Contentment

Last night, after stumbling over a disarray of clothing and books, I located my lamp and turned it on to find this little cat cuddled up in sheer delight in my chair.

Nutmeg's world is one of chaos. She is the undercat of our household, the hated child of her mother, the tortured plaything for our youngest imp; a little peace-lover who is very often denied the quiet she craves. And yet look at her, listen to her, safe in my room, in a pile of messy blanket and rumpled quilt, cozy, drowsy, content.

So often I find myself complaining about my life. So many times I have heard myself saying that I hate officework, or that the roads are too icy to ride on, or that there are too many huge decisions to make, or that I am scared for the future. But look at this little sleeper again. I have so much to be thankful for, a family who loves me, the opportunity for a college education, a beautiful place to live in, a few close friends, a God who loves me.

Tonight if you come and visit, make your way up the stairs to my bedroom. There will likely still be a few clothes scattered across the floor, the bed might be unmade, but there will be candles lit, and a cheery little lamp shining, and some Fernando Ortega softly playing. You will find me in my chair on the rumpled quilt and wrapped up in the disheveled blanket, reading and thinking, and being thankful. I am taking a moment to be content and only peace is welcome here, well, that and friendship, and fond regard, and the little tortiseshell cat whose purr is vibrating my toes.