Joining with some of the finest wordsmiths on the world wide web to write for five soul-baring minutes on a single prompt, then link up back at Lisa-Jo Baker’s place and spread some encouragement. Join us?
I’m not sure when I started to forget that my children are blessings. Was it when I realized that their needs would be superseding mine for a very long time (like 18 years)? Was it the time I wanted to go out for some much needed “girl” time and had to jump through hoops to find a decent sitter?
And then this week, I started reading all about the #bringbackourgirls movement, designed to rescue some 200+ young girls who were kidnapped in Nigeria by a terrorist group who plans to sell them into slavery. And I thought about the families who were missing their girls, while mine were safe and sound under my roof. I thought about that roof, which covers our house, which is comfortable and secure. I thought about all of our “stuff” in that house, and I thought about how if my girls were missing, I would give up the house and everything in it to have them safely back home and I’d do it without a second thought.
It’s so easy to forget that God intends my children to be gifts when they’re asking for a third snack in 15 minutes, or leaving dirty underwear on the bathroom floor – again – or pounding on each other. But just like I expect them to be grateful when I give them gifts, God desires that response from me. It’s easy to forget that my home is a gift when I’m feeling weary of cleaning the same messes over and over again. It’s easy to forget to be happy about the resources we have when we feel the pressure to keep up with our neighbors.
I believe the old hymn had it right: “Count your blessings, name them one by one… see what God has done.” So I’m counting… 1, 2, 3… (this could take a while). The rest of my lifetime, in fact. I never want to forget what He has done for me.