Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
Why do we think we should have things that are perfect? Things that always operate correctly and never breakdown or wear out?
Is it a latent memory in our DNA left over from the Garden of Eden where everything really was perfect (except for a single slippery intruder)?
It seems to be human nature to want everything to work out right, work right, or just plain work. Cars. Computers. Kids.
Why is so much maintenance required? Why is so much money required? Why is something somewhere, at some time always going wrong?
If I had the one-size-fits-all-every-time answer for these questions, I’d be famous and independently wealthy. But it’s not like we didn’t know what was coming. Jesus told us we’d have trouble in this world.
The “Why me?” whine doesn’t really pour well when we’re also told the rain falls on the good guys and on the bad guys too, and rain is typically a blessing when mentioned in the Bible.
So if I don’t have any real control over things in my world falling apart, I can at least wield control over myself by not falling apart with them.
I can choose to respond, or I can choose to react. If I choose to respond, then I can also choose my response.
Will I whine or trust?
Will I grump or be grateful?
Will I curse the rain or dance in it?
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
Rejoice in the Lord always.
I will say it again: rejoice!
Let your gentleness be known to all,
The Lord is at hand.
~Decisions, decisions, decisions Click To Tweet
Mary’s feet were tender all right, but she wasn’t about to let Hugh know it. Nor was she about to complain, not after what she’d witnessed today.
While he stopped at the washstand, she went inside, a sense of home engulfing her with the aroma of fresh coffee and a rich stew. The boys sat at the table like ants on a sugar cube, and Helen dished up a small bowl for each one.
“You can sit by me,” Kip offered, suffering kicks from his brothers across the table. He sat board straight, glaring at them. Helen shook her head as if she didn’t have the strength to cuff them.
Mary helped set the bowls around. “Thank you, Kip. I’m so pleased to see all of you waiting like perfect gentlemen.”
Ty and Jay hung their heads, not looking up until their father came in.
Hugh’s hair was wet and slicked back, his sleeves were rolled up, and water spots dotted the front of his blue shirt. The sight of him shamed her for speaking so boldly earlier, for acting so bold, and she hoped the flush she felt in her cheeks would be blamed on the cook stove. It was almost too warm an evening to serve hot food, but Helen had cooked for this family long enough to know what they needed and liked. ~Hope Is Built
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