I look around at all that is supposed to make me overjoyed, especially during this particular season of forced merriment and bliss.
Stuff I've crammed my life full of.
Material things, like clothes and rugs and couches and wall paint and knick-knacks and Christmas decorations. Other, less subtle things like secret candy stashes, Vanilla Chai tea and designer makeup. And then there are the things that I do that I feel like should satify me, but I can't actually hold them in my hand. Like exercise, perfection, organization, counting calories.
I guess it was the phone call from my husband saying that the kids had an offer to spend the night with my in-laws on Sunday evening. Which means Monday morning would roll around. He would go to work. Like normal. They would be gone. Like normal.
When it's all said and done--the decorations are perfect, the closets are organized, I've had a great workout, my outfit matches and my makeup and hair are satisfactory, the husband is at work and the kids are spending the night somewhere else--when it's just me, sitting here, looking around, I realize that all those things I bought into were just placeholders. They hold very little value, no matter how much they cost.
Like Lysa TerKuerst said in her devotion today: Even a good husband — good children — a good friend make a very poor God. No education or job or house can save you.
And I'll add to that: Even perfection can't save you.
But I know the One who can.