As I sit here on what's left of this Monday morning, snowed in by selfish cares and thoughts of feeling sorry for myself, my woes threaten to steal and stifle the mounds of blessings God heaped upon me this weekend.
Mounds as high as the snow banks lining my driveway. Mounds that grow taller than my neighbor as he shovels a path for his car.
The blessings won't melt away like the snow will. But my introverted self-trap threatens to turn my grasp on them to water.
And I will splash to the ground, a puddle fallen away from the Substance that holds me together.
I was so filled with joy yesterday that I thought I might burst. God likes to bless me. I believe He loves to give good gifts to His children. He leads me to stand on the high mountain of His glory and presence.
But something about receiving these good things causes me to return to myself rather than Him.
I love the view from the mountain. It's beautiful there and I never want to come down. But maybe I get so busy looking around that I forget the Rock on which I stand. And then I lose my footing and fall.
Back down to the dirt from where I came. I look around at all the muck I'm laying in. And there I sit. I can't see the beautiful view from down here. I don't even try to remember what it looked like. I just sit and pout that I no longer have it.
Why don't I look back to the Rock on which I stood?
He hasn't moved.
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