The overflowing hamper glared at me as it received another day's dirty clothes. The kitchen table was cluttered with everything from bandages to cough meds to unopened mail. It didn't matter; I could barely muster the energy to pull on my pajamas.
Another cold and cough virus invaded our house this past week. In the beginning, I tried to guard my intention to celebrate winter. By midweek, after spending the day in the ER with hubby after he fell from a trailer and they'd placed twelve stitches in his head, my celebration simply morphed into survival mode.
Today is Sunday and I've been staring at this laptop screen for longer than I care to share. I have a post due over on Fearless Lines that demands creative juices to flow. Nothing is happening.
On Monday I wrote about trust. Sometimes trust is believing in the hope that things are going to change, that this too shall pass.
As I mentioned, I didn't break out the balloons and party hats this week, but I did remember to be grateful. I'm grateful for a warm home, plenty to eat, the progress I've made in moving away from chocolate, and the fact that I slept through most nights.
Most of all, I'm thankful for that Psalm 91 prayer in action as Hubby fell on cement floor. It could have been much worse than a few hours at the hospital.
A brand new week of life lies before me, Lord willing, full of possibilities for celebration. Some days trust is simply moving forward.