I am so over these issues!
I know I am not the only person on the face of the planet with issues with her in-laws. I ask God for grace every time an issue comes up with Hubs’ father. It’s tough. I know I need help and I’m not afraid to ask for it. Really!
Background: My FIL is an alchoholic. He drinks coffee in the morning and switches to beer by 10:00am. He has 2 children: Hubs and a daughter who is younger than Hubs by 26 years. Yep, Hubs has been mistaken for his sister’s father on more than one occasion. My FIL shares custody of his daughter every other weekend. He bought a condo in a horrible part of town as a fix-n-flip but hasn’t fixed it, nor flipped it. Because he drinks all day long. And doesn’t have time or energy or strength to do anything else. The neighborhood is a very busy street, no yard, lots of potential for gunfire up and down the block (Oh how I wish I was kidding. This happened less than 2 miles from his condo).
Hubs and I lived in a condo in a great neighborhood. I bought it several years before Hubs and I met and got married. We decided we needed a house and the wonderful garage and basement and yard that comes with a house. Hubs approached his dad and offered to let him live in the condo, with us as landlords, so that he could live and raise his daughter in a better neighborhood. My FIL thought that was a fine idea. We would be moving into the house in 6 months, giving my FIL enough time to pack his belongings and we’d move him into our condo.
Now, raise your hand if you like moving. Anyone? Bueller? Nope, me neither. By the time I was 26 I had moved 21 times in my life. No kidding. I am not a fan. But somehow we got ourselves moved into our new house. We still have boxes, but all our boxes are in the house (and the garage, blessed garage)! We called my FIL, asked if he was ready to have us come and move his boxes to the condo. He said yes.
Now, to give him credit, my FIL did have some items packed. But that was one trip worth. I offered to bring him more boxes home from work so he could finish packing. He yelled at me that he didn’t need any more boxes. I was done with that conversation.
Two weeks later, we asked him again if he would like our help moving. Again, he said yes. I began to pray to God to give me the grace to handle anything he brought me to that day. I prayed for patience. I prayed that if God couldn’t put his hand over the mouth of my FIL, he’d let me know when to bite my tongue. I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever prayed like I did that day. It’s easy to pray when you’re moving.
So we lugged all the big furniture type items and other boxed stuff over to the condo. But wait, there’s more! Of course, nothing else was boxed. So Hubs brought big giant load-em-up trash bags over there and we filled them. With stuff. And more stuff. And food stuff. Until we thought my FIL could comfortably live in our condo without lack.
My FIL did not accompany us on that last trip because he had conveniently scheduled the satellite television company to come and hook up his connection right smack in the middle of the time we were trying to move him. So he had to stay at the new condo. To bark at the cable guys. I was hauling dresser drawers up the stairs and into the condo when I hear my FIL yelling at his daughter asking where the *%$#& remote was, why was all his #%^($ in bags and he TOLD Hubs not to pack the things on that table , et. cetera.
I came unglued. I should have prayed that God would help him, help me, HELP ME but I didn’t. And God’s hand was not tight enough over my mouth because I let fly “WHAT ARE YOU YELLING ABOUT NOW? WHY CAN’T YOU SHOW A LITTLE GRATITUDE?!” And do you know what he said?
“Why should I? I never asked for this.”
And I was done with that conversation, too.