The Privilege of Now

I am not always thankful.

I had even considered skipping this post this week, to be completely transparent.

A rough week in physical therapy, emotions on edge over some family drama, preparing for family vacation, graduation for Jason, etc, etc, etc. and I have felt overwhelmed and at times, downright ungrateful.

I look at my to-do list and cringe.

I think about my upcoming surgery and I have nightmares.

I consider the van ride to Florida with four teenagers, a 9 month old and a dog and I want to hide in a suitcase.

Then, I read articles like this and I am broken before Him.  I was the foster kid, Miss S. was the foster kid, my Jason could have been a foster kid.

How can I not be thankful for the gift of living this crazy life?

The laughter, the tears, the problems, the fears are all privilege.

These teens that make me want to pull my ever-loving hair out are right where they belong. With me and my hubby. Miss S. has a forever family here.  She is breaking the cycle for Sweet Pea, who will never have to know what a foster home is like.

Right here, right now is meant to be.

Thankful, grateful, humbled to be a part of His plan..for me, for her, for us.

And, the counting of gifts continues…

~  Bible study with friend that gets me and my heart

~  checkered curtains that billow with the breeze

~  big turnout for YLVS spaghetti dinner

~  teen mama’s serving spaghetti to earn money for summer camp

~  gift card to Starbucks

~  full tank of gas

~  tank tops

~  hot pink nail polish

~  a bow in Sweet Pea’s hair

~  long afternoon nap

What are you thankful for?

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Comments

  1. Thanks for this Melissa!  I too was a foster child and it breaks my heart to know that there are so many still.  I just finished up THE craziest month of my life and felt the same as you described.

    I appreciate you transparency and knowing that I have sister in Christ who are real about their journey =)

  2. Anonymous says:

    so beautiful. thanks for sharing you gifts and joys in the midst of a few hard times.

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