Holy smokes, it was a day.
I was a complete throw-my-head-back-and-wail wimpy woo.
Granted, it had been rough.
My meds make me so sick some days I just can’t even. But that is actually pretty routine stuff around here. What really gets my drawers in a bunch, however, is when I miss being somewhere great with my kids and the hubs.
And I did.
So I grumped and grumped and grumped some more.
I even threw out a, “Jesus, I just want be with my family, is that too much to ask?”
It was about the time the cry-in-my-nachos side of me wanted to tell my always-look-at-the-bright-side self to calm the hoot down that I remembered her.
The warrior-girl I had been blessed to lay at His feet for months now.
Beautiful. Brave. Strong. Fierce.
And not just fierce, wicked fierce.
But then again, kids always are.
They face illness and hardship and tough things with a grace and beauty and humility that we as adults don’t even come close to realizing. We are entirely too caught up in ourselves, too fixated on telling the world our pain of the moment, too old to remember what it is like to have faith like an actual child.
And yet, we are gifted with these warriors for a profound purpose.
To grow out of our self-focus. To remember the beauty of humility. And to dive into the fierce and furious strength they show us each and every day.
Because the truth of the matter is, my worst “wah wah wah wah” day is someone else’s best.
And bless it if it is not about time that I honor that and thank Jesus for the young warriors that stand among my not-so-normal world.
So thank you, Jesus.
Thank you for her strength. Thank you for her tenacity. Thank you for her fight. Thank you for the mama-bear love that surrounds her.
Let it teach me. Let it grow me. Let it shut me the hoot up.
But most of all, Jesus?
Let it make a difference in me.
Let it make difference in all of us.