As I mentioned before I am nearing forty at warp speed. I am not troubled by this. I have lived through training wheels, training bras, platforms, leisure suits, gauchos, hammer pants, Jheri curls (had a few of these), mullets (but never went there), 8 tracks, 45s, Walkmen, boom-boxes, Pong, Paperboy, disco, new wave, low-fat, low-carbs, The Brady Bunch, The Cosby show, pop rocks, pop quizzes, childhood, and childbirth. The list could go on. I should be forty by now. I have earned the gray hairs that dance wildly on my head. I am very comfortable being forty.
Still, I must confess that there are times when the absurdity of me writing this blog becomes evident. I log on and check to see if anyone has commented, if anyone cares, if what I am saying is relevant to anyone. The goose egg in the comments spot is no comfort. At those moments, I feel like the grandmother wearing the micro-mini skirt that is in desperate need of being selected for "What Not To Wear". Where are Stacy and Clinton when I most need them? ... Then the Lord gently reminds me that it's not about me! This is for His glory.
I can imagine Sarah in her third trimester at the ripe old age of eighty shopping at the market where the other, much younger mothers, were also shopping with their toddlers in tow. I am sure that she caught the occasional gawker in her periphery and I'm sure that she experienced a bit of discomfort . But I am equally sure that she understood the task to which she had been called. I'm sure that she took her dis-ease to The One that had called her to that task, surrendered her pride, and allowed Him to comfort her. And, I am also sure that we who have read her story have benefited from her obedience and willingness to be uncomfortable.
Lord, give me a heart like Sarah's.
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