Eeking out of bed one limb at a time, I grudgingly padded over to turn off the alarm clock. Usually, its piercing would have directed me immediately to the shower, but that day, I turned back around, flopped into bed, and thought, Just for a minute …
My momentary slumber broke with a tiny tap and a, “Mommy, what is going on here?” My six-year-old, wholly unimpressed with my snoozing, stared me down until I relented with, “I’m up. I’m up!”
I dragged myself into the shower, to the kitchen, and from my car to the front door of my office—an office that looked a whole lot like a coffee shop.
The moment the smell of percolating heaven hit me, I realized just how beautiful a cup of coffee would be, but alas, it was not in the budget. So, I sat and stewed and found myself a whole heap of resentful. In fact, so ridiculously so, I had to put on my big girl pants and embrace a harsh reality.
I tend to live happily in a world that embraces a warped sense of provision. Provision is what we want and what comforts us—instead of what makes us holy. And that is where I found myself, hopelessly off the mark…
To read more, go to: A Cup of Java and Jehovah Jireh (christiandevotions.us)