Yesterday was hard. Several things came together to make it difficult, but there were two things that seemed almost unbearable.
We traveled a good portion of the day, bumping and vibrating up the highway. On our first much-needed rest stop, Mom opened the fridge to get some food. Across the trailer, I watched aghast as the pot containing beef stew tumbled from its shelf before my mom realized what was happening. Nearly half the broth was strewn across the floor. I bit back my frustration and helped clean up the mess.
A couple hours later at our second rest stop, I opened the fridge. The pot again tumbled out and dispensed almost all the rest of the contents onto the floor. I could have wept out of fatigue and impatience. As I began to grudgingly wipe up the mess a second time, a whisper of a thought slipped into my mind.
How incredibly patient God is with me.
Truly, He is. I make the same mistakes over and over. I grumble and complain. I boast and I cower. I put my Lord second to other things again and again. Yet each time I do, He doesn't get frustrated or weary of me. He beckons me to repent and turn back to Him, to put Him first again. His patience is relentless. And He never fails to rejoice each time I return. Surely, His grace to me overflows.