He's right. A sour spirit has descended on me lately. I feel desperate for a place where everything is peaceful and quiet and clean and done. Instead I hear noise and squabbling; I look around to see so much UN-done. Even if I did it an hour ago, it is now UN-done. Even if I scratched everything off my list, I have added more to it.
Why am I trading peace for angst? Why am I hunkered down in a place of ingratitude when I know why and how to live full of thanks? Why is everything bugging me?
A plethora of excuses cross my mind: lack of sunlight and fresh air, too much sugar, not enough sleep, too many demands, too ambitious of a schedule. But these are symptoms, not the root cause.
Countless times I have advised friends to lower expectations, enjoy the moment, count their blessings, be still and know that God is God.
It seems I need to dig awfully deep to take my own advice. But you don't find the root by walking around in circles on the grass. You have to get out the spade and dig an ugly hole.
Today this moves to the top of my list: some internal gardening (and maybe a nap in the sunny window seat.) Because when the man of the house gets home tonight, I'd like to beat him to the mistletoe.
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