I’ve realized that if there is any kind of good that comes out of me, it’s unquestionably because of prayer. So this is the part that I just can’t afford to skip.
Because no one wants a ticking bomb in the house. Easier said than done when your insides ache, and your brain is about to explode because hysteria and all. Which is why it requires much prayer. (And I mean, much.)
And since my brain is still half-fried from hormones, I can’t even think of a smooth ending to this post.
So basically that’s it.
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