Even My Desires

Sometimes God uses little moments to teach us big lessons. I had one of those moments three years ago. It feels like a good time to share it now.

I was on a trip with my parents. As we returned to our hotel one day, I suddenly got a craving for peanut butter M&Ms. I assumed that the vending machines wouldn't have them, but decided to look anyways. To my surprise, they had exactly what I wanted. As I was reaching into my purse for the money to buy my desired treat, Daddy handed me some money.

The amount was more than I needed for my candy. I didn't really need the sugary treat. I did have the money on hand to buy it, but here was my daddy wanting me to let him be the one to supply even this small desire.

Later that evening I started crying as God started showing me how He wants to be the one to supply even the little things for me. He considers even our desires. He wants to give us good things.

Whatever faults my earthly father may have had, I never doubted that he wanted the best for me. And God is saying that He--as a Heavenly Father--possesses this quality even more. Remember that Daddy gave me more than enough for my candy. God wants to give us more than enough.

I'm not saying that we always get what we want. Sometimes God says "no" because He sees that our desire is harmful to us or because He has something better to give us if we will let Him. But He does know and care about our desires.

"If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?" (Matthew 7:11)

I remember this lesson every time I look at a package of peanut butter M&Ms now. I hope it will be an encouragement.

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Notice: I am not paid to rave about peanut butter M&Ms. I am receiving no reimbursement for professing my love for this specific candy. I just wanted to tell a story.

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Want to read more of my little lesson moments?
Being Still 
Looking Up

My Socks Don't Match!

How much time do you spend on laundry? Probably more than you would like. How much time do you spend matching socks? If all of your socks are the same, maybe not much. But if you have many different patterned socks the task can become time consuming.

I've recently decided to stop wasting so much time worrying about things like matching socks. Sure, it may be a little awkward, but life is too short to waste time worrying about something making you feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes three little words can make you uncomfortable: "I love you."

Do you remember the first time you said it to a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you remember how terrified you were? It's because the words hold a lot more meaning than their mere eight letters would suggest.

Some families say it more often than others. Just like some families are more touchy-feely, or "huggy" than others. The thing is, life is too short to pass up the opportunity to say "I love you," to someone you really care about, whether by word or deed. Even if it's awkward.

Several years ago I felt impressed to go and visit my Aunt Wanda in the hospital. I was living in Little Rock at the time, and Oklahoma City was a simple weekend trip. While I did stay with my grandparents, the purpose of the visit really was my aunt. I enjoyed spending that time with her, even though it was a bit odd to go for the express purpose of seeing her. I was so glad later that I did it. It was the last time I saw her before she died.

The last time I saw my grandfather he was outside talking with some of the family. I felt too awkward to interrupt and say goodbye, so I just waved. We left on our trip back home, and I never saw him again. I wish now that I had overridden my feelings of discomfort and given him one last hug and said "I love you." But I can't change it now.

It makes me so glad that the night that Daddy passed that I got to say "I love you," one last time. I'm glad for the opportunities that I had and didn't pass up during his illness--to sing for him, sit with him, pray for him. I don't have regrets for anything I did, even if it made me uncomfortable at the time.

I try to be more mindful now to say "I love you." I never know when my last opportunity will be, and I don't want to neglect it. Feeling awkward over it is such a waste, and the regret really isn't worth it.

So if you catch me wearing mismatching socks, no, I haven't reached a new level of harried housewife. I'm just choosing to focus my energies on things of slightly more significance in the big scheme of things. Which would you regret more? Missing your last opportunity to say "I love you," or wearing mismatching socks?

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Remembering

"There's things that I've forgotten that I loved about the man." (Daddy's Hands)

I first heard this song at my grandfather's funeral. He died a year ago today. In some ways it seems like been longer than a year, and in other ways it seems shorter. 

I can still hear his voice calling, "It's the girls!" when my sister and I came in the door. Or "It's the guys!" when it was my cousins. He was Daddio to us. While he was not an overly demonstrative man, we all knew he loved us.

I still can't play "Last Date" on the piano and not think of him. Especially because the piano I have now is the one they had at his house. He never said much about it, but I know he enjoyed hearing my sister and me play the piano.

I was expecting my baby when he died, and my son's middle name is Daddio's first name. I know he's up there shaking his finger at me for doing it…in between fishing trips. You can't tell me there is no fishing in Heaven.

Daddio loved to fish and hunt. Quite a few of my memories with him are of fishing trips. Floating the Black Warrior River. Trout fishing at the dam. Watching him and Dad fly fishing. 

Baby even has a few mannerisms that are pure Daddio. The way he will hold his head when he's tired especially reminds us of him. 

Something that I explored while writing for NaNo was that those that have passed on are still with us in our memories. This feels especially true with Daddio's passing. Maybe it's because I'm no longer living in Alabama, and not constantly around things that remind me that he's gone, but a lot of times it feels like he's still here.

I still have a wreath that Daddio made, a model car he have me once, and a little baseball bat he whittled. Mementos to remind me, because I do not want to forget. The memories are bittersweet, because I know I can no longer make more of them with Daddio, but that's ok. That's life. And it's ok.