Sharing My Joy

It was that line of thinking about being grateful for my daughter that made me understand why I more often than not dislike hanging around with women. They complain about how terrible their kids are, how it sucks to cook and chauffeur the kids around (please forgive this generalization). I instinctively try to be grateful. This Lent I decided to curb my facebook habit and take up purposeful writing in its place. I love to write. I had no idea what I would write about. Then as I sat in a women’s meet up I realized how I felt but more importantly why I felt that way. I am the girl that says I am thankful to have food to put on my table… wait then again I am thankful to have a table… oh and then there is the house around the table… the heat in the house… the running water. You see where I am going? That’s when it hit me… I find joy in being grateful for what I do have. Why keep this joy to myself? Why not share what I have found?

How did I find it?

Well life has changed me over time but more so God has changed me through my experiences. When I was in second grade my father (and provider) became seriously ill and ended up disabled. My mom’s part time job could not sustain us. We went quickly from living a privileged life to one of surplus government food. I can remember getting made fun of for having off brand Oreo cookies in grade school. We didn’t have much but we were happy.

I grew up and I focused all my energy on having money and things. Then I really found God, in case you are wondering it took several tries. My heart changed. I learned that I was rich by the standards of many.

Then I went to Africa. I will never see the world the same again. I came back and went to my favorite store Target and was paralyzed at the prospect of spending money on such frivolous things. I started shaking, I felt completely overwhelmed and paralyzed, my eyes welled up. Then my husband did the unthinkable… he gave me a shopping pep talk. A few months before I left Caleb my friend from Uganda was here in the states and I told him my house was small as we drove past it. Then I saw the houses in Africa. Wow I felt like an ass. Lucky for me Caleb's kind heart was gracious and didn't judge me for what I couldn't know. When I am tired of cooking I can remember the children I met that ate beans or rice at every meal, everyday and were grateful to just have food. Certainly I could be grateful.

I am grateful that every night I have the privilege of cooking for my family a meal that is full of variety, flavor and nutrition.

OK if you know me you are thinking Becca you love to cook it can hardly be hard to be grateful for something you like doing. I encourage you to keep reading as the posts come because I have found ways to be grateful for the things I dislike too. For the record, there are days when I dread cooking.