Listen

It's 10:24 p.m. and my right hand is gently dusting the shelving as my left gingerly picks things up and places them down again. I pray, "Dear Lord, please, please, don't let me drop something precious with this throbbing, swollen grip."

I'm bone tired. The professor is at a conference receiving an award and I'm here playing zone defense. I prefer man-to-man coverage. There's been more zone than I like lately...but I work on choosing the gratitude and finding the joy. I listen to Ann's voice fill up the quiet of the car and pump loud over the thumping of the washing machine. The girls rush down from the dance room to see if we have a visitor who speaks over helicopters. I laugh, thinking that Ann Voskamp probably never raises her voice to that level. She finds the gifts. Tonight, I'm seeing only crumpled up wrapping paper.


Still, I listen...


I have read the words more times than I can count on one hand. I'm hoping that hearing them will assist in the cementing of my attitude. I am a gift finder. I've always been one, but it's the making of this joy list that adds life to my days lately.

I get the girls wrangled into bed, snuggled and kissed and prayed over. I work on not lamenting on all that I've  missed out on and things done incorrectly in the waking moments...instances of doubt and judgement, with my voice louder and more critical that I desired. Sighing, I try to make these last few minutes before dreams peaceful.

Heads rest on pillows. The internal dialogue begins. It is late, and the tone is ugly. Defeating.


Instead of counting gifts no matter how small I focus on what still needs doing...a floor still to be washed and laundry to be transferred and then folded, the dishwasher unloaded, the pup to go out three more times, vitamins to place on the counter so we don't forget them, and...

There is always more to do.


Always.


Words echoing, paraphrased in my heart...It is in the counting of the gifts that time seems to slow.


In this season where I should still and recall all that He has given to me, all that He gave for me, the counting is all the more important.

For it is the gratitude that helps my heart to open fully to Him, the giver of it all.


"Every good and perfect gift is from above; coming down from the Father of the heavenly 
lights, who does not change like the shifting shadows."
James 1:17 





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