Wednesday, April 4, 2012

I'm Tired... With Perspective

Exhaustion, a messy home, and little to no alone time - My children are worth this price and more - my very life.  So today, I'm thankful for all of these things - knowing that one day, these things will be a memory.  And perhaps, sooner than I expect.

Many times I find myself grumbling over the very things that God has chosen for my life - the path He has called me to.  Not my children, but perhaps the tiredness that accompanies little ones.  Not their sweet smiles, but the mess that comes with them.  The two can't be seperated, though.  Blessings are not always easy to handle, and come with great responsibility. 

If Christ paid the ultimate price for us, what better way to show that love than to lay my life down - moment by moment, day by day, sleepless night by sleepless night.  After all, their souls are of value - so much so that petty complaints and grievances ought to pale in the light of the sober task we as moms are called to.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to need one more (big) cup of coffee for this day.  A little perspective, though, before I do that:

Our God, Our Help in Ages Past
(Isaac Watts)

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of Thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
And our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting Thou art God,
To endless years the same.

Thy Word commands our flesh to dust,
“Return, ye sons of men:”
All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carried downwards by the flood,
And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.

Like flowery fields the nations stand
Pleased with the morning light;
The flowers beneath the mower’s hand
Lie withering ere ‘tis night.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.

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