This morning, when I dropped Ryan at school, he was still giggly-wiggly. All morning he'd been this way, but this time he slowed down to eat his breakfast, and there was no hitting of his head. For both of these, I'm thankful.
As I drove away, I asked the littles what they'd like to hear on the way home. Neither spoke, so I asked if they'd like to just listen to what came up on mommy's iPhone. Sure. Ok. So I reached up and turned on the stereo (is that still what you call them? I'm so behind) and this is what I heard:
If life gets hard to understand
and the whole thing's gettin' outta hand
Come to Poppa
While I'm pretty sure Bob Seger didn't mean this in the sense I took it, I took it that way anyway. I grinned. I laughed out loud. The rest of the song may not even fit, but this one little part? Oh yeah. It's one of those times when you're scraping the bottom of the barrel of sanity, and God shows his care for you and his sense of humor at the same time. From time to time, he uses my classic rock upbringing, and it makes me smile every time.
Because I don't think I've ever got it "in hand" and I sure don't right now.
Because I know that I just dropped off a whirling, giggling, somewhat unpredictable creature and I'm praying that he has a good day.
Because I know a good day is a long way off if this behavior continues.
This morning, I spent time talking about miracles, signs, wonders, etc. with a group of women I've had the privilege to study with for I think about four years now. They know my kids, me, and most of the messes we've weathered in the past four years, these ladies have been right there with us, praying, bringing meals, etc.
We were supposed to think of a miracle that we have experienced to share with the group. Now, I have to admit, there are things I really believe are the Lord's doing and his alone in my life. If you take the miracle thing from my point of view, they're all around us. I live with three. My marriage is one. Our home is another. All these are things we've received not because we're perfect or be cause we work hard.
The simple fact that I can come to my Abba, my Father, my Poppa... with my hurts, my praise, my requests... is a miracle in that it is only by his work, not mine, that I have this privilege.
And boy, am I ever approaching him about my sweet boy's behavior, state of mind, and whatever is going on with this giggly-wiggly thing right now.
And I will be forever grateful for the privilege.
Thanks be to God.
As I drove away, I asked the littles what they'd like to hear on the way home. Neither spoke, so I asked if they'd like to just listen to what came up on mommy's iPhone. Sure. Ok. So I reached up and turned on the stereo (is that still what you call them? I'm so behind) and this is what I heard:
If life gets hard to understand
and the whole thing's gettin' outta hand
Come to Poppa
While I'm pretty sure Bob Seger didn't mean this in the sense I took it, I took it that way anyway. I grinned. I laughed out loud. The rest of the song may not even fit, but this one little part? Oh yeah. It's one of those times when you're scraping the bottom of the barrel of sanity, and God shows his care for you and his sense of humor at the same time. From time to time, he uses my classic rock upbringing, and it makes me smile every time.
Because I don't think I've ever got it "in hand" and I sure don't right now.
Because I know that I just dropped off a whirling, giggling, somewhat unpredictable creature and I'm praying that he has a good day.
Because I know a good day is a long way off if this behavior continues.
This morning, I spent time talking about miracles, signs, wonders, etc. with a group of women I've had the privilege to study with for I think about four years now. They know my kids, me, and most of the messes we've weathered in the past four years, these ladies have been right there with us, praying, bringing meals, etc.
We were supposed to think of a miracle that we have experienced to share with the group. Now, I have to admit, there are things I really believe are the Lord's doing and his alone in my life. If you take the miracle thing from my point of view, they're all around us. I live with three. My marriage is one. Our home is another. All these are things we've received not because we're perfect or be cause we work hard.
The simple fact that I can come to my Abba, my Father, my Poppa... with my hurts, my praise, my requests... is a miracle in that it is only by his work, not mine, that I have this privilege.
And boy, am I ever approaching him about my sweet boy's behavior, state of mind, and whatever is going on with this giggly-wiggly thing right now.
And I will be forever grateful for the privilege.
Thanks be to God.
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