Reese is a cheerleader. If just being a teenage girl didn’t already come pre-packaged with its own set of neuroses, we’ve now got the triple bundle package.

One evening, after my 1.5 hour commute, I arrived at the JV football game to support my Reesie-cup. It was cold and damp outside. The bleachers were sparsely populated with the parents obligated to provide transportation to their football player sons, young girls supporting their football crush and me.

In an attempt to bring some life into a drab evening and … generate some body heat, I participate in the “response” to the cheerleaders “call”. I was the cheerleader of my cheerleader, and I shout, “Shake it, Reesie-cup!” She blushes. And I hear her fellow cheerleaders tease, “Yeah, shake it Reesie-cup”.

The game ends. I can’t remember if our team won or not. I just wanted to grab my girl and find some heat. I wait for her as she give good-bye hugs and promises to respond to text messages. Finally, we leave. And then, in true Sybil form, she turns to me and tells me how I embarrassed her, how she was mortified that I was cheering, how I screamed “shake-it”, and now her friends are calling her Reesie-cup. “That’s not my name”, she protests.

I pause in disbelief. This chick can’t be serious. But she is and she rattles off a string of nonsensical babble, all standard features in the teenage bundle package. I walk ahead of her. I’m mad. I’m hurt. I’m finished. I isolate myself for the rest of the night.

The next day, I try to get my quality time in with Holy Spirit. I’m chatting about everything but what happened the night before. In the spirit, I hear Him ask, “Is that what you want to talk about?”

I don’t make Him work for it. I pour out my heart like a busted dam. “She’s embarrassed by me? The one whose always there! I’m there when the other parent forgets. I’m there when her brother refuses. I’m there when grandparents are too far and when friends simply don’t care. I’m there after 10 hour days. I’m there in bad weather; In uncomfortable weather. I’m there! And instead of reveling in the support and the big love that drapes her very existence; instead of showing a little gratitude for her bubble-wrapped life; instead of just shaking it and owning the power within, she melted into a teenage mess and blamed me!”

He says, “I know exactly how you feel!”  And then these scriptures came to mind:

Bless the lord, O my soul, and forget not his benefits. Psalm 103:2

When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. Deuteronomy 6:10-12 NIV

I sit reflecting, waiting to see where this is going. And then I hear that familiar voice, “Who can I bless and they won’t forget Me?”

In August, I moved into a new home and got a (very needy) puppy. I was already over scheduled, in prayerful hope of God creating an eighth day in the week. In my fatigue I’ve sacrificed my blog, slept in more Sundays than not, and reduced my devotion time to two pages from a Joel Osteen book.

Who can God bless and they not forget Him?

My blessings are immeasurable. I’m well employed. I’m healthy. I have a loving family with a manageable set of dysfunctions. My children are thriving. And our new puppy epitomizes unconditional love. My car is reliable. My friends are faithful. And if that weren’t enough, I’m loved by the Creator of the world, the Father of the Heavens, the King of Kings. He calls me daughter. He’s made me royalty. He’s assigned an army of angels to guard me and keep my feet from stumbling. His love drapes my very existence. He’s my cheerleader. He sits on the bleachers of my life through the damp, dark seasons, no matter how uncomfortable for others. He’s always there for me. When no other comfort actually comforts, His does. He provides light, He gives hope. He’s given His spirit and the power that comes with it to live in me.

Like Reese, I’ve been living in tremendous favor and blessing but allowed it to be overshadowed by self-inflicted discomforts and fatigue. I’ve focused on why I don’t have my dream job yet. I’ve whined about my slowing metabolism and the sudden need of reading glasses. Instead of giving, I’ve been buying. Instead of sharing, I’ve been storing. Instead of praying, I’ve been just hoping.

I was forgetting–

It’s easy to become religious. To become stagnant in your faith. Adopting routine and monotonous practices that vaguely resemble praise. Watching the clock during devotionals or church. Forgetting how He brought you out of Egypt.

Who can God bless and they not forget Him?

I whimpered, “I’m so sorry, Lord.” And right there, in the quiet of my room, I threw a log on the proverbial fire in my heart. I spent time remembering my Lord. I could feel His acceptance. The warmth of His approval and love, which I always had, flooded the room. I laid there for a bit, enjoying the warmth, feeling refreshed in His presence. And then one of those kids called me. I tightened, feeling interrupted, again. But this time, I heard the spirit and power that lives within cheer me on, “Go shake it, Rhonda!”

Holy Spirit, help me never to forget how You’ve blessed me.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.