Do you ever suppose that you will ever "get it right?" I wonder about that all the time with myself. Will I get something--anything--right? Ever?
At times, it seems pretty bleak. A couple of days ago I wrote about my growing list of imperfections. Perhaps imperfections is too kind a word for them. Weaknesses. Frailities. And sins. (That's the biggie, those sins.)
I want to give up, to throw in the towel and say, "Father, I'm too weak, too frail, too sinful to do anything right." Even those things which I want to do seem beyond my reach.
Then the Father reminds me, "Child, you're still growing. Be patient with yourself. As I'm patient with you."
So, for today, I am grateful for the Father's patience. (Heaven literally knows how much I've strained it.)