What is the story I will tell of this day? That I rose, found all in disarray and labored unsuccessfully to set it right?
Or will the story be that I rose, found puzzles and new activities to pursue, and was well occupied in play until the sun went down?
An observer would see each story unfold the same. As my mood shifts, play becomes labor in a moment, and then back.
Lord, deliver me from the stories I tell myself.
Acceptance begets peace begets joy. Grant me acceptance.