Sitting here with Daisy the pug in my lap, with her head balanced on the edge of my arm and the table. Oldest daughter is baking brownies, husband is lying on the sofa fiddling with his laptop, boys in their rooms excepting for the two at work at the restaurant, and little girls are getting bathed for Sunday's church.
All's quiet and good.
I've been thinking about how difficult it is to be satisfied. Not so much in a material way, but more of an inward sort of fashion. My over-fretting is an example of my lack of faith, yes, but also my inability to be satisfied with what's in front of me. I want to be sure of things, but am learning to rest more in my heart and not HAVE to have everything nailed down. Does that even make sense? I told my husband today that I'm so sick of things and so tired of worrying. He suggested that I put the worries aside and work on enjoying life---his theory that the irritating things will be there, no matter.
Plus it's hard to find a quiet place to even think about stuff. I'm struggling with our noisy neighbors and their continual overflow into the street, along with their music and arguing. I'm amazed at how folks will compliment our neighborhood and say that they moved here for the coziness and safeness of it (that at present being questionable)---then they'll be the ones charged with domestic violence. Just doesn't figure, does it? The police were there again, last Saturday, and that's not the first time---sadly won't be the last time either. It really gets old.
It's what's on my mind this evening. And I'm thinking I'll just give into the rest of the weekend and enjoy it, avoiding my true desire to throw things across the street---eggs being my first choice. Yes, I will control my temper. :)
