I had two experiences yesterday that called me to attention. This exercise in reflection takes me outside the usual scope of my blogging format. Thanks for affording me this little moment in my personal journey.
Earlier in the evening:
"Mama, I want to go on a date with you. At nighttime."
"Where would we go?" I ask my oldest.
"To Pappadeaux. Then I would take some of the money in my piggybank and buy you something."
"That's sweet of you, honey," I said, "but you don't have to buy me anything. What do you like at Pappadeaux, anyway?"
"Um...I would eat their mini corn dogs."
I laughed, and then said something non-committal, as I was tired and not taking this conversation seriously. He sweetly kissed me goodnight, and went to bed. But then I got to thinking. So much talking happens in this house, but sometimes very little listening. And not just from the kiddos.
This is what I learned:
Despite what I may really feel or think, my actions may sometimes show that I am WAY more excited about going out on a date with daddy or a friend, than I am eating at home with kiddos and a mess to clean. Number 1's desire to go to Pappadeaux was about pleasing me (because I talk about loving it), and not because he genuinely wants to go there to eat mini corndogs. Could it be that he offered to "buy me something" because he sees me happy when I score a great deal or find something pretty at the store? And is this not a 7 year old's attempt to be a part of the specialness he sees his father and other ladies experience in having one-on-one time with me?
He notices, and cares...and I must have more quality time with that boy while he still does.
Later in the evening:
My faithful husband headed off to the gym for a quick workout a little after 9 pm, after generously affording me an unhurried run to Target "for essentials." (I came back with some cute flats on sale and new headbands, among other things.) Since working out is a matter of need and not leisure, he usually keeps his workouts to a brisk 45 min., bringing him home about an hour later. Naturally, there are nights when he takes extra time to go through his form, or for a dip in the hot-tub; but as you can imagine, I was beginning to worry when he was not yet home at 11:15 pm. And all I was getting was his voicemail. What began as concern over possible car trouble or lost keys quickly turned into fear fueled by an overactive imagination. When I finally heard from him at 11:30pm, I sobbed with relief, and couldn't have cared less if the car was totaled as long as he was okay. Troy was more than apologetic and empathetic while he recounted his hour-long opportunity to tell two guys about the truth of the Gospel at the hot tub. A significant conversation in an insignificant context. There are greater trials than waiting for your husband to come home late at night, but that's all it took for me to adjust my thinking.
The wake-up call was simple:
We do not know the time or the hour in which we might take our last breath. That breath may be spent speaking the glories of Calvary...if we are looking for the invitation to do so. And though I'm thankful my husband came home safely, I desire so greatly to be thankful even if he had not on account of using his last breath in such a manner.
I want to make my life count--to use each moment fully in love, to the glory of Christ.
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