The Remains of the Day–the secret delights of those who work to survive.

tired woman

I am exhausted. My head aches. My feet hurt.

All I want to do is get home.

Shut the door and enjoy the remains of the day.

You know, little bits and pieces of time left over after you’ve

  • taught lesson after lesson
  • waited table after table
  • scrubbed toilet after toilet
  • answered call after call
  • dealt with crisis after crisis

Pristine moments of uninterrupted silence. Time to soak your feet. Check your email. Watch your favorite show. Make a cup of tea. Just sit and do nothing at all.

I used to agonize over the intensity of surviving.

What I really longed for was

  1. 24 hour room service.
  2. a full time maid.
  3. an unlimited bank account.

“That is the way,” I told God, “You should bless me.”

But, what do I know?

When it comes to wisdom I think I have the brain the size of a pea. The insight of a potato peel. The tenacity of melted butter.

“Get a grip,” is the reply, “Open your eyes.”

That’s when I finally notice the opulence of extravagant blessings billowing up like bubbles in the bathtub of my life.

The hard times, the long hours, the added pressure in testifies the beauty of coming home.

  • Pockets of time I would have foolishly overlooked.
  • Delectable slivers of  peace I would have shoved aside.
  • Sweet moments with loved ones I would have ignored.

The remains of the day.

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