Can I borrow...?

Here I am, at the library, using the internet, because we don't have internet at home. Or a landline.

When I woke up this morning and got off the couch (there's no room to set up our bed, so we're crashing on the couch for a few weeks...might need to find a good massage therapist soon), I stepped over boxes, dishes, bags and toys strewn about the living room.

My clothes are tucked in somewhere between a suitcase and laundry basket, and I'm still trying to figure out which clothes laying on the floor are dirty. We are hoping to get a washer in today so I don't have to borrow somebody's washer for long, and we still need to figure out how we're going to heat the bottom part of the house, where my husband is currently constructing our bedroom.

When I woke up this morning, I wanted to complain. In a bad way. I was grouchy. I haven't slept much, and I can't find anything.

We've had to borrow so many things. Vehicles, furniture, phones. You name it. It stings the pride a bit, to have to borrow the basics. It's easy to look around, and want MORE. More of my own stuff.

But when I wanted to complain about our "small" house, I thought about some of our friends in Nicaragua, people with 3, 4 or 5 kids, who live in a plastic shack.

When I wanted to complain about not having a bed to sleep in, I thought of our friends who sleep on a feed sack. Or cot. And share it with several other people. I only had to share the couch with one person, my hubby.

When I wanted to complain about not having much space to put all my kitchen gear, I thought of my friends in Nicaragua that cook over firewood, and only own 2 pots.

When I wanted to complain about having to go to the library to use the internet, I thought of all our friends who don't have a computer, and have never even used a computer. They have no concept of the internet.

When I wanted to complain about having to "borrow" somebody's washer, I remembered how we had to wash our clothes by hand in Nicaragua, ona concrete washboard.

and when I wanted to complain about my kids fighting and whining, I remembered my babies in heaven, and all those who struggle with infertility.

Thank you, God, for reminding me all that I have to be thankful for.

And for reminding me that all this stuff is just...stuff. I can't bring it with me when I die. Help me to remember to store up my treasures in heaven.