Breakfast at Tiffany’s

This morning I woke with regrets on my mind. After a tussle with the sheets I managed to get downstairs before 9 and start making breakfast.

As I reached for the fake eggs (liquid egg whites) for my husband and pancake mix for the kids, my mind revisited the regrets. Undone bits and pieces from last week’s design projects. Unwritten chapters of that novel that refuses to be done. Unsent email newsletters for my businesses …

Discouraged, I stopped. Fear of failure congealing inside me like the milky white egg-like substance in the frying pan.

Then my eyes traveled to a bowl of dissolved yeast on the counter top—my latest attempt to catch the fruit flies that had taken up residence in our kitchen. No flies captured after two days. ‘Another failure,’ was my first thought.  But then, quickly, on the heels of that self-defeating thought came, ‘But at least we can still afford to buy fresh fruit.

My eyes wandered to the small tomato resting beside a stick of butter on a plate by the stove. I’d grown the tomato in my own back yard. I smiled, seeing hope and beauty in the reddening fruit. ‘Thank you, Lord, that I have a yard in which to grow my own food.’

On and on I went, looking around my kitchen and seeing signs of hope. Not symbols of things to regret. It was better than peering at the diamond tiaras in the window at Tiffany’s. Way better.

What blessings are you counting today?

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