A sneaky, snarky fall funk is doing its best to worm its way into my heart.

Maybe the cause is the conclusion of two fun trips in the past couple of months. No more looking forward to a visit with a high school bestie to see covered bridges near Grand Rapids, Michigan. No more presenting workshops at writers’ conferences where beginning writers think the information being passed on to them is the greatest thing since sliced bread. No more looking forward to visiting old friends out west where the deer and the antelope roam.

This week life is back to usual with clothes to wash, meals to cook, a house to clean, and writing to be done. I want to blame the funk on those mundane household tasks and the fear of the blank screen. When those excuses don’t work, I want to blame the time of year.

You know what I mean?
Less daylight.
Cold nights.
Funk bait for sure.

But in all honesty, those things aren’t the cause of this fall funk. I am the cause. Or to be more specific, a lack of contentment with life is the real cause.

People aren’t flocking to my blogs these days.
They aren’t flocking to by my books.
They aren’t flocking to like my Facebook author page.
Or Twitter.
Or Pinterest.
Or Google +.

In truth, box elder bugs are the only thing flocking anywhere near me. So many of them are flocking to the south side of our house that I sprayed the foundation with insecticide, and now the whole house stinks.

But I digress.
The fall funk, however, does not.
It’s perched on my shoulder.
Waiting for this crack of discontentment to break wide open.
So it can suck out my joy.

It could happen. It will happen, unless my eyes quit looking for the gifts and start seeking their Giver. Unless I consider the presence of the Giver of greater value than the presents He gives. Unless I trust His timing above my own and His wise provision over my foolish desires.

O Lord, grant me contentment in you today. Amen.