It’s not my computer this time. Actually, things are going along swimmingly in that department.

The rest of the day, however, has been enough to make me wish I’d just stayed in bed!

I couldn’t find a paper I need to take with me when I go in for some blood work next week. I KNEW I hadn’t thrown it away. So–Terry and I probably spent an hour or more going through papers on the computer desk–another thing that makes me crazy, cluttered up desk, papers that never get thrown out–and I finally found it stuck between the pages of the calendar I keep on the desktop. Whew. Okay.

Then I made the mistake of asking Terry if he remembered where we put a hair curling tool when he tore the big bathroom apart. If you live with a person who has ADD, you know better than to ask a question like that unless it’s truly urgent that you find whatever it is. I told him half a dozen times not to worry about it, it’s not something I use a lot, etc. But he had to keep looking, and believe me, that’s a chore. The bathroom is STILL torn up, after nearly two years, and a lot of the stuff is in his bedroom, piled up, shoved under the bed, in the closet—-yeah, that drives me crazy, too.

But what really made me want to pull my hair out was that I found it, exactly where I had put it, in a drawer in the new vanity in the bathroom.

I hate it when there’s no one to blame but me.

And then, I couldn’t get our Roku to work tonight, and I had to go through a process, change the password, blahblahblah. Finally got it working, for about ten minutes, when the screen went black and a “no signal” message came up.

Okay. That’s it. I was about to lose my sanctification, so I turned it off and decided I needed to turn my mind to better things. Set the clocks an hour ahead. Lose an hour of sleep. Bah humbug. I don’t know why “they,” whoever they are, set that up to rob you of sleep on Sunday. Could have just as well been Saturday!

That didn’t work. I know. I need to do my post for Sunday Morning Coffee, which I often write on Saturday to make sure I get it done.

As I write, I feel calmer, start to see the humor, and then have to have a little talk with Jesus to forgive me for my impatience when things don’t work right, when things get misplaced, mixed up, forgotten, messed up.

Because, you know, that’s what the Lord faces with every single one of us, every single day. Did I need to have a tantrum over these silly things ? Nope. It doesn’t help a thing, and I feel like a dope when I settle down. I know better. I often go for long periods of time–maybe a week?–without becoming impatient with something minor.

How does God have patience with me? I don’t know. The same way, I guess, that He had patience with David, with Gideon, with Lot, Elijah, Jonah, the Pharisees and Sadducees, The soldiers who beat Him and nailed Him to the cross; His disciples who deserted Him, even just for a short time, when trouble loomed.

We see His mercies new every morning.

I want you to know that just sitting still and thinking as I write has calmed me and settled me. Sometimes we just need to be still, and know that He is God. That He cares about the frustrations of life, and that if we would stop and pray right away rather than getting all wrapped around the axle, we could save ourselves a lot of grief. And embarrassment.