My Weary Heart Smiles

As I slid into the bed with my two youngest daughters, snuggling and waiting for sleep to overtake them, I could almost hear the collective sigh of my fatigued mind, my worn out muscles, my exhausted bones, and my weary heart. It had been a long day. Every day is long lately. It seems it’s nonstop…the to-do list, the needs, wants, demands. There is never a lull in the craziness…

It’s always something…

My heart grows weary when I enter the bedroom and find an entire box of bandages emptied and opened.

But my heart can’t help but smile when she proudly announces, “look, I can open them just like cheese sticks.”

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Missing Ingredients

I made bread a few days ago. I searched the pantry and the countertop for a packet of yeast, but came up empty handed. I knew there was some in the refrigerator, but was unsure how long it had been in there. I also wanted fresher, more “active,” options. Well, there WERE no other options so I pulled open the door and reached in the WAY back to pull out the little jar.

Naturally, there wasn’t nearly enough for my recipe…about half. I wanted bread. The kids wanted bread. I WAS MAKING BREAD. I used what I had and hoped for the best.

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“You Need to do Better”

“You need to do better.”

The context doesn’t matter. Just the words.

I thought it didn’t bother me, but apparently it really did because here I am writing about it a couple of weeks later after it has churned and churned in my head…eating away at my joy.

Better.

Better?

Who’s definition? Your’s? Society’s? Mine? My husband’s? God’s?

What’s “better,” and is it even possible?

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