You know, I have to admit, I doubt myself in this new world of blogging. There are many times when I believe it's ridiculous and just a tad self-absorbed to believe that anyone really WANTS to hear my daily drudgery.

But then, I figure if you don't, then you just wouldn't read it. So, just know that while it's therapeutic for me to be "forced" to think my thoughts through enough to get them in writing, I completely understand the possibility of it all being trite and mundane to the rest of the world.

I guess that's just my way of apologizing for not having anything monumental to say.

The other day, I was working on a picture project, and I went through some old photo albums. Jack was about 2 years old and our only child at the time. It's really difficult for me to even remember only having one son. Paul and Whit weren't even a thought to us yet.

I looked at pictures of Jack sitting in the floor beside my grandmother... my grandmother who packed peanut butter crackers and cokes into a basket and took me on long walks and picnics... my grandmother who told me Bible Stories in bed at night without tiring for as long as I would ask, "just one more." ... my sweet ma-maw who passed away a few years ago.

I saw pictures of Jack in her tiny kitchen... that kitchen where she made countless batches of homemade biscuits for over 60 years... that tiny little area that always smelled of coffee and somehow became the focal point of all the huge family gatherings... that kitchen full of so many memories of my childhood (not to mention the childhood of my dad and his siblings)... that kitchen in the house which has been updated and sold to complete strangers.

I looked at pictures of Jack with my Aunt Ann, who, although she had no children of her own, always bought the perfect gifts at every celebration... my aunt who patiently listened to all my little-girl stories and worries and always had a kind word to return... my aunt who played dress up and rolled my hair like a princess... my Aunt Ann who is now suffering from Alzheimer's and doesn't even remember my name.

These pictures were taken just about 9 years ago. Nine short years, and yet so much has changed... so much that I would've never imagined. It makes me wonder what the next 9 will bring.

I know that God doesn't operate in a "time line" the way we do, and that He knows the future, but I think He was amazingly wise to not afford us that same ability. If I had known then what I know now, I.... well, I don't know how I would've coped. But, God hadn't given me the grace to cope 9 years ago because I didn't need it. He gave it to me only when I needed it.

I have been disturbed this week by a simple verse in Proverbs 31: "She [an excellent wife] smiles at the future." It disturbs me because I fear the future more than I smile at it. I fear that the cruelty of this world is not through with me yet. I fear that the next 9, 18 or 27 years could possibly be more tragic than the last.

And that's because I'm looking at my circumstances. I've got my eyes on the storm - or, in this case, just the possibility of some dark clouds looming in the distance - instead of on my Savior.

The excellent wife in Proverbs 31 smiles at the future not because her future is only full of happy things, but because she sees her future BEHIND the face of God. She knows that whatever her future holds, God's hand of provision and abundance is there. She knows that He collects her tears in a bottle and has inscribed her name on the palm of His hand. She not only knows it, but she BELIEVES it and she ACTS on it.

I know it, too. I know it because the Bible tells me it's so. I also believe it. I believe it because I've seen it in my own life.

Now, I just have to act on it...