Mercy Balloons

The house was dark and quiet. Everyone was asleep. Yet, there I was, pulling a late-night ritual that could result in pulling a diaphragm muscle. One by one, I was putting all my hot air to good use and inflating balloons. 

These now-expected birthday balloons represented every year the birthday girl has been alive. This particular night consisted of thirteen breath-filled balloons ready to greet the teen in the morning. 

For some reason, I thought this would be a fun tradition back when my oldest was around three years old. However, on this night, as my burning lungs worked up a sweat, my dizzy mind also began to perspire at the sudden realization of eighteen balloons in the near future. 

Eighteen balloons mean a great many things, all of which are liable to steal my breath. Filling late-night balloons will be the easy part. I know this.

That same overworked mind can also remember a dizzying phase when I had babies toddling about, and I could never imagine how I’d someday handle school drop-offs and homework, electronic and internet rules, teen social calendars, safety fears, or deep and delicate conversations. 

Yet, the somedays always come quicker than expected. Because life is just like the breath exiting my lungs to fill each piece of latex. It’s a mist, a vapor—here for just a moment, filling up a precious space worthy of celebration. We do not know what tomorrow brings. But we do know that God provides just what we need, when we need it. His grace is sufficient for today. He fills our lungs with oxygen and our hearts with strength.

His mercies are new each day.

Our very own celebratory mercy balloons greet us every morning. 

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