Sometimes it takes me a while to realize my face hurts. I stretch my mouth out to release the creases in my cheeks. It’s been over an hour since Finn and I began making silly faces at each other and I’m not even bored.
A couple days ago Finn and I were having one of these stare fests and I looked around the room behind him and said, “Finn, this is your home. You live here. And we are your family.” You have Tivo and crown molding and a naughty velvety dog. You have the funniest, cuddliest daddy. And about twenty swaddling blankets to choose from and homemade organic baby food. It’s all yours; you don’t have to do a thing to earn it.
Light bulb flickers on in my skull.
This is also true of God’s gifts to me…my inheritance. Honestly, I would prefer to earn them. Then I feel justified–like they are mine because I worked hard for them and I’d feel better about claiming ownership and control. Oooo, I like control. But who am I kidding? None of this life is really mine. I didn’t work to be born into a stable American family. I didn’t earn the ability to walk.
I’m reminded to loosen my grip; to open my tightly closed fists and release to Him the people and the things that matter most to me. To acknowledge their rightful Owner.
“You are not your own; you were bought with a price” (1 Cor. 19,20).
“For by grace you are saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; for it is the gift of God” (Eph. 2:8).