This is a guest post by Linda Ricke.
Sometimes my first reaction is not gratitude. The last three weekends I have spent my time giving. My husband spent the last three weekends playing golf. I need to qualify that. Two of them were spent playing the form of golf which has become his passion where players throw specialized Frisbees into metal baskets spread throughout a course, with scoring similar to that of what we call around here, “ball golf.” The type of the game my husband and his friends play most often is called “disc golf.” Most people who live on nine acres of land don’t have their own golf course. We have a disc golf course. It’s great. People come over and spend the day playing and having a good time. Some of the guys call our house “the Club House.” Sometimes it feels like that.
I appreciate the fact that my mate has a healthy habit. He’s not out spending his time in a bar or treating women as objects of desire. He works hard at his profession, really hard, actually. He deserves time with his friends. Time to wind down. Time to get exercise and sunshine. But…
You knew there would be a “but” here.
But…sometimes I get tired of sharing our home and my time and my husband. I’ve met great people, interesting people from all over, and I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful that we have been blessed with the good fortune to have the home and land that we have. I’m grateful that my husband has lots of friends and that everyone feels welcome and comfortable in our home. But sometimes I get tired, and I forget that the time I sometimes resent giving up is not my own. It belongs to God. And sometimes, even when it just feels like housework, I know that what I’m really doing is God’s work.