The house is still for a moment as your father and I sip coffee late in the afternoon.
He asks how the day has been and I give a curt “fine”. He knows better; he sees past the fine and pursues.
I tell him the noise level in our home could match a coliseum event and the baby whined for no reason and no one wanted to do school (including the teacher) and by this time, my voice has broken a bit because the day has been a torrential downpour of frustration.
And as this song of lament plays, I tag on, “And I had my quiet time and prayed this morning. The day started out so right!”
And your father, who sits and listens, and speaks with compassion in his eyes, “God isn’t a genie in a bottle, Amanda. You know that.”
And yet I haggle with Him nonetheless.
I’ll give you my mornings of prayer and reading your Word if You’ll give me peace and serenity.
I’ll gladly worship if You’ll fill me full of the fruits of the spirit.
The truth is there are bad days. There are headaches. There are uncomfortable phone calls. There are apologies. In this home of ours there is crunchy rice.
It’s what we do on the bad days that strengthen our faith.
Will we wallow or wander away from this commitment of Christ following? Or will we continue on?
And thank God for the good days. And seek Him the next morning and begin again.