Last Thursday was one of those days: I woke up early, did my exercises and said my prayers; I fed our two adorable daughters a healthy and delicious breakfast and dressed them in coordinating outfits (not matching…didn’t want my effort to be obvious); my bag was packed for the day’s errand-running and I even had my green reusable grocery totes…all before 9 AM. The planets were aligned and I was feeling pretty darn good about things.
Fast forward two hours later and I was literally screaming at my seven-month-old (which thoroughly confused two-and-a-half-year-old Sweet Girl T) to make sure she stayed awake on our drive to the emergency room. Ya. That was pretty much the end of my Martha Stewart run for the day. Long story short, Baby K’s bumped head was completely fine, but my pride had taken a beating.
My perfect morning, my baby and my ego had all landed in the Costco parking lot with a “thud”. I’d done it again (not the baby-dropping, the ego thing). Not two days earlier I was reminded of how big and in control of things God is. Everything that is mine physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually is from Him. I can’t take credit for it or improve it in any way. I had forgotten it all in record time.
My morning, my baby, my joy, my health, my friends, my dreams, take your pick; none are possible without the God who designed my life. Our trip to the hospital served as a swift reminder of my weakness and His goodness. When Baby K was wailing and I was calling Hubby, driving to meet him and trying to reassure Sweet Girl T, it wasn’t my day-planner that was hearing my prayers. It wasn’t my clean house bringing me comfort. And color-coordinating outfits weren’t saving anyone.
Last Thursday, pride literally came before the fall. Last Thursday, God reminded me for the umpteenth time that I need Him. Always have; always will. Breathe in; breathe out and remember that (well, at least try…I’ll do the same).