This was sent to me by Amy, one of the members of Moms Pursuing God, and she gave me permission to share it:
"I just wanted to take a second and let you know how thankful I am for you and the ladies of the RHOP moms group. You all came into my life at a time when I really needed support. I sought out a moms group where I knew no one and you accepted me. My depression was at an all time high, and soaking in the Lord and listening to other Moms who were going through real life along with me was so insanely encouraging. Each time I went, no matter how sporadic, I came home full. I have such a wonderful praise report that God has truly healed me of my depression and I am living in joy now. He really introduced me to you ladies at the perfect time."
Showing posts with label gratefulness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratefulness. Show all posts
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Lesson on the Beach
About a month ago, my family was privileged to be invited to a beach house on the coast for several days. With our four very little children, we haven't yet been adventurous enough to take many family vacations. But, with other family members going along and a big house to stay in, this one seemed pretty safe, so we decided to take the plunge.
Vacationing with little ones is a lot of work, to say the least. By the time we were finally on the road, our van packed to the gills and then some, we were pretty exhausted and more than a little wondering whether it was worth it. After we'd been driving for about an hour, though, a lighter mood began to set in, and we started laughing about the many mishaps that had accompanied our attempts over the past hour just to get away from our house. Though it was now dinner time, we decided (with our kids' unanimous approval) to snack on trail mix and get going. (Good thing, too, because if we hadn't we might have given up and just stayed home.)
A couple of days later, though, my doubts about the sanity of whole thing returned with a vengeance. We tried each morning to get down to the beach to spend the morning there before lunch, naps, and sundown took over the rest of the day. However, by the time everyone was breakfasted, diapered, dressed, SPF'd (that part alone took half an hour), diapered again, and we had trekked down to the beach, it was invariably eleven o'clock and everyone was starting to get hungry again. Of course, we hadn't wanted to take the time to pack a lunch, so we were at least half an hour from food. (Thank heaven we'd remembered to bring the trail mix!)
The second day, just as we arrived at our favorite spot on the beach, my husband realized that we had forgotten our camera. He left rather abruptly to return to the beach house to get it. The kids had cousins to play with, so I began to get settled in to nurse the baby. Just as I sat down on a beach blanket, my three-year-old started crying that she just had to go to the bathroom right that minute. There was no way she could wait. My first thought was, "You just went before we left the house, and not only that, but we just passed the bathroom on the way to this spot, and it's a ten-minute walk back over scalding hot sand and through crowds of half-clad teenagers!" I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted that she really had to go.
Grumpily, I dumped the baby in my grandmother's arms, grabbed my kids (everyone but Mommy thought a trip to the bathroom sounded like a fun adventure), and began marching off in the direction we had just come. Almost immediately we were accosted by a large dog, which in my children's mind is equal to a fire-breathing dragon. (He actually never came near us, but that didn't matter; his mere presence was enough to terrify them.) After some impatient coaxing, I got them past the dog, but then the hot sand began to burn their feet. Of course, in my haste, I had neglected to have them put the shoes that they had just kicked off back onto their feet. (After all, that would have added another five minutes to the trip!) I sighed, put my two-year-old on my shoulders, and sent the three- and five-year-old girls back the hundred yards we'd come so far to get their shoes. I don't remember how they made it past the dog, but they did. Several minutes later, with no sign of the girls, I started to worry that something might have happened to them. I started dragging myself back to check on them when they rounded the rocks toward me, explaining that they had been afraid to return alone because of the dog. I refused to say anything because I knew nothing I could say at that moment could be good for any of us. They bounced alongside me as I marched, half dragging them across the hot sand. After a few minutes they decided that hot sand wasn't so fun and began to whine. "WHY are we walking back to the bathrooms?" I asked. "Then DON'T COMPLAIN! I don't want to hear it!" All the time, inside, I was asking God, "Why did You give me these children? Why are we even here? You must have some point in this. PLEASE show it to me, because I am NOT having fun right now!" Sunscreen stung my eyes so that I could hardly see. My hair was blowing in my face. The sand was really hot, burning my feet too, and my two-year-old (still with no shoes on) was really heavy to carry over the sand dune. And all around me, carefree teenagers cavorted, sunbathed, and flaunted their freedom in my face.
Finally we made it to the bathroom. The emergency potty culprit sat on the toilet and almost immediately declared that she didn't have to go after all. I had no sense of humor at that moment. Barely cloaking my fury in sarcasm, I responded that I did not think walking back and forth all day over hot sand dunes was very fun and that we were not leaving that bathroom until something came out of her little bottom. I plopped down on a bench, set the heavy toddler down, sternly warned him not to move, and again asked God what was the point of all this. His answer immediately resonated through my soul: "You just served My little one." I sensed His pleasure washing over me, bringing a peace that had not existed in me just seconds before. More than a little ashamed of my tantrum (and relieved when she triumphantly declared success), a rather chastened and much more relaxed mommy helped a happy three-year-old wash her hands and made sure the five-year-old also made use of the facilities while we were there.
On the way back, I reflected that whether I got to do anything that I wanted to do on the trip was really unimportant. What suddenly mattered more than anything else was serving His little ones. If He found such pleasure in my doing that, bad attitude and all, then why not make that my goal? It was certainly more attainable than insisting on the fulfillment of my own selfish pleasure. By the time we got back to our cool spot on the beach, I was nearly free of all resentment. I figured that I would sit down and feed the baby, the kids would play with Daddy, and then we'd all head back to the beach house for lunch. And I was OK with that.
As it turned out, I did feed the baby, and the kids did play with Daddy. We then proceeded to have the best time together of the whole trip. Baby slept in Grandma's arms and trail mix staved off hunger an extra hour while we ran in the surf, wrote in the sand, explored tide pools, gathered shells, and took lots of pictures. And I enjoyed it all the more because by then I was simply grateful for the unexpected blessing of having a good time after all.
Vacationing with little ones is a lot of work, to say the least. By the time we were finally on the road, our van packed to the gills and then some, we were pretty exhausted and more than a little wondering whether it was worth it. After we'd been driving for about an hour, though, a lighter mood began to set in, and we started laughing about the many mishaps that had accompanied our attempts over the past hour just to get away from our house. Though it was now dinner time, we decided (with our kids' unanimous approval) to snack on trail mix and get going. (Good thing, too, because if we hadn't we might have given up and just stayed home.)
A couple of days later, though, my doubts about the sanity of whole thing returned with a vengeance. We tried each morning to get down to the beach to spend the morning there before lunch, naps, and sundown took over the rest of the day. However, by the time everyone was breakfasted, diapered, dressed, SPF'd (that part alone took half an hour), diapered again, and we had trekked down to the beach, it was invariably eleven o'clock and everyone was starting to get hungry again. Of course, we hadn't wanted to take the time to pack a lunch, so we were at least half an hour from food. (Thank heaven we'd remembered to bring the trail mix!)
The second day, just as we arrived at our favorite spot on the beach, my husband realized that we had forgotten our camera. He left rather abruptly to return to the beach house to get it. The kids had cousins to play with, so I began to get settled in to nurse the baby. Just as I sat down on a beach blanket, my three-year-old started crying that she just had to go to the bathroom right that minute. There was no way she could wait. My first thought was, "You just went before we left the house, and not only that, but we just passed the bathroom on the way to this spot, and it's a ten-minute walk back over scalding hot sand and through crowds of half-clad teenagers!" I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted that she really had to go.
Grumpily, I dumped the baby in my grandmother's arms, grabbed my kids (everyone but Mommy thought a trip to the bathroom sounded like a fun adventure), and began marching off in the direction we had just come. Almost immediately we were accosted by a large dog, which in my children's mind is equal to a fire-breathing dragon. (He actually never came near us, but that didn't matter; his mere presence was enough to terrify them.) After some impatient coaxing, I got them past the dog, but then the hot sand began to burn their feet. Of course, in my haste, I had neglected to have them put the shoes that they had just kicked off back onto their feet. (After all, that would have added another five minutes to the trip!) I sighed, put my two-year-old on my shoulders, and sent the three- and five-year-old girls back the hundred yards we'd come so far to get their shoes. I don't remember how they made it past the dog, but they did. Several minutes later, with no sign of the girls, I started to worry that something might have happened to them. I started dragging myself back to check on them when they rounded the rocks toward me, explaining that they had been afraid to return alone because of the dog. I refused to say anything because I knew nothing I could say at that moment could be good for any of us. They bounced alongside me as I marched, half dragging them across the hot sand. After a few minutes they decided that hot sand wasn't so fun and began to whine. "WHY are we walking back to the bathrooms?" I asked. "Then DON'T COMPLAIN! I don't want to hear it!" All the time, inside, I was asking God, "Why did You give me these children? Why are we even here? You must have some point in this. PLEASE show it to me, because I am NOT having fun right now!" Sunscreen stung my eyes so that I could hardly see. My hair was blowing in my face. The sand was really hot, burning my feet too, and my two-year-old (still with no shoes on) was really heavy to carry over the sand dune. And all around me, carefree teenagers cavorted, sunbathed, and flaunted their freedom in my face.
Finally we made it to the bathroom. The emergency potty culprit sat on the toilet and almost immediately declared that she didn't have to go after all. I had no sense of humor at that moment. Barely cloaking my fury in sarcasm, I responded that I did not think walking back and forth all day over hot sand dunes was very fun and that we were not leaving that bathroom until something came out of her little bottom. I plopped down on a bench, set the heavy toddler down, sternly warned him not to move, and again asked God what was the point of all this. His answer immediately resonated through my soul: "You just served My little one." I sensed His pleasure washing over me, bringing a peace that had not existed in me just seconds before. More than a little ashamed of my tantrum (and relieved when she triumphantly declared success), a rather chastened and much more relaxed mommy helped a happy three-year-old wash her hands and made sure the five-year-old also made use of the facilities while we were there.
On the way back, I reflected that whether I got to do anything that I wanted to do on the trip was really unimportant. What suddenly mattered more than anything else was serving His little ones. If He found such pleasure in my doing that, bad attitude and all, then why not make that my goal? It was certainly more attainable than insisting on the fulfillment of my own selfish pleasure. By the time we got back to our cool spot on the beach, I was nearly free of all resentment. I figured that I would sit down and feed the baby, the kids would play with Daddy, and then we'd all head back to the beach house for lunch. And I was OK with that.
As it turned out, I did feed the baby, and the kids did play with Daddy. We then proceeded to have the best time together of the whole trip. Baby slept in Grandma's arms and trail mix staved off hunger an extra hour while we ran in the surf, wrote in the sand, explored tide pools, gathered shells, and took lots of pictures. And I enjoyed it all the more because by then I was simply grateful for the unexpected blessing of having a good time after all.
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| 2008May_Di |
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