I had the unfortunate experience of being sick last weekend, a fact you could only have missed had you spent time on a nearby planet sometime last week. I spent last Thursday night on my bathroom floor, writhing around in pain. Not fun. I finally felt like I could sleep a bit, and too sick and tired to get up and make my self a cozy little pallet on the floor like I do for Laney when she's sick, I scooted two bath mats together, wadded up a towel for a pillow and curled up under another towel. I fell out, and slept a couple of hours.
When I woke later, I felt like I could get in the bed. I anticipated that greatly, not only because of my time spent curled on the floor (the scene from "Hope Floats" kept popping in my head, although I didn't do anything to get into my predicament) but also because of what I learned a while ago.
Back when Zane wasn't sleeping and I would spend hours rocking him, I remember dreaming and longing for my bed. I mean in like a heartfelt way. Not just, "I'm tired and want to go to bed" but a serious longing, in a teary way. Sometimes when he would finally go to sleep, I would sleep in the recliner for a bit, so afraid of waking him back up. Then I would ease upstairs, and slide gently into bed.
So I knew, that yucky Thursday night, how I would feel when I finally got to bed. The thought that always seeped into my brain was that finally getting into bed felt like slipping into warm butter. Strange thought, but the softness and comfort of my bed was so strong, that I always, and did that night, groan out loud with sheer pleasure...hilarious.
But as I lay there that night, still feeling horrible, I thought those same thoughts that I always did after longing for my bed so much. The predictable thought that there are so so many people in this world who sleep in pure torture. Filth, danger-other things we can't even imagine. As I snuggled down in my not fancy, but perfect-for-me bed, cuddling up with my most cozy two year old, listening to his soft breathing and smelling his sweet head, twining my feet with my gently (for the moment) snoring husband who makes me feel so safe and secure, I thought, "You know, I am going to have to answer for this." I honestly believe that if we live our lives, oblivious to our creature comforts, taking them for granted, never doing our best to provide for those who are without, we are going to have to look our Savior in the eyes and explain that. Really.
I don't feel guilty, per say. Guilt isn't a good thing. I as a parent don't mind providing small luxuries for my kids, provided that they are appreciated. But it's the attitude in which those luxuries are handled that determines how the giver feels. I don't mean luxuries as in gold toilets or mink rugs. Running water, electricity, huge houses (which we all live in by standard of a lot of the world) food at our disposal, these are luxuries, and I really, really don't want to forget that. I want to stay appreciative. I want to wear God out, telling Him thank you. And I really, really want Him to use me to help provide for those who don't sleep in warm butter.
When I woke later, I felt like I could get in the bed. I anticipated that greatly, not only because of my time spent curled on the floor (the scene from "Hope Floats" kept popping in my head, although I didn't do anything to get into my predicament) but also because of what I learned a while ago.
Back when Zane wasn't sleeping and I would spend hours rocking him, I remember dreaming and longing for my bed. I mean in like a heartfelt way. Not just, "I'm tired and want to go to bed" but a serious longing, in a teary way. Sometimes when he would finally go to sleep, I would sleep in the recliner for a bit, so afraid of waking him back up. Then I would ease upstairs, and slide gently into bed.
So I knew, that yucky Thursday night, how I would feel when I finally got to bed. The thought that always seeped into my brain was that finally getting into bed felt like slipping into warm butter. Strange thought, but the softness and comfort of my bed was so strong, that I always, and did that night, groan out loud with sheer pleasure...hilarious.
But as I lay there that night, still feeling horrible, I thought those same thoughts that I always did after longing for my bed so much. The predictable thought that there are so so many people in this world who sleep in pure torture. Filth, danger-other things we can't even imagine. As I snuggled down in my not fancy, but perfect-for-me bed, cuddling up with my most cozy two year old, listening to his soft breathing and smelling his sweet head, twining my feet with my gently (for the moment) snoring husband who makes me feel so safe and secure, I thought, "You know, I am going to have to answer for this." I honestly believe that if we live our lives, oblivious to our creature comforts, taking them for granted, never doing our best to provide for those who are without, we are going to have to look our Savior in the eyes and explain that. Really.
I don't feel guilty, per say. Guilt isn't a good thing. I as a parent don't mind providing small luxuries for my kids, provided that they are appreciated. But it's the attitude in which those luxuries are handled that determines how the giver feels. I don't mean luxuries as in gold toilets or mink rugs. Running water, electricity, huge houses (which we all live in by standard of a lot of the world) food at our disposal, these are luxuries, and I really, really don't want to forget that. I want to stay appreciative. I want to wear God out, telling Him thank you. And I really, really want Him to use me to help provide for those who don't sleep in warm butter.
