I pray I don’t get any hate mail over this posting. I probably will, though.

I often cringe when people make reference to things I’m involved in. I only wish they knew the whole picture. Not just one they see of me handing out a Bible. Or me talking to George, my homeless friend. I have a hard, dark side.

This is NOT the life that I outlined as a little girl. The picket fence. The brick two story. Two perfect children, Jack & Jill. The rich husband who looked like Fabio.

Instead, my life has been FULL of tragedy. My picket fence is actually a cow gate. My kids are far from perfect. My husband looks better than Fabio, though. 🤣. Our lives seem riddled with one storm after another. I’m the employed one. I worry about the bills. I worry about the boys. I worry about if Preston cut the stove off. If a scratch pops up on his leg, I’m worried that it’s something sinister. I’m guilty of going outside and vomiting in the middle of the night because fear has consumed me.

I’ve been in Christian counseling on and off for nearly a dozen years. I’ve been prescribed medicines to help me cope. I refuse to take them. I have my reasons. Please don’t beat me up for it. I’m not anti-medicine…. Just come look at Preston’s pill containers.

Serving God gives me a high and a joy that I have not found anywhere or in anything else. No strength of Xanax can do that. I refuse to dwell on the fact that my life is not how I say it should be. It’s the hand I’ve been dealt…… and it ain’t a bad one. But if I hide in the darkness of my depression and my four walls, I feels darker than ever and has threatened to take me deeper in the pit.

There is a reason that George is homeless and can’t be trapped in a place with walls. I don’t have to fight those demons. My four walls are a safe place for me. Many years ago, there were two young children in state custody. You know what their story was? Mama died. And the boyfriend or stepdaddy locked them in a basement with mama’s ashes “watching” them. Just one day this week, two young girls knocked on our office door asking if we were the place where they could get free food. Not us, but I sure sent them to the flower shop. I’ve never lived in child abuse or gone hungry.

Then Preston. He does his Bible study every single day. He has read the Bible from front to back over and over. A man that has no short term memory. But God has truly hidden His word deep in Preston’s heart. Preston blows me away with his deep understanding…. that surpasses understanding in of itself.

Somewhere I learned that serving and filled a void turned my bitterness to gratitude. And the more I serve, the more it ain’t about me. The more I serve, the more joy that floods my heart. The more I want that feeling. I am BLESSED!

I selfishly serve. Not selfLESSly. Selfishly.

I hope that if you’re like I was, sitting around moping about the crappy hand you were dealt, that you’ll throw those cards down. Instead of wondering why nobody comes around or calls, serve. God will place you in exact places where you’re needed and wanted. If you’ve been a victim of abuse yourself, serve. Somebody somewhere needs to hear your survival story. If you suffer depression or anxiety, serve. It may not fix everything but I can guarantee it won’t hurt anything, either.

If you need a place to get your feet wet, come find the Bible Tent at the Antioch Pumpkin Patch in the morning. God will surely use you, and I’ll selfishly get to watch. 😃

It’s okay to be selfish. When it’s for God’s glory, anyway.

Until next time,

The Selfish BeanCounter

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