Tomorrow I will eat breakfast. That much I can promise.
But even that’s a big accomplishment from a year ago. Those days of running out the door with my coffee freshly poured and my coat barely around my shoulders seem so long ago.
I miss coffee.
At least being pregnant has forced me to eat more sensibly. I cook up an egg for protein, toast a slice of bread with jam for pleasure.
Yes, that’s a big accomplishment. I should make that a task in my calendar that I can check off right away when I get into the office. There aren’t enough of those small day-to-day tasks that I appreciate sufficiently.
When we go camping, every ordinary activity seems to offer an opportunity to express gratitude – for my limbs and my brain, for the contrast of bright moon against dark sky, for a warm fire on a chilly night. I miss that when I come home. I have access to more here. More good and more, well, challenging. I have access to more friends. Which means more demands for time. Which means more deep conversations. Which means more mental and emotional energy. Which means more inclination to get short with my husband. Which means more exhaustion. Which means more longing to get away again.
More wishing for pancakes over a firepit on a windy morning when the ashes cook into the batter. More dreaming about laying in the hammock with a cold beer in one hand and a challenging read in the other. More thinking about which hikes to take and what snacks to pack. More remembering the simplicity of a life lived with God, without pressure or pushing or performing.
So tomorrow I will do more than eat breakfast. When I eat my egg and toast tomorrow, I will remember to thank Him.
