I remember my grandma saying she didn’t want to be a burden. She put wird’s to s feeling I grew up with. I never felt I was a burden. Though I tiptoed around the house the days my parents were resting before or after their night shifts. I wasn’t loud. I kept to myself. Before I was asked, I figured out to tidy up after myself and others. Well, my mom asked me to tidy up my brothers desk occasionally. 

I longed for my space. I didn’t have my own bed. Back to back, trying not to disturb anybody’s sleep. My husband doesn’t snore. He sleeps like a dead person on his back. 

There is one difficulty in my experience. I expect others to learn fast to adapt to the house rules, to not be a burden. To respect the host, the space. Parenting for 6 weeks in my in-laws home, for the most part it has been smooth cruising. We communicate clearly, our kids are pretty well behaved. But when we speak sternly, when Jackie got a timeout, when we put out foot down on a decision, from the outside it may seem to harsh. Mom and dad may forget how their kids pushed their frayed buttons, and how parental authority looks like in the present. Our responsibility extends beyond vacation time. 

It’s nice to relax, to feel fully welcomed and spoiled and pampered while here. I’m taking full advantage of eating food I didn’t have to cook. But even so, my senses are keenly aware. I don’t want to overstay our welcome. Only grace can extend that for us. It’s not easy to have four people who eat and drink and consume resources. No matter how much we try to be discreet. We depend on others. Oh, I don’t like depending on others. This is my lesson of accepting grace. I’m not a burden. My family is not a burden.