Fighting for your Right...maybe not

My husband, the artist, is often busy on weekends. This means Saturday nights at Chic Fil A with the kiddos and maybe a movie for me after they're in bed. A few weekends ago, I was hoping to sneak in a quick trip to the grocery store before he had to leave for the day - by. my. self.
In the driveway, he was loading up - preparing to leave and earn our bread. I begged 30 minutes. He consented. During the course of this (2 minutes tops) conversation, all of my children had loaded and buckled themselves into the car. Now, why they won't load up that quickly when I want them to, I'll never understand. Nevertheless, here I stand. Fuming. I don't want to take them with me - it'll take hours! I just want to go by myself.
Being the martyr that I am, I climb in and turn the ignition, four kids in tow. As we drive, I state my demands: "No running off. No asking for ANYTHING. Got it?" We arrive, unload and begin our journey to the front door. As we pass through the outdoor plant section, my littlest one comments on how pretty the flowers are. Slowly I feel it. The drip, drip melting of an icy heart. My icy heart. The recently read words of Edith Schaeffer in describing a disgruntled wife come to mind:

"What a fantastic amount of wasted time! What possible results could it all bring ? What is of basic importance? What kind of lessons in human relationships are being given to three children in the midst of this? Are they being taught to yell for their "rights," no matter what is destroyed during the yelling?"

and I'm undone. Right there, at the entrance to the grocery store, I breathe deeply and decide to relinquish "my rights." Because they're not really mine anyway.

With pleasant face and voice restored, we breeze through the store. Before I know it, we're all enjoying ourselves at the library. I am so thankful for Godly women who've gone before me; who remind me the path toward righteousness has nothing to do with me or my rights.