Well, I'll be honest. It's a difficult ending to write exactly because it is none of those things. That's why I didn't finish the story the other day (that, and the three hungry children in the room, all of whom recognize me as their immediate food source.) Not only is the ending anti-climatic, not at all riveting, and far from grand, but as I sit here at my computer tonight, I know the story is far from finished...
But there was a tired Mama, lonely and lying on her bed at 3 AM, asking God why He gives four children and then doesn't give the grace to be a Godly mama. Asking Him why He gives dreams of great things, and again and again I fail in the small things. Still whiny, petulant prayers.
There was morning and Psalm 88 at breakfast. "Shall Thy loving kindness be known in the dark? and Thy righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?" And a prick in my heart: how quickly I forget, how readily I dismiss God's goodness to me. And Sunday morning, and the pastor on the radio who spoke about Jonah, and me, standing in the bathroom, curling iron in hand, realizing I am Jonah, that prophet I have always so despised, so discontent with the work God gives to me, my selfishness like a measly gourd that takes precedence over souls. Doest thou well to be angry, Sarah? Yes, yes yes! I do well to be angry.
Like I said, the story's still being written.
Daily I need to be reminded how clouds reveal His glory, how they prove He walks this dusty road with me...
And did you see the sky this morning?
Clouds...all aflame with grace.
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