Sometimes, I get the blues.
This often surprises people who know me only superficially because I tend to be pretty jolly most of the time. I laugh easily and often and love to find the sunny side of life.
But those who know me well know that sometimes, I get the blues.
Sometimes, I get the situational blues. Sometimes when I look at that little track that I’m assigned to run and see yet another hurdle up ahead, I get a spiritual charley horse.
I. Just.Can't. Make. The. Effort.
This tends to disappoint spectators, by the way.
Sometimes I get the emotional blues. I’m nearly 50 years old. You would think that by now, I would stop being blindsided by the bruisers. But oh no… I rush into the game and get sacked on the first play, even by folks who look like they’re wearing the same uniform… sometimes.
Sometimes, I get the biological blues. No further comment necessary.
Sometimes, it's just plain seasonal. We all have to endure seasons in our lives, both figuratively and literally, and most of the time I muddle through mine by looking for the delights along the way. Every season has its delights, after all.
It’s for no small reason, though, that the bleak seasons of our lives are usually tagged winter. Winter just seems to invite the blues. I mean, it’s bad enough to have a spell of dreary days, but it’s even worse when those gray skies hover above dead leaves and dry grass and are every bit as cold on the outside as they look from the inside.
We’ve had a string of those dreary days around here. We went from ice to rain to clouds of gray which didn’t have the gumption to do anything but hang around and depress me.
By Tuesday of this week, I thought I might possibly go mad with it. I was cold and grumpy. My bones and joints ached, and since I tend to eat my blues away, my pants were tight to boot. A blue whale...
As I was walking to the car late that afternoon, though, something caught my eye.
God had opened this little window...
To be honest, I don’t think I would have even noticed that little patch of blue had it not been surrounded by such a sky of gray. I mean, I’ve walked under much lovelier skies a billion times and not bothered to notice. But I noticed all right, and I hustled to my purse to pull out the shiny red Kodak to document the evidence.
And I thanked Him.
And I thanked Him.
The clouds were breaking up. There was a distinct hope of blue skies ahead.
It may not seem like much. In fact, it’s probably not even all that blog worthy, but for reasons that will remain unyakked, that promise of blue skies hiding behind the gray meant a lot to me.
And that’s why it’s this week’s simple pleasure.
Sharing this with my friend Dayle for