list the good and share it.
It’s almost always late at night when I write.
(Sometimes I commandeer an afternoon or a rare weekend morning, but generally it’s after kids are put to bed and the house sounds like whirring fans and humming dishwasher and sleeping dog.)
And I think differently at night – a lot of piled up and poured out and held back can come out all through my fingers in the dimly lit rooms of my home. (And the rooms are ALL dimly lit, you guys. I don’t especially care for the dark.)
Tonight I sat at a table with my daughters and some grown ups. We laughed and we talked and I sat beside a beautiful young mom working hard and loving well and her story is not my story but I knew she felt heavy in the legitimate daily hard of her own life and I tried to offer up what encouragement I could because I remember all the struggles of being a new mom and of teaching school and of just living and maintaining day to day.
I remember a text exchange I had once with another friend.
“It’s hard to be a girl,” one of us had typed.
And the response in return was – “It’s hard to be a human.”
Amen.
But there’s more.
Of course, there’s more.
Written in bold letters on the wall above the desk where I am currently sitting and typing is a quote.
The world may be broken, but hope is not crazy.
– John Green
That’s exactly right.
There are nights the kids and I dance in the kitchen – wooden spoon microphones and swinging your partner around the butcher block and the dog getting too giddy with our commotion and we are falling into one another and laughing loud and ridiculous and I know right then that we are happy. I can feel it in my bones that parts of our lives are so very good.
Tonight I want to list those good things.
I want to tell you mine and I want you to tell me yours.
I have a grandson, you guys. A little guy with aunts and uncles smothering him with affection. The opportunity to watch my daughter grow into motherhood.
My house has stayed clean for almost four days in a row now.
Flowers in a vase on my table that my seven year old spontaneously presented to me today. After he took the trash out. Voluntarily. (The other kids have affectionately dubbed him Saint Otto.)
Kids who know how to cook.
Friends who let us crash their pool and stare off into the sunset.
The sunset, you guys. We get the sunset.
The opportunity to review cool stuff to help pay for homeschool. What a fun way God provides in this season for me.
Healthy kids. (That is some kind of gift right there.)
There’s a stash of dark chocolate mints in my cabinet. (The three ingredient kind that my cousin said were the best. She’s so right.)
Cooler day time temperatures.
Chalkboard walls.
Friends who help me build bookshelves.
Hope.
Twinkly lights in my front yard.
Sunshine.
A decent supply of good blue pens.
Breath in my lungs.
Poetry to read.
Art.
Silence.
And music.
Games.
One another.
___
Your turn.
____________________________
6 Comments
Sara
Sleep and rest
Early waking to quiet time
with God
Planned “friend days”
Homeschooling (much
more fun/much less
pressure when your child
has Down Syndrome)
Travel
Family
The cooling mornings that
remind me fall is coming
And on and on…
Rebekah Bishop
Laughter
Respect
Friends who deeply care
New friends who feel like old friends
Enjoying all the hard work we put into our house
Realizing our days here are numbered (29 to be exact) and trying to appreciate every last one
Smiles and giggles from my kids
Kisses
Fabulous food
Really good gifts from my up above Father
Peace
Lana
A porch swing that looks out on beautiful woods
Eating ice cream with hubby on said porch swing
Hubby who takes care of me when I am in incredible pain for days on end
Our good Father who allowed us to see by way of days and days of hard rain that the house we wanted had many huge problems and we could walk away
New flooring in seven rooms of my house that replaced really grody floors
I get to stay in my house a little longer and enjoy all the work we have done
Friends who understand when I cancel plans because of my pain
Five grandchildren ages 2 to 8
Our middle son making an Air Force move that puts them only 7 hours away after 4 years of a 2 day drive away
Our screen porch where we eat most meals all summer long
The ugly wall paper being gone from my bedroom after 21 years
Hubby buying me roses at Aldi last shopping trip
Breakfast out with my hubs this morning
Our getaway place at the lake
Our neighbor boy who works for us and does many chores we just cannot do ourselves anymore
Small ways that we are getting to know new neighbors
Rain that has made the grass and woods so green
Bluegrass, our favorite music
Peaches
Tiffany A.
I’m thankful for
*the fact that I have people in my life I miss – it means that there is love and that they matter to me
*a great mom
*the privilege of being a mother
*the ability to worship – it takes the dark and ugly and right side ups my heart and head
*The Word of God – we get to read the very Words of God! Words so powerful they spoke things into existence. We get to read them over and over, injest them and come back later for more!
*Theater
*Friends who are family
*sticky kisses
*text messages and phone calls
*fragrant lilies
*a beating heart, breathing lungs and legs and arms that move at my command
*LAUGHTER – the good and hearty deep kind
*music
Ashley
Friends who get it before you are even done explaining
Sunrise walks
My very own palm tree in my backyard
New friends who know Jesus in a grad school program of people that don’t
Time to breathe deeply
Breezy afternoons
Coffee shops within walking distance
Phone calls with people I love on my way to class
Elaina
Soft kitties purring in my lap
Stories with happy endings
Walks in the woods
Mossy stone walls
Musky scents and sounds of a rainy day
The hush and pristine beauty of freshly fallen snow
Crackling, smoky, campfires
Burbling streams
White birch trees with peeling bark
Waves crashing on rocky shores, cries of seagulls, diving cormorants
Emerald green pastures with old barns and grazing cows
Swinging in a hammock under a deep blue sky
Red Sox baseball
Bruster’s chocolate peanut butter buckeye – To. Die. For.
My son strumming his guitar
Solitude
Rocking in chairs on a porch
Band concerts on the town green