Sometimes . . .

Sometimes . . .

In the midst of life

In the midst of children

In the midst of being my husband's helper

In the midst of organizing

Washing.

Preparing.

Going.

I forget to remember

That Christ hug on a cross

He bled.

He suffered.

He died.

For me.

Not because I deserve His mercy.

But simply because He chose to love me.

He adopted me.

Not to improve His own circumstances . . . He was already perfect. He was already God.

But He loved me.

He made me His own; though it required great sacrifice.

I feel so undone and ungrateful.

For I know that I live days where I don't declare how grateful I am.

Christ died for our sins, according to the Scriptures . . . O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? . . . thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.