I found myself in a place of desperation the other night. OK, that may be an over-exaggeration and a bit dramatic, but at the time I was definitely spinning in circles, going nowhere fast, and I felt pretty desperate.
It was the same day I got my tax returns back in the mail and found, as one of my clients succinctly put it, that I am going to be contributing to the purchase of an aircraft carrier by our government. I always have to pay money so that wasn't a surprise. What walloped me alongside the head was the amount. I was not mentally prepared to have to pay the tidy little sum being requested of me, double the amount I paid last year.
That in conjunction with some recent uninsured dental work and truck repair put me in one of "those" moods. You all know what kind of mood I'm talking about. If you don't know, let me explain. It's the one where "Fear" comes and sits right in the middle of your forehead, thanking you for the open invitation, bringing along its best friend, "Worry." I know full well the futility of worry, but I was already in the middle of a full-blown case of it. Getting out of it is nigh unto impossible.
Why does going to bed seem like a good idea at a time like this? I don't know. Rest, of course, is out of the question. Go figure. I was lying in bed wrestling, unsuccessfully, with that huge giant in my mind. When fear and worry work their way in there is no peace, there is no reason. This is the place of desperation I am talking about. As I was tossing and turning, I heard in my mind the cry Help me, directed toward my heavenly Father. After awhile I found I was thinking of all that I have to be thankful for in the here and now. That list is endless as I have been given so much. The conscious thought was that tomorrow will take care of itself, and I fell asleep in peace.
Earlier in the week I had been remembering a Bible story from Sunday School days. It is the story of 10 lepers who were healed. In Biblical times leprosy was a condition that carried with it such social stigma that those afflicted were shunned, banished from their families and society. As the story goes, only one of those 10 lepers came back to thank Jesus, the one who had healed them. While thinking about the whole scenario my reaction was What ingrates. What ingratitude. How could their lives be changed so dramatically, and they didn't even thank Him?
Today as I was weeding Patt's garden with a gorgeous view of the McKenzie River, the Willamette Valley, and the mountains in the distance, it occurred to me that I had never thanked my Father for taking me from that place of desperation to a place of peace. Talk about taking a look in the mirror. "If the shoe fits wear it." I had no problem begging Him for help, but when He gave it I just continued on with my life without even an acknowledgement.
As a parent there is nothing on this earth I wouldn't give my children if I am able to. Those gifts are not contingent upon being told "Thank you," but knowing they are appreciated is heartwarming. My heavenly Father is no different. He loves giving to His children and would withhold nothing from them. He asks for nothing in return, but I think a simple "Please" and "Thank you" is in order.
Note to self.
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