"Grow where you're planted."
Such a cliche' statement, but I've also heard that to trust God means to trust His timing; this, now this hits home. I'm such a control freak. I look at God's timing, his footprints on this path of what I thought was my life and I question,
Really, God? Four kids in five and a half years? Seriously, the end of my first year of college? What?!? My career? You want that too? Now? Why?
I don't always care for what God uses to grow me.
Gleaming topaz, the woodwork stands as a monument to those homeowners who refused to bend to the whim of painting one's woodwork white. The 1920's woodwork is still pristine, except for one doorjamb in the living room. Giddily I run up to it and press my back against it. "Measure me! Measure me! How tall am I?" I squeal with delight as my grandfather or grandmother, whomever I was able to convince to measure me that day levels pencil to my head and with a scratch lines the walls. I turn around and compare to the other lines inscribing initials and dates beside on the clementine walls (another tribute to a bygone era).
The best part about getting measured?
Looking back at where I've come from.
