Humility. And Healing. (and bandaids)

Just one of those days, you know, the kind that actually start being stressful the night before?

I'm just glad that it's over.

Started late last night with my {belated} calendar flipping; oh, joy, Hayley completely forgot that she is teaching children's church for the month of August! Theme? No clue. Crafts? Nope. Oh, what about snacks? That's a funny joke- we are completely out of groceries, just because I am at the end of a busy week and we've eaten everything! Apple slices?

I quieted my stress, reminding myself that children are forgiving. Went to the Word, and started reading Matthew 5. . .

Now when He saw the crowds, He went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to Him and He began to teach them. . .

Love how real He was. Love how approachable He is. He knew their needs, He knew when the hearts needed to change, when new perspective was necessary.

Blessed are the poor in spirit

for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven

Blessed are they that mourn

for they shall be comforted

Poor in spirit. Humility. Unselfishness. A love for others that doesn't care if my toes are stepped on. And He says, the reward is Heaven.

Tears. Pain. Weary hearts. Wounded spirits. They shall be comforted.

I taught the children these concepts this morning. Yep, we had singing and crafts and Betty Lukens felts and the whole shebang.

But maybe I didn't learn.

Critical thoughts.

Frustration at events that are out of my control.

Stress over things that I want to do with a humble heart, grateful to give back to Him.

Lashing out at Daniel because of a misunderstanding that neither of us had the time or energy to solve.

Poor in spirit?

Well, and then there's the mourning. We had some real, bona fide tears tonight when a knife that was not supposed to be cutting an apple that was not supposed to be touched by a little boy cut the finger of the culprit.

I couldn't stop the bleeding with butterflies and bandaids and pressure (nope, Mom, cold washcloths didn't help either) so I loaded the kids up, pjs and all, and drove them to their Dr. Daddy.

And he made it all better, as all Daddies do, in their own special ways. Plus way cooler bandaids down there, not plain brown ones from the cheapskate mama.

Relief.

Reassurance.

Comfort.

So. It's up to me to choose the attitude. . . humility. Dependence on Him for my needs.

I think I'm gonna learn more than the kids in Children's Church this month.