And as I’ve grown older, I’ve adjusted my complaints to things like weeds in the neighbor’s yard, store clerks who answer the phone in the middle of helping me, or any of my joints.  I’m terrific at complaining.

But on Sunday afternoon, Jerry and I went for a walk along one of Ankeny’s many bike trails.  Temps were in the mid-70s.  The bike path was lined with tall shade trees.  Houses that backed up to the path had decorated their yards with an endless supply of interesting.  About half-way into our walk, I noticed I hadn’t expressed one complaint.  That happens when I go for walks, or practice yoga, or concentrate on my breathing.  I find I don’t complain when doing these things.

Oh!  I could complain!  About a lot of things!  Like the fact that the flowers looked August-exhausted.  Or about the derecho damaged trees.  I could get some real complaining going if I were to think about summer ending, or the locusts incessant buzzing, reminding me of the tinnitus that has become my constant companion.  And don’t even get me started on the cricket who will soon take up residence in my basement – chirping away in the failed attempt to attract a mate, making us both as frustrated as any two creatures can possibly be.

Complaints are always hovering at the edges of thoughts, on the fringes of hearts.  Except not today.

Consider the daylilies of the Iowa fields… how they don’t work at anything yet you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

On the walk, I saw a shed painted with a mural reminding me to “Find joy in the Journey.”

As we journey together, let’s do that.  Let’s remind each other to look for joy… to breathe… to even do a yoga pose if the situation requires it.  (Just don’t ask me to eat liver.)

Blessings