There are blog posts that come around every once in a while that make me stop what I am doing, read it again, absorb, and read it again. This is one of those posts. Not that it is a profound theological thought, nor something new and mysterious. Rather, it is exactly what I needed to hear on the day I read it. It is something that I know with my head, but my heart doesn’t get the message. Today, though, I am choosing to “get it” and to be thankful for what I am, and not focus on what I am not.
Enjoy the post from Lysa TerKeurst.
I gathered the restaurant bags, sighed, and crammed them into the overstuffed trashcan. A friend had sent me a recipe that day which involved peeling and chopping and simmering. I imagined her trashcan full of fresh veggie peelings and other things that proved her kitchen produced way more homemade goodness than mine.
And a little thread of guilt wrapped around my heart.
Sometimes I feel more guilty for what I’m not than thankful for what I am.
But there was sweet grace waiting for me in a little yogurt shop that night. My daughter had asked if I would come and speak to a little Bible study she was helping organize. “Mom, I think there are going to be a lot of people that show up.”
So, instead of cooking that night I ordered out. Again. And drove to the yogurt shop with the girl whose heart was full of excitement and expectation.
People were everywhere. Young people. Invited people. And parents. Nearly 200 people packed inside the yogurt shop and overflowed outside. My daughter smiled.
I took the microphone and spoke from my heart. I told my story. I taught truth. I invited the people to let Jesus be the Lord of their hearts.
And many who had never done so, said yes to God that night. A teen girl who’d try to commit suicide last year. She stood to accept Jesus. A young man with tears in his eyes. He stood to accept Jesus. A Mom and a Dad. They stood to accept Jesus. Along with many others.
In the yogurt shop.
With a woman whose trashcan was filled with take out bags.
A woman who isn’t the greatest cook. But a woman who wants to learn to be more thankful for what I am than guilty for what I’m not.
Maybe you are the friend with the veggie peelings in the trashcan and steaming homemade goodness on the table.
Or maybe you are like me. And your gifts are less tasty.
And cut the threads of guilt with the edge of grace.