I hate snakes. No. I really, really, REALLY hate snakes. There is something visceral that stirs in me when I glimpse even a flash of their sinuous bodies, tiny, glittering eyes, and sharply darting tongues.
Does it go back to that long-ago garden? I don’t know. But something has been nibbling at the apple of my contentedness, and I suspect a snake….
“But (insert name here) has one, and I have wanted one forever, and WHY CAN’T I???!!!”
The whining around here has begun to affect my caffeine intake (read that: it’s increasing.) It just plain wears me out. We do our best to provide for our kids in every possible way, from the spiritual to the emotional to the material…and quite often all we hear is whining. Superman and I have just about had it.
And it struck me today that maybe my heavenly Father is just about ready to ask me if I want some cheese with MY whine. Because I do.
Whine, that is.
In the martyrous sigh I heave as I plunge out of bed to soothe the baby again. In the petulant roll of my eyes as I remind my toddler not to hit his sister for the four hundred billionth time. In my sharp words and even sharper tone as I vent my ire over spilled milk, inconvienences, and the just plain messiness of having children. In my often voiced discontent with the old sofa, old TV, old chair. In the mental tirade I give to the frustrating people in my life who just won’t for the life of them concede to my point of view.
And it hits me like a sledgehammer…I let the snake in the fruit bowl when I endlessly unleash the ingratitude that spills so easily from my heart. I send the invitation for a slithering bundle of hungry serpents when I fret and pout and whine for what I have, and don’t have, and wish I had.
Because my Heavenly Father is so good. He fills my cup to overflowing, and I have the nerve to complain about the dripping sides. I Peter 5:8 reminds me that Satan is a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. I have been darn near devoured by the disappointments, and selfishness, and frustration birthed by ingratitude.
I choose thankfulness.
If ingratitude is what opens the door to the fangs that pierce my Eden, gratitude just might be the buckshot that splatters my discontent to pieces.
Excuse me a moment. I’m going snake hunting. Join me?