This event took place two years ago. I am just getting around to documenting it now. Thanks for indulging me.
I drove to the store with my little girls. Our local store is tiny and quaint and wonderful. It also happens to be about one quarter of a mile away--at the bottom of a very steep hill. This hill is so steep, in fact, that in the winter, my mini van (which is front wheel drive) cannot make it to the top; we just slide backwards down the hill.
We purchased what we needed, and when we came back out to the van, it would not start. The battery was dead, dead, dead.
I guess you have to drive longer than one quarter of a mile if you want your battery to charge.
Well, I was put out, to say the least. Now I had to trudge up the gruelingly steep hill with my small girls in tow and my groceries weighing heavy on my limbs.
I didn't cry. And I didn't scream. But I was huffy about it all.
Half way up the hill, when my breathing was becoming labored and my patience was waning thin, my five-year-old spoke up.
She simply, happily, declared: "I'm so glad Jesus gave me legs! Then I can just walk home."
My children have a grateful, submissive, joyful relationship with their God. I know why He wants me to be like them. I am thankful for the many chances I have to become as a child.
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