Blowing it

Yesterday, I took my daughters on a nature walk. We started about an hour later than I’d intended, and it was quite hot. There was a great deal of jostling for who would be first on the trail, with a few squabbles thrown in. When we reached the pond where I’d planned to settle in and spend some time, we were there approximately ten seconds before one daughter said, “Let’s keep going, Mommy. It’s hot.” The other daughter elaborated on her exhausted legs, which she was unsure would continue to support her back to the parking area. Catastrophic collapse was imminent.

All we saw were the most common things.

See him? He blends in awfully well — so well, he almost got stepped on.

We turned around and headed back. Instead of cheerily turning the tide with contagious wonder about the natural world, or communicating love and acceptance, or even (for that matter) smiling, I became irritable. I whined and complained about their whining and complaining. I walked quickly, pausing now and then to deliver withering looks. When we got back to the parking area, the girls asked to play in the creek, which they did, while I sat grumpily on a rock.

A junco scolded us from overhead.

Then we came home.

That’s it. No inspiring insight to give meaning to it all. This morning, Oswald Chambers tells me severely, “Discouragement is disenchanted self-love.” True enough, I suppose.

I blew it. I often blow it. I’m thankful that there’s mercy and grace to start anew today.