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I went up to the second and third floor today with my husband. The Home Depot guys came last Friday and and installed seven new windows. They are gorgeous and we are so thankful for them. We were up there to admire them and to discuss what needed to be done next. Don't get too excited. The next thing we need to do is clear the clutter. Over the past 6 years the upstairs has become our storage rooms and glorified trash cans. It feels good to know that we have to do some work up there at last. It also feels bad. Sometimes I don't know what to feel. I've waited so very long for my house to be finished. I see in my journey that God has changed me and carried me. Should my hope be revived that we'll be upstairs soon, or should I cry out for Grace to carry me through the unknown. Again. For the one hundredth time today. There have been four or five points over the last six years that my husband and calculated, "Oh, it should only take another six months or so." Those words are usually preceded by a financial disaster and/or another high risk pregnancy. We're in between both right now. So you can understand my hesitation. I've been doing a lot of thinking about the confusion over "Prosperity Gospel" and where my desires for a few more square feet fall into that. Also have I made grave errors in asking God for a dishwasher? I don't really want any comments on these questions to go into a theological debate. I'm just blabbering due to my walk upstairs today and my very weary heart's cry. Again, I ask, whether it is right or wrong to, when, Lord Jesus, will my house be finished? I do know in my head, if not quite in my heart, that the grace of God is more valuable that space. That these days are precious, that my children are different, in a good way, because they have few toys, small beds and have to pick up after themselves, and that I am so dependent on God's goodness to carry me through. One more thought. Last Sunday at church, a woman who can be accurately called an acquaintance, turned to me and said, "You should see the movie . . Blah, Blah.. It is SO GOOD! You would love it." I didn't respond in the Spirit. I said, "I haven't been to the movies in four years." I think that's accurate. My husband and I last saw "The Incredibles." I got to thinking about this innocent comment my acquaintance made and the more I thought, the madder I got. (Now I was clearly slipping into the flesh!) This lady is married but has no children by choice. She spends her time either pursuing her career or entertaining herself. She lives for no one but her SELF! No! I don't go to movies because I HAVE FIVE CHILDREN! I don't go to the movies because I CAN'T AFFORD A BABYSITTER! I don't go to the movies because they are foolish, temporal, puffed up nonsense that contributes nothing to the purpose I have of raising a generation of godly children. I don't go to the movies because that would be selfish. I don't go to the movies because 90%of my day is serving others, not myself. Okay, now I'm moving past the flesh and wallowing into self-pity. I went home from church into my little, tiny living space to find a place to pout. I can't even pout in my bedroom because I don't have a bedroom. I have to cry out (again) that God gives me even more grace, when those ten little hands reach out to me, when those five little mouths are all talking at once, wanting my full attention, when everybody spills their juice at the same time and the baby is playing in the toilet. Having more square footage will really only change me a little. I'm still a sinner. Perhaps my question should be "When, Lord Jesus, will I finally be like you?"
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