Last Thursday, our driver to take us from our hotel to the Detroit airport was nowhere to be found.

But some guy kept walking up, repeatedly asking if we had the last name Route.  He'd show us the text on his phone, we'd say, nope, that wasn't us, and he'd come back again in five minutes and show us his phone again asking all the same questions.  After about 25 minutes of trying to track down the number for the car service company, Studhubs dialed the number for our driver, and guess whose phone rings.  Yep….Mr. Route himself.  As we scramble quickly to his black Lincoln towncar, Hubs asks why in the world he thought our last name was Route.  The man hands him his phone, showing the text displaying his next pick-up orders.  After a few seconds, I hear my Studhub laugh, “Man, our name isn't Route.  Route is telling you where you're supposed to take us.”

Yes, people.  This person really does have his license to be a car service driver.

We get everything loaded in the car, and I feel it happen.  I feel the worse feeling a person can feel while facing 3 flights and a 12 hour day of travel, all while transporting a toddler.  I feel…..a tummy situation.  There is no worse feeling than a tummy situation.  Give me the flu.  Give me bronchitis.  Give me a fever.  But please, dear God, do NOT give me a tummy situation.  While traveling.

I went from toilet, to flight, to toilet, to airport bench, to toilet.  Our flight from Chicago to San Fran had been delayed for several hours, giving me time to lay down as still as possible, for as long as possible.  We hear the announcement that we were finally boarding, and as I gathered my things, I could feel doom brimming like a volcano inside.  Studhubs pointed several yards away, “Quick babe, there's a trashcan!” and I shamelessly hung my head into the red and black Chicago airport trash bin and emptied the contents of my stomach.  In front of a few hundred eyes waiting to board the same flight.  AWESOME.  The thought immediately ran through my head, “They're going to form a mutiny and not let me on the plane!” to which I exclaimed loudly without thinking, “Man, I MUST be pregnant!”

(No, I am not pregnant.  I mean, technically I could have been pregnant….but I made sure today…..and no preggo.)

As we hand the lady our boarding passes, we realize that for some reason, United had changed our previously selected seats 10F, 10E near the front of the plane to 35A & 35B near the back of the plane, so we have to make our way slowly past the same people who had just seen my trashcan performance.  DOUBLE AWESOME.  I crumple in my seat, curl up into a little ball, and pray for relief.

About two hours into our four hour flight, the lady sitting on the aisle decides to strike up a conversation with Studhub about my son Moses, repeatedly offering him cheese. Asking if he wants cheese.  Telling him he definitely will love her cheese.  Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese.  Suddenly, as if cheese was a trigger word for gag, I'm scrambling for the barf bag you wonder if anyone ever uses, filling it to the brim.  Studhubs doesn't miss a beat, even with Moses crawling all over him.  He grabs the bag after I'm finished, dings the call button, and hands it to the mortified flight attendant who looks like he's about to drop it out of sheer terror of the contents inside.

Relieved the tummy situation is finally subsiding, we get off the plan in San Fran, only to realize that we've not only missed our next flight into Redding, but that the earliest they can get us there is 11 pm the FOLLOWING night.  United wasn't going to pay for a hotel, so our options were to get a hotel that night in San Fran and wait in an airport all day until 10 pm, OR….rent a car and drive late into the night to Redding.

With no bags, a rental car, and a Venti coffee from Starbucks, Studhubs starts the 3 and a half hour journey, with every joint in my body aching while I fought off whatever bug had caught me.  Assured by United that our bags would be on the first flight the next day, imagine our surprise when they didn't get there…..for another 36 hours.

There's only so many times you can turn your undies inside-out, people.

So let's recap.  Late driver, tummy bug, puking in airports, puking on planes, delayed flights, missed flights, driving through the night, no bags.

AND NO FRUSTRATION.

Wait, say that again?

Late driver, tummy bug, puking in airports, puking on planes, delayed flights, missed flights, driving through the night, no bags.

AND NO FRUSTRATION.

Why?  Because I'm fasting from frustration forever.  And it's fabulous.

The word ‘frustration' used to come flying out of my mouth like bullets from a machine gun.  In fact, I bet if I counted up all the times I'd used that word, I could string them together and circle the globe a few times.  It was my main descriptor, describing almost everything.  That person frustrated me.  That car frustrated me.  Failure frustrated me.  Being late frustrated me.  My future frustrated me, and so did my present.  I basically lived my life frustrated.

One day, while texting my adopted father Graham Cooke, I used that word in a text. To which he replied,

“Christa, if you're frustrated, you're living outside of your inheritance.  There's no frustration in the kingdom, only the fruits of the Spirit.”

DAAAAAAAAAAAANG……SLAP…….DAAAAAAAAAAAAANG.

The fruit of the Spirit according to Galatians 5:23 are Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-Control.  And somehow, frustration didn't make the cut.

Which means, it doesn't have to make the cut in my life anymore.  And it doesn't have to make the cut in yours anymore, either.

YOUR TURN:

Has frustration crept its ways into your vocabulary like it had mine?  Could it be time to fast from frustration like I am?  Forever?

Will you still feel the feelings of frustration after deciding to join me?  Of course!  But when I feel those feelings, I quickly dump them on Jesus, return to joy, and ask Him for the solution.  And the funny thing is, the more I practice fasting from frustration forever, even in the craziest of circumstances, the less I feel it, and the more I learn to abide in peace.

Studhubs says that the atmosphere of our whole home has changed.  I can sense my son Moses is calmer, less reactive.  And let me tell you, learning not to get my panties in a wad over the details of life has changed everything.  The more you learn to abide in peace and joy, the more addicted you become.

It's your inheritance.

Join me.  Try it.  Promise—there's no other way to live.

(This is me and Moses in the San Fran airport after what should have been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  But living without frustration made it as peaceful as we look in this pic!)

xx,