For days, it seemed like no matter what I did, she complained. A trip to the pool? Not long enough. Eating at the drive-thru? Not enough choices on the dollar menu. Free time in the afternoon? Nothing to do. Waiting her turn at the orthodontist? It’s taking too long. Our appointment’s finished? It didn’t take long enough.
On the heels of many complaints, I almost didn’t stop that afternoon while we were in town. But… it was Happy Hour. She didn’t deserve it. But… it was hot. She wouldn’t say thank you. But… it’s summertime.
Against my better “train a child in the way she should go” judgment, I pulled into the drive-in for a fun surprise, three excited children rattling off their slushy requests. And it hit me.
I’m not always grateful.
God knows that. He watches me. He understands me.
And He doles out slushy Happy Hour treats anyway. He blesses richly; abundantly. Just because. In spite of me.
She didn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it.
Maybe that’s how we best learn gratitude? In the oft receiving of that which we don’t deserve?