The Myth of The Half Empty Glass

The birds come to the feeder and I already have a spirit check. They are red-winged black birds. Black birds. I want bright colored songbirds. Rejecting the what is and the what I have. I fall away from a spirit of gratitude quickly, too quickly.

Why isn’t the song of my heart, Lord thank you for black birds. No, I want to special order the birds at my feeder. I want to customize the feeder to satisfy myself. The self.

Why is the Joy meter of my life the size of the laundry and whether or not the dogs or racoons got in the trash. And now, the color of the feeder birds.

That void which is just that, a void ,screams like a spoiled child look at me and pay attention to me robbing the focus from the plenty, the blessing, the abundance. How can a void, which is nothing draw attention to itself. Why does the concept of the missing play tug of war with the heart when the heart is full beyond measure.

A moment ago in the teaching at Women In The Word there is conviction and confession and a contrite spirit. How quickly… how quickly.

I push a button and change the look and the feel and the design of this blog. Trying to find the most perfect design style and the most beautiful look. I preview and try to improve on the appearance.

And I can try to change up my outward appearance when what’s needed is a heart change. Lord take what is not of you and which doesn’t honor and bless and point toward you and change it. Turn my heart toward all that is good and all that is beautiful and all that is grace. Lord come and change.

That dying to self change. Dying to self during Lent requires identifying the rot. And the Lord provides a song bird even as I write. The one that sings pretty pretty pretty. In the smallest increments of time there is more to count as blessing and beauty and gift.

Can my perspective and lense shift to that of always and everytime seeing the half fullness. Everytime. The laundry means life and love and children and husband and family.

What joy could be found in picking up the trash if my perspective shifted away from the me and onto the outside of me. A shift toward the right here right now moment, the present, the hurting one beside me. A shift to the friend whispering faintly a cry for a word of encouragement. The family member with an unspoken need for embrace or prayer.

What gentle conviction He brings. What a gentle spirit he blows over us. The paraclete, the advocate, the consoler, comforter, intercessor.

Lord, take the mutterings and mumblings and grumblings of this heart in the Lenten Season and replace them with an Easter newness. A glass full, over full, life perspective always.

Lord refresh and renew, rekindle and re-ignite.

Hourly, daily remind us of how utterly dependent we are on You, Lord.

And this March 1, with a spirit of gratitude, counting gifts:

*friends and a couples Lenten Bible Study — Lord, thank you for FRIENDS
*a hardworking husband who will walk in the door tonight
*a special small group of women who listen and hold one another to account
*a son on a special overnight field trip to learn and explore
*a daughter who wants a picture of her mom beside her as her facebook profile picture
*blackbirds, songbirds, all feeder birds – smiling here
*re-connecting with childhood friends who bless me mightily
*camilias still blooming and still providing beauty everyday for my home
*a friend who shared this blog and humbled me mightily

Reading Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts and trying to take on the discipline of counting gifts daily. The link to her blog is listed under blogroll on this site.