What am I here for?
I know the answer—yet I forget it almost instantly the moment another question takes over: “What do I want?”
When I’m running on little sleep and my son wakes in the middle of the night for a bottle, my first thought is rarely that I was created to serve Christ… or that my wants don’t define me anymore. Instead, it’s usually a quiet groaning inside—sometimes loud enough for others to hear. And depending on who is nearby, I’m quick to shift some (or all) of the blame onto them.
Maybe my spouse doesn’t wake up, or doesn’t notice our son’s cries fast enough—maybe two nights in a row—and my mind seizes on it. It takes a molehill and builds a mountain out of it, then tries to tip that mountain onto her as if covering her in it would somehow excuse me.
The worst part is how natural it feels in the moment. Pushing frustration toward her feels like pushing responsibility away from myself… as if I’m clean because she’s covered. But that lie doesn’t survive the light of Christ.
My heart is deceitful and wicked, and too easily I forget why I am here.
He didn’t save me so I could complain.
He didn’t redeem me so I could assign blame.
He saved me to serve—because He served.
Lord, change my heart to be more like Yours.
Teach me patience.
And even when I’m uncomfortable, teach me to serve anyway.
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