Thanking As Much As Begging

Last year I taught my daughter


Actually, I thought I was teaching her how to politely
cash in on a promise without being a dripping faucet.
Afterall, she wasn’t asking her daddy
for something out of his control,
she was just asking for something he’d promised.

With my advice, she stopped greeting my husband
every
night at the front door asking,
“Daddy, when are you going to build my playhouse?”

 

She stopped waking him up
every
Saturday morning asking,
“Are you going to build my playhouse today?”

She just left signs everywhere.
It was quiet.
It wasn’t nagging.

It worked.
We got what we wanted.

We have played, pretended, snacked, tea-partied our hearts out.
The loft holds a double mattress, so we have slumber parties
where we watch movies,  eat snacks,
chew gum instead of brushing our teeth before bed,
then fall asleep holding hands.

This little home her daddy prepared for us has been
a huge, huge, blessing.

 

One day, I was convicted to tears.
I did a great job of teaching Rebekah
 to ask her Daddy for an answer to a promise.

I didn’t properly teach her to thank him.
Oh, we said thanks on more than one occasion.
She is delighted and will spontaneously hug and thank her Daddy.
She tells others how thankful she is for her Daddy.

But, our thanks didn’t match the magnitude of
asking
or the magnitude of
blessing
 we’d received.

To remedy the situation,
Rebekah and I giggled and planned and shopped.



We invited Daddy to a party.
A big party.

On the colorful banner we wrote
Thank You.


Beka and her Guest of Honor.

Kisses of thanksgiving for the carpenter.
Let the festivities begin!


Scott’s love language is hand-written cards.
(I know that’s not exactly what the book says,
but it’s exactly what he wants.)

Beka’s handwritten words of love and gratitude.
This was his favorite part of the celebration.

So, you all know where I’m going with this,
doncha’?
Every day,
all day long,
 our Heavenly Father
fulfills His promises to us.
I’m convicted that my
prayers of thanksgiving
don’t match the magnitude of
blessing received.





Hebrews 13:15
By Him therefore let us offer the
sacrifice of praise
 to God continually, that is,
the fruit of our lips
giving thanks
 to His Name.

Thank you, Daddy.
Thank you, Heavenly Father.

 

12 Responses to Thanking As Much As Begging

  1. Lynda March 8, 2012 at 12:45 am #

    This brought tears to my eyes, and conviction to my heart. Thank you, Heavenly Father!!!God bless you!

  2. Lynda March 8, 2012 at 12:45 am #

    This brought tears to my eyes, and conviction to my heart. Thank you, Heavenly Father!!!God bless you!

  3. adventureswithlaura March 8, 2012 at 5:57 am #

    Thank you for this reminder!!! I needed to hear that.

  4. adventureswithlaura March 8, 2012 at 5:57 am #

    Thank you for this reminder!!! I needed to hear that.

  5. The Queen of Brussels Sprouts March 8, 2012 at 6:16 am #

    Amen and Amen…and LOVIN' the thank you party. What a great idea.

  6. The Queen of Brussels Sprouts March 8, 2012 at 6:16 am #

    Amen and Amen…and LOVIN' the thank you party. What a great idea.

  7. ~ Tandis ~ March 8, 2012 at 1:22 pm #

    So true. The requests and pleas come pouring out but the thanks often gets forgotten or watered down. THANK YOU for this reminder today.

  8. ~ Tandis ~ March 8, 2012 at 1:22 pm #

    So true. The requests and pleas come pouring out but the thanks often gets forgotten or watered down. THANK YOU for this reminder today.

  9. Judith Anne March 11, 2012 at 1:52 am #

    Your posts are always refreshing!! I love them and miss them when I don't read your blog for awhile…then I catch up!!

  10. Judith Anne March 11, 2012 at 1:52 am #

    Your posts are always refreshing!! I love them and miss them when I don't read your blog for awhile…then I catch up!!

  11. Jeanne March 12, 2012 at 12:49 am #

    The cubby is sublime. The handwritten notes are my love language too. Love them.

  12. Jeanne March 12, 2012 at 12:49 am #

    The cubby is sublime. The handwritten notes are my love language too. Love them.

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