It is hard being the under dog.
But hey, it is no picnic being the over dog either.
This year I hid Easter baskets for my kids. As always, I tried to predict that vacillating line between oppressively difficult and pathetically easy. Then I had to sit on my hands while they were looking and getting
discouraged. My heart rate accelerated when our daughter walked right by the cupboard her basket was lurking behind.
"Do I rush in and show her where it is?"
"Can I give a hint?"
Their memories were set on short term, or they would remember from the last umpty years that they will eventually find it and yes it will be worth the effort once they swoop into the jellybeans
and chocolate.
But for what felt like forever they wandered, checking the same corners I hid them in last time, hoping it would be simple. Benjamin looked at me with droopy eyes, as if this were unfair punishment instead of a game.
Then Hope's eye caught the corner of pink, and she smiled.
The success in the kitchen ratcheted up the determination of her twin in the living room. Aurelle finally
spotted hers under the pile of sweaters and shoes, and all discouragement evaporated as she took out each treasure and savored the bounty.
I wonder how God feels as He sends us on the hunt for a good marriage. He wants it to be hard enough that we feel like we accomplished something, but not so tough that we give up.
Just yesterday John asked me to do something for him. It was not ridiculously easy, but neither was it
Herculean. I thought of my kids' wilting enthusiasm while searching for baskets, and determined I would be less wimpy. I did what he asked. It was only the initial effort that took will power. After the momentum set in, I coasted.
We finished the task, and I enjoyed the sweetness of having helped him. It was even better than chocolate.
