Last night was an ongoing vandal nightmare, of course, I will spare you no gory details. You’re welcome, in advance.
Singular vandal. Just Sam. My hands are still shaking. After several days at my parents’ lakehouse, he is what some would excuse as, “over-tired.”
If that is what I am feeling, he is in bad shape. My head is pounding. My stomach is in knots, and I can’t quit crying. Unlike Sam, I have yet to intentionally bang my head against the wall, cry so hard I vomit or wet myself… but it’s early. I am keeping my options open.
We will be here until Monday, assuming Nana and Papa don’t kick us to the curb. I feel they are keeping their options open as well. I have thanked them repeatedly for their patience.
Their generous response, “You’re welcome, Sweetie.”
When 8 Amerines are the guests camping in your second story the pressure to be of minimal annoyance falls to Justin and me. We are constantly begging “SHHHHH!” and harshly whispering, “PLEASE STOP!” And this isn’t just directed at the littles. The giant vandals have been separated for weeks by military school; there are chases, pranks, and wrestling that must be worked out.
Needless to say, my parents are continually dusted by falling sheetrock, and I think a ceiling fan or two are hanging by a cord. They politely laugh and turn up the television. But, I did notice that they are making huge red Xs on the calendar by the back door. I try not to take it personally. They are probably just overtired.
My 5-year-old nephew, who I like to call “The George,” is brutally honest and says what everyone else is probably thinking. At one insane point with 15 of us at dinner he said, “Aunt Jami, those babies aren’t listening to you at all. You should just stop talking now.”
And he is right. At this point, I am probably just adding to the noise.
But during my sleepless night last night, Sam had calmed for a bit I did a sleep exercise I learned a long time ago, giving thanks alphabetically. Simply put, you thank God for something from each letter of the alphabet. Sometimes I fall asleep, sometimes… I get a lot of Thanksgiving done.
But I rarely stop talking…
And maybe I am delirious, and maybe this will get me committed, but about the time I got to “P” and was thankful for my “Parke” cousins, and the arrival of new Parke baby soon, it occurred to me I was missing out on the communion of Thanksgiving – the reciprocating, “You’re welcome.”
The Father in Heaven that I am thankful to for His on-going goodness rarely gets a chance to respond. And sure, a lot of times when I am bemoaning my troubles I wait for Him to lend a Word of hope, healing, or guidance.
But, if I thank my earthly parents for putting up with the herd of buffalo they are housing, I stop talking long enough for them to say, “You’re welcome, sweetie.”
And I am sure the Author of all loves to hear our praises and thanks. I believe He loves to hear from us. His Word dictates we should give thanks and praise in all things (1 Thess 5:18.) But last night, in my delirium, I waited after each thanks and basked in the, “You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Q – “Thank you for this soft, warm quilt.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie…”
R – “Thank you for the gift of rain, that refreshes and renews.”
“You’re welcome; it’s My favorite too.”
S – “Sigh, thank you for Sam, and that I am here to comfort him. Please help us sleep.”
“You’re welcome… this too shall pass.”
T – “Thank you… I love you.”
“You’re welcome, I love you too.”
I pray today in the midst of your Thanks there is a moment where you hear the glorious whisper of Our Father in Heaven, He is glad for your thanks…He is eager to tell you, “You’re welcome, sweetie.” He patiently awaits communion with His working mamas – treading on the sacred ground of home.
Colossians 4:2 (NASB) “Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with an attitude of thanksgiving.”
Happy Thanksgiving! May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
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