Often God's mercy feels more like a swift kick to my backside than the "There, there, little one!" pat on the head that I would prefer. So it is this morning as I skipped church on a day I was physically able to attend, opting instead to stay home and feel sorry for myself, that I once again feel a Jehovah sized boot print on the place with the least amount of padding; my ego. I am a slow learner. We go through this every year at this time. Is it any wonder that I hate Mother's Day? I don't hate Mother's Day for any of the legitimate reason to despise made up holidays. It doesn't bother me a bit that Hallmark is making a killing on cards or that florists everywhere are being delivered high voltage shocks on their last nerve trying trying to get out orders. Trust me, I was a florist once upon a time. Valentines Day and Mother's Day test the soul of every florist. I hate Mother's Day for much deeper reasons. When I was a kid I hated Mother'
Musing of a mostly sane, perfectly saved and yet entirely flawed bible believing woman and biblical counselor.