The night before, for some bizarre reason, Grace had been wide awake between 11 and 1. I believe in taking care of my babies at night--I want them to trust me to take care of them even when it's inconvenient, and I believe with all my heart that it's what Jesus would do. So I got up with her. And when I started to feel desperate, Cameron stepped in for a turn. (Thank goodness for a husband who will help at such times!) But there were definite moments in those two hours when I was frustrated and wondered why in the world she was awake. Were her incoming teeth bothering her? Was her stomach hurting? Was she getting sick? Did she have a bad dream? Or did she wake up to review and ponder her new toddler vocabulary? I will never know. But do I spend enough time thinking about what life is like in her shoes?
When I am helping Jake with his homework and feeling frustrated that he can't remember a word, do I remember that it really is a lot of work to begin to string letters and sounds together into words and sentences?
When Abby is pretending something in her little preschooler world and I want her to finish a task or hurry to go somewhere, do I pause to remember the joy of childhood and let her finish what she's doing?
My mom sent these cute wooden Dutch shoes, and both girls love them! |
Do I think of what it's like in Cameron's shoes when he gets up early to go to work all week and has school all weekend?
Do I think of what it's like in my neighbor's shoes? Or the shoes of the rude driver in front of me? Or the grumpy person at the check-out stand? Do I think of what I could do to lighten their burdens?
Isn't Christ's knowledge of what it's like in each of our shoes one thing that we adore about Him?
I don't have Christ's omniscience. I don't even have His perfect love. Not yet. But I can keep trying to think of what it's like in someone else's shoes.
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