Whitney Williams - Count every day a blessing

MARY REICHARD, HOST: Today is Tuesday, May 31st. Good morning! This is The World and Everything in It from listener-supported WORLD Radio. I’m Mary Reichard.

NICK EICHER, HOST: And I’m Nick Eicher. Surprise!

WJI CHOIR: [Happy birthday to you!]

The WJI broadcast-track choir—take a bow!

REICHARD: Awww!

EICHER: And I have some podcake here for you—special theater-of-the-mind confection that can be anything you want it to be, rich and creamy yet calorie free.

REICHARD: I love it! Yeah, not afraid to say it’s my Big Six Oh. Feel like I’m just now getting into my productive years. I mean I only figured out what I wanted to do when I was in my 40s! And now I get to do the work I’m convinced God put me here to do.

EICHER: I for one am glad you found your calling here at WORLD. We’ve been cohosting together for five years and this also happens to be your 10th anniversary with WORLD.

REICHARD: What a great decade it’s been!

And I don’t mind if you went through this whole month of the New Donor Drive kind of on the fence about giving for the first time. It would absolutely make my day if you picked today, my sixtieth birthday, to make a gift. Maybe a sixty dollar first time gift, maybe that amount recurring. That would make my birthday even that much more special.

EICHER: Well, that’s right, this is the final day of our New Donor Drive. You’ve heard encouragements from listeners like you for the past four weeks, you’ve heard encouragements from us … and today is the final day for you if you’ve never given before to cast your vote for the kind of biblically objective journalism you’ve come to trust. If you would visit WNG.org/donate today and make a first-time gift we’d be grateful.

And happy birthday!

REICHARD: Thanks! It already is. I’m grateful for the years.

And speaking of grateful, here’s WORLD commentator Whitney Williams on keeping things in perspective.

WHITNEY WILLIAMS, COMMENTATOR: I wake just before 6 a.m., brush my teeth, and tiptoe past my children’s bedrooms toward the kitchen to make some coffee. I avoid turning on lights, hoping to have just a few moments to myself—they’re drawn to the light.

As I make my way from the hallway into the living room, I’m startled by heavy breathing nearby. I squint through the darkness and spy crouching tiger, hidden 8-year-old boy, ready to pounce. But I’m not ready. Not ready at all.

My son promptly asks if I will play Gaga ball with him on the trampoline, while at the same time requesting that we make Funfetti pancakes. Oh, and “can we invite a friend over today?” he asks.

The long day ahead looms and intimidates—it will have sweet moments. But also crying, whining, and fights between brothers. Oh, and messes—plus, so many snack and screen-time requests.

While I attempt to read a quick devotional, my son emits random shrills, bumps into my chair, and tosses Farkle dice into the air. As the dice hit our stained concrete floor and bound in all different directions, my irritation and impatience rise. I wonder if the Lord’s new morning mercies have slept in.

“I need you today, Lord,” I silently pray. “Help me.” And He does. My children and I have a good day together, overall, though not without challenges.

Later that evening, I get a text from my mother-in-law. “Have you seen the news?” she writes. “Awful.”

I hadn’t.

I open the news app on my phone. “At least 19 Children Killed in Elementary School Shooting,” the headline reads.

The sticky hands of hell reach up and pull my soul down into my stomach. I’m reminded that faith and grief are not mutually exclusive.

The next morning, I drop my boys off at their Nana and Papa’s—they’re working on a treehouse. I slog through Walmart, thinking about the mamas, just like me, who sent their kids to school that day never dreaming that it would be the last time they’d interact. Had any of them been short with their child that morning? I wondered. Frustrated by whining, sinfulness, or sluggishness? Overwhelmed by all of the end-of-school to-dos? Most likely, I thought. And most understandable.

“God be with those mamas,” I pray, continually, as I make my way through my day’s work. “God help them. Help.”

Later that afternoon, three precious, hungry, sweaty gifts from God bid farewell to their Nana and Papa and barrel into my minivan.

“Y’all better buckle up,” I tell them, with renewed gratefulness, “cuz Mama’s ‘bout to whoop your booties in some Gaga ball.”

AUDIO: [Whitney and kids playing “Gaga ball” on the trampoline]

I think I’ll make time for Funfetti pancakes tomorrow, too.

I’m Whitney Williams.

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