my exhausted heart
We’ve been sick for two solid weeks around here.
And I am a champion worrier. I can worry you under the table. You don’t know what worrying is until you’ve met me. If I could take my worrying to the Olympics, I’d bring home the gold, baby. I’d have my own line of sneakers.
Though, sadly, of course, I cannot take my worrying to the olympics. But I can take it–and my two stuffed-up children–into our bathroom with a box of tissues, run the shower, and call it a “sweat lodge.” Which is what we did today.
And I can let that worry bring my blessings into sharp focus. And I can give thanks for my little ones and their beautiful hands. And I can promise myself, again and again, not to take even one single second for granted.