Toy trucks in the already-too-small bathroom, blocking the way to the sink.
The washer is off balance. Again.
I sit on the floor because I don't have enough room for a real desk.
I have to use 'the trick' to get the car to start sometimes, because its old.
Complaints. Grumbles. Longings for things to be more. For things to get better. Bigger. Faster. Smoother. Cleaner. Nicer.
Then I stop. I consider. And I realize.
What I have is already more than I deserve.
I realize: my grumbles are more than mere complaints.
They are, in fact, the very core of sin itself. Sin is what I do when I am dissatisfied with God.
I was dead. As a result of the utter depravity, the carnal sin that ravages the depths of my very being, I was unable to do any good. Unable to choose good. Unable to try to earn my way to heaven. Because I was dead.
I deserved the fires. I deserved eternal torment. I deserved for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Do you see it? I deserved to die.
If God had left me there, dead, destined for an eternity of torment, it would have been fully within His just, holy, and (even yes) loving right. If He had been obligated, if I had done anything to deserve His love and mercy, then it wouldn't be mercy anymore. It would be what was expected.
I deserve hell. But He, because of Jesus, had mercy on me. Has mercy on the entire human race.
Every breath you take. Every beat of your heart. Every morning that you wake up. Mercy.
If I sleep on a park bench. It is by His mercy. It is His gift that I am sleeping, breathing, heart beating, and that that park bench is stabilized by gravity, safely on the ground.
My little brothers have trucks to play with, by His mercy.
I actually have a bathroom--two in fact! By His mercy.
That washer goes off balance with almost every load, but by His mercy it still cleans the clothes.
That old car may have trouble starting, but by His mercy it still plugs along.
I sit on this floor, typing this blog post, thanking Him that by His mercy it's here for me to sit on.
How could I complain when He has already given me more than I deserve?
Now, I forget. Oh, so often I forget and complain. I grumble. I whine. I mumble.
Yes! Against the King of the Universe I complain about His gifts! I should be severely punished for such a crime!
Then, He, in His mercy, again speaks to my heart, reminding me again of His precious gifts that I so often take for granted. Again, mercy. Again.
He is so patient.