Sigh. "Today has just been like a trial and a tribulation," Jane says. She shakes her head, curls swing around her, a bowl of steel cut oats slack at her hand.
"Yeah?" I say. I watch her from the kitchen door, Sunday afternoon bunched up around us. Her daily chore just barely finished: tidy the living and dining room.
"It's like test, test, test," she nods and whirls her hands in a wheel motion. Myra left oatmeal smeared on the table. Lucy splattered water on the floor. Jack didn't put his laundry away. Joe hazed the table in crumbs.
"I think you are doing remarkably well," I say. "It's always hard when you don't get enough sleep."
"It's just like I wish they could be staggered a little," she says. She tilts her head, sighs again.
"I know what you mean," I say. Chores, the act of laying down our lives again and again -- it's serious work.
She scoops a swath of steel cut oats and swipes it into her mouth. She gathers more bites, the tink of her spoon, marking the tock of time.
5587. My parents throw the annual party for summer birthdays. Another round of encouragement and love, it's so good every year.
5588. We take the kids out for bike rides. They burst with bliss.
5589. A neighbor invites us to can pears.
5590. Another neighbor passes on leftovers.
5591. We go on a walk and chit-chat with the people we see.
5592. A friend passes on hand-me-downs.
5593. We continue to step forward confident of God's goodness.