Want to install the rest of my windowshades soon, but they're a pain—I really just want it done; I don't want to do it.
The strangest things make me grateful, like seeing the bare, chunky wood of my windowsill. I've been blessed with my life, with my home, with my friends, with my work. My brokenness is part of my constant hunger for moremoremore, but truthfully, God is at the root of that hunger—there is more, so much more, and I was made for it. The brokenness just accounts for all the screwed up ways I go after it, the illegitimate means by which I try to quench my legitimate longing. Gratitude goes a long way to setting things right.