After the last bang of fireworks blasted through the night air, I made the kids turn around for a photo. We had rushed to the next town to catch what was left of the Victoria Day show and that meant pulling over at the side of the road and climbing onto the truck to get any type of view. As my children turned toward me, Oliver shoved from his side and Emily nearly fell off her end. It was quite the spectacle as crowds of firecracker fans bustled past, racing to their cars to beat the predictable traffic rush. I ordered my kids to just sit nicely and, for Pete's sake, stop arguing. But in the dark, after my flash faded, I laughed to myself and counted my blessings--all four of them.
Proposing that we're not like other families and that we are always kind and generous does no one any good. I stand with my mouth agape at the way my children can behave in public, and they are quite astonished, I'm sure, at the way I can behave at home. I'm more civilized in public ;) The truth is, we all struggle to follow Jesus, and I'm just so thankful (in case I haven't mentioned it here before) that His mercy toward me is from ever-lasting to ever-lasting. I need it.
Besides counting blessings, we are doing a lot of credit counting as Meg's mind is constantly on her future and what she needs to enroll in her desired university. These discussions can be intense as fears swell in waves as she attempts to steer the ship of her schooling. Now and then, she passes the wheel to me and we sit and count again. I pray for her to relax in knowing she's on the right track and that God has a plan for her life. We talk of kids she knows who are writing fewer essays but doing better in math. We look at the requirements for different schools and are set at ease in one area and bolstered in another. It's a time of deep emotion and excitement, of trepidation and elation all at once. I'm sharing it all with her, regardless of how tense it can become, and I count blessings as we count credits.