Another day breaks and already feels broken by the strife that I hear coming towards me down the hall. Now outside of my bedroom door. The desire for peace and tranquility is overwhelming, and the desire for connection and purpose eats away at my heart. Just not this kind of purpose.
The conflict-resolving kind.
Falling into tried and true patterns of accusing and “ruining each other’s morning” by looking across the room the wrong way or getting into each other’s space, children clamor. The shattering will correct itself eventually and shalom return.
New patterns are slowly forming. It is not always thus.
It’s just hard to remember the sweetness amidst the strife.
When it feels like always.