Once again the house was littered with shoes, dirty clothes, backpacks and a multitude of discarded papers and once again, I was ticked off! The grumbling began after they all left for school. Why do I do this everyday? Why can't they ever put anything away without being told? What will they do when they are out on their own and not even have the ablity to take the trash out? Stomp, stomp, stomp around the house I went, aggravated. I had a little lesson to learn.
I treated myself to some Chick-fil-a and got on the road for some errands only to come to a complete stop at the first intersection. What in the world was going on? A wreck up ahead no doubt, but I was happy enough chomping on my chicken sandwich. I began to notice the cars passing in the lane next to me, cars with tags in the window that said "Funeral"...cars with their lights on, all part of the procession carrying some poor soul to the cemetery. I began to notice the people in those cars. Nearly all of them were young, probably not much older than my own 18 year old. Then I remembered. On Saturday night, a young man, maybe 19 or 20, had hit a tree head on and had died on the spot. Rumors of drinking and of speeds of 100 mph had spread around the community and I was here, at this moment, witnessing the last transport of his earthly remains.
God is very intentional. He needed me there in that backup so I could see the grief that others were experiencing. He needed me there to remind me that a little mess in my house is the least of my concerns and that I should really be grateful that my three messy boys were alive, healthy, and still on this earth to be loved and cherished. The young man who was buried would never again be able to mess up his mother's house, or leave food out, rather than putting it back in the fridge and I know she would have given anything to have him walk through the door one more time and do just that. Even that!
I'll remember to be grateful for my children.