Today I came across this thoughtful post, written by an emergency room nurse and mother who reflects on what it is like to tell a mother her child has died. And to witness that mother thank the medical staff for their efforts to save her child.

I needed to read this today. I don’t know about you, but there are days when I manage to hit Grumpy Button as I stumble out of bed, and the whole world is shaded with this yucky shade of puce. My scalp twitches, so out-of-sorts am I.

Why?  No reason, really. My children are healthy, as evidenced by the romping, stomping pillow fight to which I was awakened at the crack of dawn this morning.

My husband rested well last night, as evidenced by the fact that he was in bed next to me when the pillow fight ensued.

We have a lovely home, my husband is gainfully employed, and none of us have been hospitalized or lost our livelihoods to a massive earthquake (say a little prayer with me for the people of Haiti, especially all those children who lost their parents).

My friend Roxy is out of the hospital, officially in remission.  My friend Robin had her operation yesterday, and will be feeling better soon. My friend Sarah’s daughter was diagnosed with epilepsy recently, and I hate not being close enough to do anything more than pray. (Although praying is, indeed, hard work when you do it right.)

Best of all, this weekend we are going to celebrate Sarah’s birthday at the Kalahari Water Park. All four of us. Together. Having fun.

Wouldn’t you say this is an ample case for contentment, and I should send Grumpy Buttons back to bed until she can change her attitude?

God of Mercy, Father of Everything Good,
You are our Life in the face of death.
You are our Gift when we feel bereft.
You are our Family when we feel alone.
Give me today the gift of contentment.
Help me to appreciate your many gifts … no matter how puzzling the wrapping.