When my husband and I moved our family to Louisiana 5 years ago, we went with the hope of great financial gain. The first year, we were blessed. Unfortunately, we weren’t well acquainted with the fickleness of the oil field yet. Things quickly went downhill, and, in our youthfulness, we had not prepared for it. When my husband eventually fell victim to the lay off’s, we struggled to keep afloat. He did find work, but the income was not quite enough to comfortably support a family of 5. We did all we could to survive. We were trying to get on food stamps and had even begun looking for facilities to donate plasma to make just a few extra dollars.

When we were given the opportunity to move back to the Dallas area, we were overjoyed at the idea of being relieved of these burdens. I remember the first time I looked in to my fridge that was full of food. Astounded by the goodness of God. We had survived so long on rice and hot dogs that seeing a fridge full of a variety of food, was overwhelming. We went from not being able to afford our $400 a month mortgage on our mobile home to renting a large beautiful home in one of my favorite neighborhoods.

But now I found myself in a place of complacency and ungratefulness. I find now that I get tired of eating at home. I find that our house is too small. I need an extra bedroom. There’s no access to the backyard except through my bedroom which is frustrating. I’ve been trying to find a way to make more money because we don’t make “enough.” Just like the Israelites, God brought me out of Egypt and rained down manna from heaven yet I still grumble and complain.

How quickly my blessings to turned to complaints. How quickly I forgot the goodness of God! I was cleaning my house just this past Friday when I looked around. The sunlight poured in through the many windows. I had candles burning, filling the house with the scent of fall. Worship music was playing in the background as my youngest daughter asked to help me clean. A wave of conviction flooded over me as I heard God ask, “When did this become not enough?” When did it? I looked around at the lives of others and compared myself to them. Yes, my home was a blessing, but now it’s not enough. We have been blessed financially, but now it’s not enough.

With the coming holiday season of thanksgiving, I am convicted and humbled to look once more to the many blessings He has given me. Time should have no effect on my thankfulness. It’s been two years. I should still be praising God for His faithfulness. I should be praising Him for those specific blessings 60 years from now. My thanksgiving should never end. I encourage you, look around once more, be reminded of the place where God brought you from, whether it was 1 hour ago or 15 years ago. Let’s find ourselves in a place of humility to offer thanks to the God who provides! I praise God with new thanks for old blessings!

“I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. I will be glad and rejoice in you; I will sing the praises of your name, O Most High.”

Psalm 9:1-2

I had surgery recently. In the process of recovering I’ve been very careful so as not to let my children see any of the stitches or bruising that has occurred as a result. The other day though, my 4-year-old barged in my closet as I was changing and saw the bruises. The first thing that came out of her mouth was, “You should tell your mom.” I instantly started smiling at the way her mind worked. Naturally any time someone is hurt like that, they should tell their mom or dad.

But my thought process changed the more I thought about her immediate response. When I’m hurt, do I tell my Father? I thought of the bruising that I have carefully and intentionally kept hidden. Making sure no one would see it. I haven’t even really let my husband see. I thought, how often do we keep our bruises hidden from everyone around us? We carefully wrap them up so as not to let anyone see how badly we may be injured. Some of us go as far as to try to even hide them from God.

However, isn’t that the point of having a Father? Someone to run to when we get knocked down. My children always come running immediately to me crying even over the slightest scratch. Why, as adults, do we not do the same thing? You’re hurt. Run and tell your Dad! Who can comfort you better than a loving Father? He may pick you up in His arms and tell you everything will be okay. He may look and tell you that you’re fine and to move on, just as I do with my children. He may unwrap the hurt so that it can heal properly. He may expose it to others.

From the slightest scratch to the deepest cut, you should tell your Dad!

“But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds” declares the Lord.”

Jeremiah 30:17