BEFORE AND AFTER (not for the weak stomached)

Sara:looking very pregnant

The Delivery: a 9-10 liter sack of liquid

The Wood Floors: stained with the remnents of somebody's floor covering

The Wood Floors: looking spic and span after a trip to Italy

Pain is a weak spot of mine. My tolerance level is somewhere in my toes. Needless to say I avoid it, and wail when I've got an ounce of it. Sometimes, however, the Lord puts us through it, emotionally or physically, as in my case. For Job it was both. I don't know how many times I've read that book, and I'm at it again, and still come away dumbfounded. That's the only way to put it.

The whole book just screams to me "God's agenda-STAY OUT." Okay, what does that mean? For example, nowhere in my agenda did I make room for cystie (as I affectionately call it). I was newly married, living in a foreign country, (that's means I was surrounded by foreign people, speaking a foreign language). It was and is my first year of marriage, and it's not easy, let alone major surgery. In my temporary way of thinking that was enough, you know? Okay, my plate is full, time to leave the buffet line, thanks anyway God.

All that to prove we forget who made the supper and who is the Head Chef. Getting past the similies. I was reminded of the frivolity of my agenda. This can be anything from planning to take a nap in the afternoon, to planning to have 10 kids. We (I) get so use to my routine and what I expect out of day that I forget who made the day.



So kind of like the wood floors, I hope to be scraped a little more so that my light shines a little brighter. Who knows, maybe I won't give my husband such a difficult time, or I won't complain so quickly, because I realize in a more timely fashion, I'm living God's agenda. He doesn't need my permission.