My soul was itching for a break, in desperate need of a slow Saturday timeout. Just me, my favorite cozy blanket (the one that looks like soft curly dog hair), and a hot cup of tea. Sheer bliss. I could almost feel my body relaxing at the mere thought of putting my feet up and doing absolutely nothing but stare at my socks. I had to refrain from audibly sighing as I hurriedly finished the last load of laundry and half-walked / half-ran to my favorite chair. Yes! At last!
But as I burrowed into my magnificent blanket oasis, a scratchy object caught my eye.
You have got to be kidding me, I grumbled aloud.
A booger. A nasty dried-out crusty ol’ booger on my beautiful birthday blanket! For the love! Who does these things? Seriously. Who cannot wait the 2 seconds it takes to walk a measly 15 feet to the bathroom and grab a tissue from the box? And who would have the audacity to wipe such a disgusting thing, something the body clearly did not want, from their nose onto my lovely clean blanket?!
Obviously my husband and I were exempt from this Guess Who game. My blood boiled as my dreams of a blissful mommy break went up in smoke in favor of finding the culprit and giving them a piece (or two) of my mind.
But then my thoughts did a little recall of the verse I’d read just that morning. It started with these powerful words: “Count it all joy…”
And JOY. That small, yet potent little word that had been creeping into my thoughts day and night. Jumping out at me in the most random places. At Target. At church. Online devotionals. Even my leftover Christmas décor was talking to me now.
You see, like many of you, I like to choose a word for my year. Something that will challenge me in my walk with the Lord and remind me to focus on Him when life gets out of whack. And the word JOY had been bouncing around in my head and heart for several days.
So back to the booger.
I had a choice. To lose it. Or to simply laugh.
Last Saturday, I chose to laugh. At all those crazy out-of-this-world things we get to do as a mom. From finding boogers on blankets, to wiping tears, bottoms, and noses. All the uh-ohs of childhood. To count it ALL JOY that we have these lovely little people that leave such lovely messes for us to clean up. To count it as a blessing to love and hug and teach and shape these living breathing beings who will someday grow up and no longer leave boogers on blankets.
For in those days, the house will be silent. The floors will once again be crumb-free. And our hearts will remember when things were not so peaceful. And our blankets were crusty. And our Saturdays not so quiet.
So for now, I am going to count. Count it all.
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