When Victims Are The Guilty Ones

ThanksgivingI am so ungrateful.

There. I said it. I’ve been thinking it for quite a while now. I felt it quietly creeping in like a disease and if left untreated it could be fatal. I’m glad I finally said something. I’d hate to be sitting at the Thanksgiving dinner table and suddenly be unable to breathe.

But I just can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t take my life and everything in it for granted.  I have a comfortable home, but I often wish it were bigger. I have a closet full of clothes for every season, but I can’t ever find what I want to wear. I have a husband who, quite frankly, worships the ground I walk on and I push him away much too often. My children are healthy and happy, but I tend to think they interfere with my daily agenda.

I wish I knew where this disease started. At least then I would have a battle plan to treat it. It probably started the day I allowed myself to believe I was a victim and forgot that I was actually guilty.

I am guilty of forgetting that everything in my life is a gift. Nothing was earned.

I am guilty of wishing my life were better, as if somehow more money, time, or people could be as fulfilling as God’s grace.

I am guilty of allowing others’ opinions to shape my decisions. I let a world view distort God’s plans for me.

Worst of all I am guilty of thinking that anything is about me at all. Which it’s not. Everything I do should be for God’s glory and never for my own.

The moment I believed that I could do anything or be anything without Christ was the moment I put myself on the cross and pretended that my daily struggles were anything close to His suffering. The moment I decided that my plan was better was the very moment my gratitude for anything was worthless.

I am so ungrateful. I’m glad I said it. I feel like I am healing from my disease already.

Thank you, Lord, for my life and everything in it.

 

 

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