Is it going to be like it is here?

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It was bedtime, and we were wrapping up our evening with family devotions.

On this night, Truxton was ready with a barrage of questions.

When we see God when we go to live with Him, will he be wearing clothes?

When we live with God, will there be toys there?

What if a monster already got me and you and Mama and Gillian and we are already with God?

Does it take a long time to get to God when we die?

But if someone shoostes us, or kills us with a sword or a speared, then how are we going to get the blood off of us when we are with God?

With God, is it going to be like it is here, and will we still be all together?

Oh, sweet little boy.

In a way I am glad that he can’t imagine a life sweeter than his own, but we also want to instill a surety that it will be so much better than we can imagine.

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May God give us wisdom as we tend these little souls for Him.

Monday

It’s one of those Mondays. You know the kind – they come after a busy week and they lead the way into another busy week. They bring with them heaps of laundry and dishes, and cranky children and messy bedrooms. They often do not accommodate school schedules, naps, or well rested mothers. They often do accommodate freak accidents like pudgy baby fingers stuck in heat vents, chalk drawings on the floors, and leaking washing machines.

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It’s the kind of Monday where I consider breaking my habit of procrastination by watching a marathon of Downton Abby (because really, I have been meaning to start that series!)

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I decide to wash the towels, since we are all out of clean ones and it’s quite possible that one of the parents in this house might get a shower in at some point today.

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There’s a load in the dryer that has probably been there since sometime early last week. That explains where all of our napkins have been! I heap it out onto a kitchen chair because there are no empty laundry baskets to be found and sit and stare at it while I consume my second cup of coffee this morning.

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Gillian gets right to work on the laundry. Oh, the energy of the twenty one month old! As I admire her cuteness, I remember my recently formed (even still forming) conviction to express my gratitude in all things. I begin to thank Him for pudgy baby hands and cheeks, Gillian’s frizzy baby ‘fro, clean laundry, the warmth of the kitchen, the heaps of dishes reminding me that my children have full bellies, the health of my children.

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I am blessed beyond measure. I am loved by a good God.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.