Luggage stacked in the mudroom obstacle course with piles of filthy laundry and shoes scattered. Everyone still. Little one whining until she finally falls asleep playing with her toys under a laundry basket on the living room floor. Everyone a bit sunburned. Burned. Resting. Home from serving kids for a week at camp.
"There is another act of service." My Shoulder's announces this, and I go instantly to complaining. The children are exhausted, I've got mountains of laundry, and he is injured. Can't someone else do it this time? He catches my eyes. I look away. Ashamed. I remember telling him years ago that the right thing and the easy thing rarely catch hands. Hold. I stand in the kitchen. I think I can actually feel my flesh burning as I nod to him. Shoulders are so strong, and they call us to higher ground, don't they? "If not us, who?" "If not now, when?" Oh, God, be strong in all this weakness. Mine. Ours. As this one little seed falls to the ground and dies, let it bear much fruit. And help me to serve You, Lord.
With a smile,