Three minutes and thirty seconds. That was it.
You might be more understanding if this story started with a number like three hours or even thirty minutes, but no. Three minutes and thirty seconds was all I had to wait for my waist watchers frozen dinner to cook.
But I couldn’t wait. Each second staggered and clung to the one before it, mocking my empty stomach. I walked to the pantry just to browse. There before me on the shelf at eye level was a bag of cheap-o cookies. They didn’t even look appealing but I ate one anyway. I did have that whole three minutes and thirty seconds to wait.
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“I don’t want anything,” pouted our 8 year old as we were about to order. He wanted to go to Taco Bell and wasn’t happy when we opted for a classic breakfast place instead.
I’ve heard these words in the past, and generally ignore them and order something anyway, knowing the boy will cave once everyone else is served. But this particular mood of his was more definite than others, and I decided to let him have what he wanted (or didn’t want, as the case may be).
As I prepped his younger brother’s pancakes, the fragrance of the buttery goodness made me feel a little badly for him as he moped from across the table.
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As a mother, I teach my children to always be honest. I have become very good at being able to tell when they are not telling the truth, or when I’m only getting part of the story. I try to instill in them the importance of going to someone they may have hurt to ask forgiveness; or, at times, going to God with the sin that is in their hearts. Today, my 7 year old son taught me a valuable lesson.
I was assisting in the Children’s Equipping Center today during church. Our Children’s Pastor was walking the children through an exercise of confessing the things that were hidden in their hearts.
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“This one’s for Colin.” My daughter mumbled through the candy in her mouth and thrust a tightly gripped root beer lollipop my way. “That’s nice of you,” I bragged and pulled her free hand through the crowded halls at church to make our way towards her brother’s classroom.
I stuck my head in the door of room E-103 and motioned for my son to come. He appeared with his own small candy bag and held out one yellow, sour Skittle for his sister. I smiled at his generosity and applauded myself for teaching my children to share with each other. No one was forced to save candy for the other.
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15 When the servant of the man of God got up and went out early the next morning, an army with horses and chariots had surrounded the city. “Oh no, my lord! What shall we do?” the servant asked.
16 “Don’t be afraid,” the prophet answered. “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”
17 And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, LORD, so that he may see.” Then the LORD opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha. 2 Kings 6:15-17 (NIV)
My husband and I were just talking about this portion of Scripture.
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This past year has been one of loss, hardship and uncertainty for our family. During this season, I have learned to yield, to trust, to seek and to find. I have learned to have hope in the face of adversity. The dictionary defines “hope” as a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. Over the last year, there were many days where I felt hopeless. I was looking at my life through foggy lenses, unable to see beyond my circumstances into the promises of the Lord for my life, and that of my family. I had lost my sense of expectancy.
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Although I know that I wrote how important winter is in our lives a month or so back, I sure look forward to the springtime emerging.
I see glimmers of hope in the green grass that has recently sprung out of the ground in Arkansas. I know this post is relative to where you live, and some of you are still experiencing the tundra like-conditions of the winter, but please know that green grass and daffodils are on their way!
While I usually just find the closest cave and hibernate in the winter, this winter has been very different. I think I finally realized that I can survive winters and that I am not an animal.
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Scars. Most of us have them. Physical ones. Emotional ones. Some minor. Some painfully deep. They serve as reminders of our past wounds and can hold the ability to stir up powerful emotions. Bitterness. Anger. Regret.
Take my simple scars. On each of my ears I bear the evidence of multiple piercings. Those tiny outer marks cannot even begin to hint at the massive inner scars I accumulated during that rebellious season of my life. I am not saying having my ears pierced over and over again was a sin. But they do serve as a reminder of a time when I had turned my back fully on God.
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