dust

How would I count.it.all.joy after a nearly sleepless night wrestling over a letter (should I have sent it? should I have waited? should I have sent it? should I have waited?) At 6:00 a.m. I e-mailed the person who was going to mail it.

Too late. He mailed it last night.

It is what it is.

I lay back in bed wanting nothing more to snuggle under my warm flannel quilt for the day. Maybe with a cat. I didn't know what to look forward to.

I. was. so. tired.

Thoughts revved up on the drag strip called my brain.

Take care of a. Respond to b. Handle c. Finish d. How would I come up with a coherent class, let alone make it to bedtime?

Then it came, the verse I memorized while running the other day... "For He knows our frame, He remembers that we are dust." (Psalm 103:14)

He knows.

He remembers.

Even when I forget.

I count that joy.