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I have a morning “Happy Chair” and an afternoon “Happy Chair.”

My morning “Happy Chair” is an old wingback. Bought at a garage sale circa 1994. Upholstered in a faded, silvery, pinkish, bluish flame pattern. The “in” thing at the time.

It’s positioned next to a fireplace which, this being Florida, we’ve never used. My footrest is the ledge below the huge picture windows running the length of the sunroom at the back of the house.

To my left, against the fireplace wall, a painting of Mont Saint-Michel in France on a stormy day. All blues and greys.

To my right, on the floor, dogs and dog toys and blankets and baskets.

My view?

The intersection of two canals. Water rippling. A heron, some loons, egrets, the odd dolphin or two. A manatee when it’s warm.

Early morning and the sun is creeping over the rooftops across the canal. Heralding a new day.

This is “MY” time. When I’m most productive. I do Bible study, I write. I read. No computer. There’s a stack of books next to me.

Morning “my” time over.

Life is waiting.

Hustle and bustle and hustle some more.

Afternoon “my” time arrives.

My late afternoon “Happy Chair” is in the lounge at the front of the house. It’s a twenty year old leather recliner, a lounger with a footrest that kicks out.

I’m ensconced with a book or my knitting. Often both dogs as well. Which renders knitting somewhat complicated.

The sun has called it a day and is now sinking behind some tall palms and houses across the street.

Day is Done.

I watch the play of the water in the fountain. And ponder on all I’ve done that day.

I should be perfectly content but I’m not.

Lately something has been nudging, nagging at the back of my mind.

What did I miss?

I’m a “list” woman. So I check my daily “to-do” list.

It has three sections.

Must do.

Do if possible.

Can be left undone. It doesn’t matter.

Mmm. It looks okay. I even got to the “it doesn’t matter” stuff.

So why do I feel so crabby? So un-finished? What have I left undone?

Something has been nibbling at my sub-conscious for a while now.

Then I remember.

I haven’t been on my knees.

Oh I’ve prayed. I pray all the time, aka I talk to God.

I do it on waking, before I get out of bed.

I do it while getting ready for the day.

I do it throughout the day.

It’s the last thing I do before I drift off to sleep.

But I haven’t been on my knees!

I kneel in church because we all do. And it feels right and good.

But alone? At home?

I’d been depriving myself of that simple joy.

I see so much clearer on my knees.

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