Prodigal.

My three-year-old is sick. He's throwing up everywhere, he can't get comfortable in his bed, and he is (understandably) clingy and whiny and glued to my hip.

I love him.

But I'm exhausted.

And just a little bit angry.

And I'm about to launch into what may seem like a laundry list of complaints, but I need, more than anything, to get this bitterness out of my soul.

I feed my kids. I clothe them. I bathe them. I schedule therapy sessions and doctor's appointments. I read to them and discipline them and love on them and keep them entertained. I pray with them. I kiss their boos boos and I deal with their tantrums. I tuck them in at night and I rise with them every single morning. I take them to church. I take them to the park, to the pool, to the playground. I change diapers. I change underwear. I worry about them. I mother them.

I keep my house clean. I do laundry and I vacuum and I dust and I (sometimes) clean the bathrooms. I grocery shop. I pay the bills. I make and keep the budget. I get the dogs to the vet, I remember birthdays, I cut the grass. I pick up prescriptions. I remember to have the oil changed and the tires rotated. I try to shower.

I work outside the home, too.

And so sometimes, even though I wouldn't trade places with my ex-husband for anything, I feel an anger--a jealousy--rising up from somewhere deep within. I am here, at home, with my children, working my butt off on a daily basis, while he's relaxing at the beach on an adult-only vacation. I make decisions regarding faith, discipline, education, and family rules on my own; he plays with our children once a week and every other weekend. He has the opportunity to go to bed when he's tired, wake up when he feels like it, and catch a movie whenever it strikes his fancy. He can head to the gym without having to worry if his baby girl will cry in the nursery. He has someone to laugh with, to cry with, to listen as he bares his soul...I don't even know how to start dating. Somedays it just doesn't seem fair.

What an ugly paragraph.

I get how that older brother feels, though. It's not a pretty place to be.

How easy it can be to feel wronged, slighted, cheated out of what is rightfully mine. How simple it is to let jealousy take over, to chase after the wrong things, to think that this life is, indeed, all about me. How quickly I fall into the lie that I deserve more, that I deserve the party, and it is him alone who deserves the punishment. Not even close to being true.

What is true, though, is that God is telling me, just as he told the older brother, that He is always with me, and that everything He has is mine. And that is, most definitely, more than enough to keep the house clean and pay the bills and discipline the kids and build a godly family. It is better than an adult-only vacation, better than a boyfriend or a husband, better than sleeping in on a Saturday morning. It is the promise of provision, of sustenance, and of mercy. It is more than I could ask for, and so much more than I deserve.

And it's a perspective I'm working hard to adopt every minute of every day. It's not always easy, and I don't always get it right, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Hallelujah!