While I do not profess to have arrived at a place of inner peace, there is progress. One instance that feels lighter is the disparity in arrival times that sometimes shows up in our family. There were too many years in which I wasted copious amounts of energy on it. I shudder to recall images of myself in the car, with the motor running, waiting impatiently for someone to come out of the house. Plus it is not as if my irritation ended when the tardy person appeared. I stewed about it long after. 

I have worked on this. Prayed about it. Held my tongue. And miracle of miracles, I feel calm. 

The other day I was expecting John to meet me somewhere, and he did not come through the door. I was not angry, which feels more sane than resentment ever did. After ten minutes I called to see if he had lost track of time, which he had. But there was no edge in my voice. 

I did not pile on additional crimes like apathy, or sabotage. He simply forgot. 

Mind you I am cognizant of the luxury I have for such serenity. If I were a neurosurgeon waiting for a scrub nurse, or a pilot expecting her crew, being late is consequential. But in these last years of my time on this planet, punctuality is icing on the cake. 

Accepting others is a whole lot less work than being angry. It feels like a preview to the seventh day. 

"And on the seventh day God rested from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it." Genesis 2