As I’m sitting here eating my sandwich dinner while studying, I am suddenly craving that Mongolian beef dish from Pei Wei in Fairfax. Ah. I loved it so much. And how did I not think of going back there when we were in the states for a visit last Christmas.

I’m sitting here thinking about rewinding time.

This morning I yelled about 98% of the morning at my one child who wouldn’t stop laughing. It just wasn’t in me to be kind. My heart was dealing with anger and my words and tone were hurtful. She was laughing and I was yelling. I want to go back and do it over.

So many recent things have happened that has given me similar thoughts of wanting to push a rewind button. Some things much bigger. Two young ladies we have known recently died. An accident and a suicide. A few days ago a missionary family who was planning on working with our friends in Nagoya we all killed in a tragic car accident. All five of them.

Where is the rewind button?

But while eating a few minutes ago, I read an article on conflict. I think my soul is ready to soak up any words at this point. Any words that are true. And we need truth in days like these. It said that we need to view conflict as a door to closeness. Now I’m not thinking about conflict, but that rewind button. A door to closeness?
Yes. Being near to Christ. Our relationship with Christ, where we see more of our need and cling closer to Him. Heaven becomes sweeter as the earth continues to disappoint, taste bitter, and sin is always lingering in our hearts. My desired rewind button is an opportunity for closeness to Christ. Without it I would be becoming more self-sufficient, not seeing my need for a Savior, and probably never savoring the hope of heaven with Him.

I grieve and really just sit here in disbelief about all the recent news. I also struggle with petty things that take over my heart and my day and my joy. Big things and little. But, thanks to God, who planned for Christ to redeem us, give us hope, and close His hand around us.

Cling to Him with me? I need this today.

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