"I lift my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from?  My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth".  Ps 121:1

We've had a rough week.  To be honest, I've been feeling really sorry for myself.  Ourselves.  Because my baby can't sleep on his own, and I spend (what seems like) endless hours bouncing on an exercise ball, carrying Ellis all the time, and listening to the drone of white noise.  

I was settling into another day of exercise ballsiness this morning and I read about what is happening on a mountain in Northern Iraq.  And I think about the women and children on that mountain and how I am here and they are there. "Lucky" isn't a word I will use to describe myself, nor will I use the word "blessed" - because Jesus tells us, "Blessed are the persecuted".  I'm not blessed to live a comfortable life in a comfortable place.  They are the blessed ones.   Jesus says it.  Only with an eternal perspective can you also say that, in the end, they are the lucky ones, too.

I don't feel sorry for myself anymore.  I feel ashamed for even feeling that way in the first place.  I feel grateful that I can bounce my son to sleep on not-a-mountain and for the simple fact that he is safe.

And so my prayers today, and hopefully you too, on behalf of the Christians and other minorities on that mountain this morning are based on Genesis 22, when Abraham went up the mountain to sacrifice Isaac and God gave him a substitute offering to spare his son:

1So Abraham called that place The Lord Will Provide. And to this day it is said, “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.

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