Webbed

As I said yesterday, there is a problem with our internet connection.  Our motem seems to be down and as such, we’ve been unable to use our computer to surf the web.  I’ve been using my work computer to post in my free time.  It’s actually been a reprieve from the countless stories on Facebook of adorable kids. You know- the typical hashing of how silly they are and less of the explanatory details of tantrums, potty training, and sleepless nights due to teething or vomit.  I feel bad getting that pit in my stomach as parents proudly display their protegees.  I should celebrate with them. 

I’m not there yet though.  My face was etched with salty streams when I drove by Babies R’Us on my way home from WalMart.  Clearly, I’m still not ready to applaud the newest life achievement of a womb product I can’t call my own. Instead, I notice myself heaving as I peer into the green monster’s reflection.  Rather than find another addiction, I should get my face in the Book and memorize the great physician’s notes.  If not, I run the risk of slicing, dicing, and compartmentalizing my soul into a salad buffet for that prowling herbivore beast (I’m sure at least one exists, at least spiritually) and being devoured with gnashing teeth of envy. 

Our provider is due to replace the motem today.  I pray I won’t fall prey to the idleness of endless perusing again.  Also, with our busy week it’s unlikely I’ll have much time for hours on social networking, unless I excuse myself to finagle Frank’s phone. I should refrain from that thievery endeavor anyways. It only results in an irate husband and then we’d both be sinning.  I am to be his helpmate, not enticing him to relish in the sinful sulking too.  So please pray with me that we’d guard our hearts for they are the well spring of life. 

May we fill ourselves with Christ-likeness instead of errand’s busyness or the pursuit of vicariously living another person’s adventure.  We have our story and we should not attempt to escape it. Let us graft ourselves with Christ and share the gospel’s good news. In doing so, other folks will become a thread in God’s web, not one consisting of the worldwide fleshly gain.

Plural pronouns (i.e. us, we, our = Frank and myself)

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One Reply to “Webbed”

  1. I remember that feeling. Every Sunday looking at the many bracelets on my friends’ arms from Sunday school sign ins made me want to cry. And once a friend comment (while nursing her third child) that they might adopt someday and I wanted to scream “YOU CAN’T ADOPT! YOU’RE ALREADY FERTILE!! LEAVE THE BABIES TO OTHERS!!” (thankful I didn’t…)
    Every time we sing Blessed be the Name, I think about how I felt singing “You give and take away…” during those days.

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