Sometimes, I am so ungrateful it astounds me. Is there no limit to my selfish humanity?
Yesterday I came home from work to find that my incredible, amazing husband had spent all day working on the laundry that I've let pile up, AND straightened up the living room. Was I grateful? Yes, I was, and I told him so too.
For about 3 minutes, at which point I decided to kibitz and moan because the hadn't put the clothes away properly (which just means he didn't do it the way I would have) and some of my shirts had wrinkled ('cause I work with a six-month-old and crawl around on the floor and get spit up on all day...clearly un-wrinkled shirts are an important part of the professional image I work so hard to keep up).
Really?! Even I think I'm crazy? What in me allows such a reaction as this? I should have responded with overwhelming gratitude. I HATE laundry. The man I love knows me well enough to know this, and took time out of his busy day to ease my burden. Where were the hugs? The squealing in excitement? The exuberant thanks that should have poured out of me? What possesses me to hone in on the one thing that was less than 'perfectly' (only in my opinion) done?
10 years from now will I complain that my husband never helps out around the house? Never does the chores? Never lets me have a break? Shame on me if I do. Because if any of these things are true it is solely because my ingratitude brought us to that point. My lack of respect and love and appreciation would be enough to make anyone throw their hands in the air and give up. My sweet, amazing, sacrificing husband will only put up with so much of my misplaced criticism, and when he stops trying - it will be no one's fault but my own.
Yesterday I came home from work to find that my incredible, amazing husband had spent all day working on the laundry that I've let pile up, AND straightened up the living room. Was I grateful? Yes, I was, and I told him so too.
For about 3 minutes, at which point I decided to kibitz and moan because the hadn't put the clothes away properly (which just means he didn't do it the way I would have) and some of my shirts had wrinkled ('cause I work with a six-month-old and crawl around on the floor and get spit up on all day...clearly un-wrinkled shirts are an important part of the professional image I work so hard to keep up).
Really?! Even I think I'm crazy? What in me allows such a reaction as this? I should have responded with overwhelming gratitude. I HATE laundry. The man I love knows me well enough to know this, and took time out of his busy day to ease my burden. Where were the hugs? The squealing in excitement? The exuberant thanks that should have poured out of me? What possesses me to hone in on the one thing that was less than 'perfectly' (only in my opinion) done?
10 years from now will I complain that my husband never helps out around the house? Never does the chores? Never lets me have a break? Shame on me if I do. Because if any of these things are true it is solely because my ingratitude brought us to that point. My lack of respect and love and appreciation would be enough to make anyone throw their hands in the air and give up. My sweet, amazing, sacrificing husband will only put up with so much of my misplaced criticism, and when he stops trying - it will be no one's fault but my own.
I still haven't stopped that complaining that comes out and sounds clearly wrong. Been working on that for at least 25 years. Mostly on and off. Well, mostly off. But here I am trying to be all positive and NOPE--whining about something just like that. so you know what? this glorious humanity is still waiting for the glory step (as going from glory to glory to glory) that must be Glory number 82387 because I have really changed so much! To God's Glory! and my mouth still says negative unneeded criticisms that I still try to couch as lessons or something. I feel ya. I'm with you! We are in Christ. Ahhhh.
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