That I had an acute case of ‘woe-is-me’ last night certainly didn’t seem appropriate for the season. It’s just that at six p.m. my lengthy list of things I’d had hopes of finishing was still sitting with just a single check mark beside it. And I’d had to write that item in, just so I could mercifully check it off.
I’d picked up magnets and steel balls that had been tossed near the Christmas tree; I’d thrown ten or thirty jingle bells into a zip-loc, so I’d never have to pick them up again–this December; I’d corraled lost underwear in the hallway and yards of yarn that only God knows why was laying all over the carpet; I’d fed the cat, fed the dog, and fed the kids–multiple times; I’d forgiven–mostly–the child who’d stepped on pomegranate seeds and then kept walking around the house. I’d supervised time-outs, saved the cat’s life, torn through a pile of bills, turned on a Dora video, turned off a Dora video and…
…thrown up my hands because it wasn’t enough.
That a friend extended an invitation to come over and watch It’s a Wonderful Life, and that I went, and sat, and watched, and sobbed into a napkin…might’ve just been the thing I needed. Merely sitting might’ve sufficed. But by the time George Bailey recognized how much his family meant to him and how much his life had mattered, I was wiping my eyes for the 37th time and realizing there were people at home I had to hug. And ‘to do’ lists to dismiss.
Thank you, Lord…
for showing me…my Wonderful Life.
I had a dream about sleep. . . 