I am lying down feeling the cold of the night which hasn't worn off even though noon approaches. A break between lessons - those children with still-growing fingers attempting gymnastics on the keys. I am warm when they tell me their stories, when they smile at a piece played well. But my feet are still cold, and my heart is tired, and the tea's caffeine didn't fix everything. I need to get ready for the rest of the day's lessons, but I drag on. I pick up a book (a pleasant procrastination).
One Thousand Gifts ~ Ann Voskamp:
reminds me to be thankful for God's goodness
to know the particulars of God's gifts to me
to cast away ingratitude, the urge to recognize the cold rather than the warmth
I am happy about:
sweaters and windows that let in light and not cold and the prospect of espresso in the morning and music theory and quiet times and busy times and the last three hundred pages of Monte Cristo and the freedom of Fridays and afternoons watching whales and friendship and people who care when they aren't told to and even almost this disquietude thinking have I done enough worthwhile today.
And here, I live in a place where people line up to watch the sun sink below the sea. Every evening they come.
Because it is beautiful, because it is worth it to see the good things.