Most mornings, when my alarm prompts me to open my eyes and face a new day, I don't remember to thank Jesus for allowing me to wake up yet again, breathing. I don't smile and bounce out of bed with a sunny disposition, itching to wake the children and get started with our day.
I usually lay there and grouch about having to wake up. I inch my way to the edge of the mattress, almost flopping off onto the floor with a blue attitude about having to do whatever has to be done.
I generally hope that I have been correct in assuming that I will have at least an hour before the noise and activity dominate our small living space.
Please get me right. I'm not even hinting that I will I weren't a mom, or that I hadn't chosen to spend my days with them.
I'm, unfortunately, just completely ungrateful.
It's so easy to take breath for granted.
Who ever said that your next breath was guaranteed?
No one.
Who ever said life would be a bowl of cherries? What's so great about cherries anyway? They have pits!
What do I do with each breath? With each moment that is given me?
Do I add bless? Do I encourage? Do I love?
How often do I say with one breath, "kindness, mercy, and grace!" yet say with the next, "mine, go away, and no!"
Do I choose to fight for righteousness, or do I fight for self righteousness?
Do I choose to be indignant for those who cannot fight for themselves, or do I lose my dignity fighting for things that don't last?
Here's to reminding myself, on yet another day, that I may not get the next breath, so I need to choose wisely with this one.
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