Today, as I was playing (and by playing, I mean telling Spencer to STOP eating things off the ground) with my boys outside, my mind wandered around to when I was a little girl.
I hated to clean my room.
I don't know why. I just did. What kid doesn't, I guess?
ANYWAY, so, rather than just get it the freak done, I used to cry, wail and carry on something awful.
At least once, during each room-cleaning hurrah, I'd climb under my desk and pray my feverent little heart out. Please keep in mind that I'd be sobbing the ENTIRE TIME:
"Dear Heavenly Father,
If you will please, PLEASE PLEASE make my room immaculate when I open my eyes, I will NEVER ask you for anything, (sob, sob, sob) ever again. PLEASE! Just clean my (sniffle, snort) make my room clean for me, and I'll leave you alone. Forever. I promise!"
Then, I'd open my eyes....
my room would still be a disaster.
And I would cry out, and wonder why He had forsaken me.
(Please don't think I'm being flippant. I absolutely meant every word, and I truly believed He'd clean my room for me.)
And now, looking back:
Holy Cow. I am so glad that an all-knowing Father Above did not clean my room for me. I have needed Him so much in the last 18 or so years since then, that I would be in a boat-load of trouble if I'd had to have been done asking for stuff then, as a small girl of seven.
Hallejuah. I had to suck it up and clean my own darn room.
Problem is, I find myself still asking for things I shouldn't sometimes. And then He kindly, firmly tells me "NO!" and then later, I go, "Oh, good. I'm so grateful You're so much smarter than me."
Weird thoughts for playground time, but still. It's where my brain was today.