One young girl, a spelling book, and a pencil. Simple tools and a simple lesson as we start our schooling again. She's writing the word families for the short vowel /a/, in cursive, around her traced hands. I thought it sounded like fun; funner than just writing them in straight lines.
But her response? "I hate this!"
"Then do it again," I snap back, and not very graciously I might add.
It wasn't so much her response that bothered me, it was mine. Because it is exactly what I've been saying lately, "I hate this, God."
Sometimes He snaps back, although more gracious than I did: "Then do it again."
Again . . . round and round and round . . . I practice the Word's that are written on my heart: salvation, sovereignty, sanctification, Jesus, eternity.
But I want Him to make it all go away now.
I don't want Him to be the One who knows what's best. I don't want to practice trusting Him again. I don't want to be weak, and sad, and helpless and unknowing and patient. I don't want to learn new skills of endurance and perseverance. I really just want the pony rides, I only want the cotton candy. I don't want to rise above this some days; I want to go back and sulk in my bed.
But we are not of those who shrink back.
So I do it again.
I have a feeling I'll be doing it until that eternity comes: practicing being joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in prayer as I wait for my Savior to fully reveal His glory.