So it's Saturday morning.
Here's the science: Every Saturday morning I either drop off or pick up my laundry. Because this chore entails dragging around a basket of clothes, I can't ride my motorcycle. This really hurts; I love riding my motorcycle.
Since I have to travel like a lemming packed in a shiny metal box (bonus points if you get the reference,) I began the Saturday-Morning-Take-The-Girls-To-The-Coffee-Shop tradition. I like this tradition. I get to spend time with my girls. As I was thinking about this trip, I (like every weekend that finds me playing with the worship team at church) made a mental note to invite the girls to come and hang out.
Avery used to come, but these days they always say no.
This is the point where I start feeling a little hurt that my girls don't really enjoy spending hours listening to me practice and play music they're not into. Why don't they want to go see a great Boise Baroque concert? Why do they only hang out with me when there's something in it for them?
How dare they?
They just want to run around and do the things they enjoy doing. It would obviously be so much better if they wanted to hang out with me. I mean, I'm the one that loves them. I'm the one that takes care of them. I'm part of the team that makes sure they get all the things they need to be healthy and happy. They know that I would defend them in their time of trouble with unmatched ferocity. I hope they know I hurt when they hurt. They DON'T know how much it hurts me to discipline them or what it feels like when they act like little idiots that haven't learn to act like adults.
I'm thinking in all these things in the shower, just about ready to go get coffee by my damned self.
That's when God taps me on the (spiritual) shoulder and says, "You poor thing, how could they be like that?"
I think he was smirking as he said it...