Everything Happens for a Reason

Yesterday I knocked over a glass of milk that was on my bedside table.

Didn't make me happy of course.

But I didn't have a meltdown. 

I didn't cry over spilled milk.

Not this time anyway.

I took it as a sign.

A sign that I needed to clean my bedside table.

So as I mopped up the spilled milk, I also put away (and wiped off) the jewelry and pens that were cluttering the table. I threw away the half-used tissues and the empty pill bottles (after I called to refill the prescriptions). 

I made sure the milk remnants were gone and the table wasn't sticky. I wiped under the base of the cordless telephone (yes, I still have a landline) and my travel alarm clock that is a back-up to my cell phone alarm.

I wish I had not spilled the milk. In addition to wasting food, it was irritating to have to clean it up. But when would I have taken the time to clean up the table if I had not knocked over the glass?

Everything happens for a reason. 

librarianintx