It was the coolest morning we had seen since spring, the first hint of fall, and the day of my son’s tenth birthday party. The sun was rising, birds were chirping, an excited boy was up and preparing for his day, and I was looking forward to coffee on the patio before it all got started. Walking into the kitchen I saw something on the floor, and quickly realized what it was: the birthday cake. Half-eaten, icing licked off, and completely ruined, there sat the cake I had picked up just twelve hours prior. The perpetrator of this crime walked over, happily wagging her tail and greeting me, unaware of how perturbed I was with her at this particular moment. This was not the peaceful fall morning I wanted.
Walking through this latest season of pandemic surge, I had not been able to shake loose this dark cloud I felt over me. I went about my usual things: prayer, Bible reading, exercise, work, family time, even summer fun times. None of them settled this dust bowl I was in. It’s been swirling around me, pulling me into its filth and blinding me from seeing anything good. I knew it was there and I didn’t like it, yet I could not escape. It took some time to realize the reason for my entrapment. The problem wasn’t the dirty vortex of opinions, accusations, and misinformation that seem to continuously spin around as we debate politics, masks, vaccines, and international terrorists. What was tethering me in my position was not an external force, it was an internal choice to remain pissed off.