To be honest, I don't want to visit my mother today. For over six weeks, I have attended to her in her apartment, in the hospital and in rehab. She's getting cranky. She snaps back at me. She piles everything she hasn't eaten into a paper napkin after a meal and hands it to me, "So it won't go to waste." It looks like garbage to me, but I take it and ditch it into a garbage can on the way out. She needs help, but won't let me help her because I don't do it like the therapist told her to. But she can't remember how the therapist told her to do it, and we have to call the nurse for help.
I must be just like this to Jesus. He's there constantly, yet I snap at Him, asking why He has allowed this or that in my life. I'm ungrateful for what He has given me. I often treat the gift like garbage. I want to do things my way, not wanting help. Then I end up calling on Him, because I really can't do life myself.
I'll go, and I'll smile, and I'll kiss her wrinkled face. Jesus takes me as I am. Mother is just "one of the least of these," today.
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