For the past couple of days, I kept smelling something rotten in Denmark (i.e., the kitchen). I cleaned out the fridge, ran cleaner through the disposal, and took out the trash, but the smell remained. Then I saw the culprits: rotting potatoes sitting in a dish on the counter. Ugh. I quickly threw them out and cleaned up the mess they left behind. If only we could could clean the rot out of our selves as easily as we clean out a slimy, smelly dish.

If my life was played out on a stage, today’s scene would be a slapstick tragedy. Everything that could go wrong, did. Weaponized words, doctors who didn’t show up for appointments, the groomer cancelled AGAIN, the realization that everything I’ve tried to do to help turns out to be everything that hurts.

What do you do when your heart is wounded, but the relationship is more important than the wound? You make the decision to forgive, keep your chin up, learn from your mistakes, and trust God to make something beautiful out of your ash-tinged, futile efforts.

Oh, and walking on the beach at sunset helps, too:

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I lift my eyes up to the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, 
Maker of heaven and earth.

Except on this day, God seems very far away, and I feel very, very small.

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