September 23: Poison Ivy, Stung by Wasps, Prayer for My Son

"Oh, Avery," chuckled Mrs. Arable.  "Avery is always fine.  Of course, he gets into poison ivy and gets stung by wasps and bees and brings frogs and snakes home and breaks everything he lays his hands on.  He's fine."

Avery Arable is a normal boy.  Destructive.  Attracted to things with scales and stingers.  Always on the verge of another catastrophe.  Unlike Fern, his sister, who simply wants to sit beside a pigpen and listen to animals talk (a habit that causes Mrs. Arable much concern), Avery could probably blow up a shed with gun powder and still be considered "fine" by his mother.


My son is drawn to typical "boy" things--swords and guns and dead birds and live worms and basketballs and any form of dirt (sand, gravel, mud, etc.).  And he likes to play rough.  One of his favorite games is "boss battles," something I think he got from a video game.  In boss battles, my son is an attacking robot/alien/zombie/whatever, and I (or my wife or whoever) must defend myself against his escalating campaign of violence.  My son frequently dies in this game, and his opponents are frequently cooked or wounded or maimed.  Typical boy stuff.

However, my son has a problem with controlling his temper.  When things don't go his way, he tends to strike out at things.  TVs.  His sister's art projects.  His bed.  Other kids on the playground.  You name it.  When I ask him why he gave his friend "Johnny" a bloody nose, he shakes his head and says, "I just don't know.  I couldn't help it."

Now, he may be trying to avoid the consequences of his outburst, but I think it's a little deeper than that.  He really does seem to have no idea why he lashes out sometimes.  It's like a switch gets flipped, and, for a few minutes, he's gone.  A totally different little kid.  Then, he's back and, usually, pretty remorseful.  It's not an act to avoid punishment.

So, as I said last night, I'm at a loss.  I don't like the idea of medicating him, but I'm beginning to believe it may be necessary to help him control his impulses.  I've been praying about it a lot, and God doesn't seem to be giving me any guidance on the subject.  I'm not looking for much, just a handwritten message on the bathroom mirror saying something like, "Hey, everything's going to be OK.  Just give your son the medication.  Love the blog.  Yours truly, God."

Please pray for my son this week.  He'll be six on Friday.  He's a good little boy.  Really.  He needs a little help beyond what I can provide.  A little divine intervention maybe.

Saint Marty will check his bathroom mirror when he gets home tonight.

I'm not asking for much