I had just put Titus to bed. He had fallen asleep while I read him a story — exhausted, fighting some sort of allergy or sickness. The previous three days had been full of wheezing and coughing, and nighttime sleep had been interrupted — exhausting for both of us. His health had been a challenge off and on for what had seemed like 6 months. I wanted my healthy, happy boy back.

My heart was heavy as I lowered my seven-month pregnant body to pick up toys and began to work on the grandiose pile of dishes. With no dishwasher, just two meals can make the kitchen a mountainous mess and ants in Brazil are aggressive, so no leaving everything “to soak.”

My mind was occupied with Titus’s health and the 90 degrees it felt it was inside our home at 8:00 pm. I sighed and wished for “home” and healthcare I understand for my small son, for dishwashers and cooler temperatures. There are days where the combination of stress and heat and unfamiliar feel suffocating.

Deep in thought, I accidentally bumped a glass plate. It fell onto our unforgiving tile floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

And I just stared at it.

One more thing to add to the workload. One more thing that would take care and precision to clean, so that Titus would not catch a tiny shard in a foot or hand the next day. Just bending over to pick things off the floor these days is a task. And now this?!

I have a comment I make to Greg sometimes, when it seems like everything is going wrong, and then little things on top of those things happen and tip the scale, resulting in frustration and tears. I joke and say, “Someone somewhere hates me!” As if days that go “badly” in my short-sighted economy and perspective are some sort of conspiracy by someone “out there.” It’s a ridiculous philosophy and we both laugh.

But sometimes it feels that way.

Recently when I have gone to utter those words, a truth hidden deep inside comes to the surface. “Someone somewhere loves you.” I’m reminded that these things that happen to me or around me, or threaten to overwhelm me with stress and discomfort  are actually part of a grandiose plan formed specifically for my life by someone who loves me and wants me to cling to Him. Someone who knows my only hope for true, lasting joy is Himself, and to be unsatisfied and uncomfortable in this world is the grace by which I seek and find all I need in Him.

These discomforts are reminders that I am not home yet. They are not haphazard and by chance, but rather crafted for me by a Creator who loves me too much to let me spend my days in total comfort and peace, forgetting the broken world we live in and my desperate need for Him.

So as I kneeled to pick up the shards of broken glass from the floor, I said a quiet “thank you.” His gifts seem strange sometimes, but gentle reminders of his love come more from anxieties and struggles than holidays in the sun.

So for that one glass plate, I am thankful.

Savannah