We've been on sort of a hardcore diet for the past week. I don't actually prescribe to dieting per se. I believe that for weight loss to be sustainable it needs to be a lifestyle change. I also don't believe losing weight should be the end goal. That needs to be "healthy," and healthy comes in all shapes and sizes.
At the same time, healthy for me will mean, in part, losing weight. Now, I know the theory behind losing weight and getting healthy: eat less (of the crappy food and oversized portions), eat more (of the right things), and move more (whether it's walking or running).
I get all that.
But, like many things (and many people), I struggle to put that theory in action. So we came across The Doctor's Diet. Dr. Travis Stork (yes, from The Doctors on TV, but also an ER doc at VanderBilt) put his own eating plan down on paper--it's high in veggies and healthy proteins and healthy carbs, and low in all those other things that taste great but make us gain weight, have low energy, and generally feel like junk. Since I am the picky eater in the house, I looked through the menus he suggests for his two-week STAT plan and for his two-week RESTORE plan. And then I looked at what I got to eat when I was done with that four-week cycle and had finally reached the holy pinnacle of My Goal Weight. That's the MAINTAIN plan. And it all looked doable. And sensible. And healthy.
So we kicked it off.
We've each had a cheat day (Thursday for both of us) where I did have ice cream. And it was too big, and I felt like garbage after. And not from guilt either. I don't prescribe to guilt. I'm a Romans 8:1 girl. Beau noticed on his cheat day that he felt run down by afternoon, something he didn't feel the rest of the week while he was eating on the plan. Imagine that. The veggies and healthful carbs and protein works! (And, incidentally, they actually taste good. Imagine my surprise in enjoying a variety of beans, an avocado, guacamole sans onions, AND grapefruit?! Not all together, though. That still sounds gross.)
We also woke up this morning 9 pounds down (for Beau) and 7 pounds down (for me). Which is exciting and horrifying all at once. Exciting: the plan is working. Horrifying: we were really eating like garbage before.
Anyway, today is Sunday. It's Super Bowl Sunday, so we carefully chose the cheats we wanted for the party we're attending tonight and are looking forward to enjoying fellowship and some (carefully excessive) eating. But first, we went to church.
Not only is today Sunday, today is Communion Sunday at our church. We sat through the bulk of the service--a baptism, crying kids, offering, snippets of the sermon caught through chatting and wiggly kids--and then it was time for communion. I learned a cool way of thinking about communion recently, so I was definitely looking forward to it this morning. That time of toasting Jesus' memory, thanking Him for His love and His sacrifice . . .
Still, I wasn't prepared for the actual act of putting that little piece of white bread in my mouth today.
You guys. Aside from two whole grain English muffins, I have not had a piece of bread in over a week. And I certainly haven't had a hunk of pure, refined carb, zero nutritional value, white bread. That thing was good. My teeth sank into it. I crushed it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. And for a moment I was in heaven.
Then I chuckled.
And in my head I said, "God, that was a great cheat. Thank you."
And then I thought about it for a moment while the elders gathered the trays of grape juice, and I sat in anticipation of the taste of that juice--the first time drinking something other than water or tea in a week--passing across my taste buds and trickling its happy, sweet goodness down my throat.
And I whispered, right out loud, "Let it always be like this, God. Let it always feel like a refreshing, I have missed you for so long, thank you for this gift, cheat. Because, in the end, that's what it represents."
Death should have been mine. That's where I was headed. But Jesus cheated that for me.
Praise be my Rock!
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Sunday, February 01, 2015
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
I Almost Missed It Too
No doubt about it! God is good--Psalm 73:1-5, The Message
good to good people, good to the good-hearted.
But I nearly missed it,
missed seeing his goodnesss.
I was looking the other way,
looking up to the people
At the top,
envying the wicked who have it made,
Who have nothing to worry about,
not a care in the whole wide world.
What a reminder, early this morning, as I sat on the too-small front porch of a house I want to sell as I looked out at two vans that just aren't quite as cool as the Land Rovers I see every day and listened to my too-close neighbors begin their days while their dogs bark incessantly.
Maybe it's a first-world problem, or maybe it's an American one, but I'm certain it's not just mine. Isn't it easy to envy other people who seemingly have it made? Isn't it easy to be discontent with the car I drive or the house I call home or the neighborhood where I live or the gifts and talents I have or everything else about my life that just isn't good enough? Isn't it far too easy to feel like other people "have it made, piling up riches" while we are "stupid to play by the rules" (vs. 12 in The Message)?
I have often said that the greatest disservice my mother ever did me was to teach me that I wasn't any more important than anyone else. It makes me wait in line longer than other people do, it makes me give money to church and to other people who need it, it makes me spend some of my free time working for others. It forces me to be a little bit less selfish.
Yet, I still forget. I still look at other people and all that they have and wonder if--how--I can get my hands on some of it.
And then I'm reminded. Whether it's by a blown call in a football game, giving a touchdown to someone who must know he didn't score one, or an artist selflessly offering to create something to benefit other people, or a few verses from a Psalm that I've read many times before. I'm reminded.
"No doubt about it! God is good . . . But I nearly missed it."
God, today, please open my eyes. Let me focus on the higher purpose. Let my focus be You and Your goodness.
You're all I want in heaven!Psalm 73:25-28, The Message
You're all I want on earth!
When my skin sags and my bones get brittle,
God is rock-firm and faithful.
Look! Those who left you are falling apart!
Deserters, they'll never be heard from again.
But I'm in the very presence of God--
oh, how refreshing it is!
I've made Lord God my home.
God, I'm telling the world what you do!
Friday, June 22, 2012
Vacation: Day One
Day one of vacation:
* Laid in bed for 1/2 hour after I woke up.
* Lost my temper (before 9:00 a.m.).
* Signed Ellie up for a summer reading club.
* Dropped Ellie and two friends off at church for a field trip to Blanford Nature Center.
* Weeded my garden and picked cilantro, dill, and lettuce. Trimmed the tomatoes and cucumbers, determined not to have unmanageable growth of greens and no tomatoes this year. Realized I never remembered to plant spinach and wondered what happened to all of the carrot seeds Meg planted a few weeks ago.
* Neglected to notice that Addie and Kate decided to play in the puddle at the bottom of the kiddie pool . . . fully clothed.
* Discovered that I had a number of work emails (thanks a lot, "Smart" phone) so I checked them. Discovered that we were awarded a two-year grant funding $10,000 (1/2) of the expansion of our body-safety and sexual-abuse prevention program so we can train 1,000 preK-1st graders as well as 10,000 2nd-5th graders. Danced a jig. Called my boss. Called the program coordinator. Wrote the thank you/receipt letter. Danced another jig.
* Realized I had made it exactly 3 1/2 hours into my vacation without checking my work email. (FAIL.)
* Made two PB&J sandwiches (Addie and Kate) and one Cheese & Pickle sandwich with mayo and ketchup (obviously Meg) and then ate half of a sweet and juicy honeyrock melon while I was cutting that for the kids' lunch.
* Put a 4 year old and two 2 year olds down for naps. Which they took. Still pinching myself.
* Folded four loads of laundry.
* Realized I had written some incorrect information in the thank you/receipt letter. Called my boss. Again.
* Broke my personal rule regarding number of children at the store and took three kids grocery shopping. Spent less money than I feared I would. And didn't cry like I feared I would. (WINNING.)
* Arrived at the cottage in sweltering heat. Found myself hoping gauchos are still in style and then wondering where I could buy some. (Can they please still be in style? Are they? I've never worn anything more comfortable and only got rid of my two pair because they were maternity and don't stay up without that 3rd-trimester bump.)
* Enjoyed a golf cart ride with the girls on which we actually all got cold. First time in weeks. Felt amazing.
* Prayed with each of the girls and tucked them in. Zero crying from anyone at bedtime.
* Plans for the rest of the night: playing on Facebook, blogging, watching the Tigers, reading Real Simple and Vanity Fair, staying up way too late, sleeping on the porch under three blankets.
Hmmm . . . haven't lost my temper since 9:00 this morning. Must be vacation.
* Laid in bed for 1/2 hour after I woke up.
* Lost my temper (before 9:00 a.m.).
* Signed Ellie up for a summer reading club.
* Dropped Ellie and two friends off at church for a field trip to Blanford Nature Center.
* Weeded my garden and picked cilantro, dill, and lettuce. Trimmed the tomatoes and cucumbers, determined not to have unmanageable growth of greens and no tomatoes this year. Realized I never remembered to plant spinach and wondered what happened to all of the carrot seeds Meg planted a few weeks ago.
* Neglected to notice that Addie and Kate decided to play in the puddle at the bottom of the kiddie pool . . . fully clothed.
* Discovered that I had a number of work emails (thanks a lot, "Smart" phone) so I checked them. Discovered that we were awarded a two-year grant funding $10,000 (1/2) of the expansion of our body-safety and sexual-abuse prevention program so we can train 1,000 preK-1st graders as well as 10,000 2nd-5th graders. Danced a jig. Called my boss. Called the program coordinator. Wrote the thank you/receipt letter. Danced another jig.
* Realized I had made it exactly 3 1/2 hours into my vacation without checking my work email. (FAIL.)
* Made two PB&J sandwiches (Addie and Kate) and one Cheese & Pickle sandwich with mayo and ketchup (obviously Meg) and then ate half of a sweet and juicy honeyrock melon while I was cutting that for the kids' lunch.
* Put a 4 year old and two 2 year olds down for naps. Which they took. Still pinching myself.
* Folded four loads of laundry.
* Realized I had written some incorrect information in the thank you/receipt letter. Called my boss. Again.
* Broke my personal rule regarding number of children at the store and took three kids grocery shopping. Spent less money than I feared I would. And didn't cry like I feared I would. (WINNING.)
* Arrived at the cottage in sweltering heat. Found myself hoping gauchos are still in style and then wondering where I could buy some. (Can they please still be in style? Are they? I've never worn anything more comfortable and only got rid of my two pair because they were maternity and don't stay up without that 3rd-trimester bump.)
* Enjoyed a golf cart ride with the girls on which we actually all got cold. First time in weeks. Felt amazing.
* Prayed with each of the girls and tucked them in. Zero crying from anyone at bedtime.
* Plans for the rest of the night: playing on Facebook, blogging, watching the Tigers, reading Real Simple and Vanity Fair, staying up way too late, sleeping on the porch under three blankets.
Hmmm . . . haven't lost my temper since 9:00 this morning. Must be vacation.
Monday, May 28, 2012
I'm Calling It A Success
I know what Memorial Day is about. I know that it is recognizing the sacrifice that so many men and women--mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, children, brothers, sisters--have made for the freedom that we enjoy. Freedom doesn't come free, just as nothing worth having (besides grace and eternal life) does. Today I'm celebrating Memorial Day with my favorite veteren and wearing the shirt I wore when my family and I went to pick him up in Taylor, MI, four years ago after his year in Iraq. It says, "Some heroes wear capes. Mine wears combat boots." And he does.
But I also know what the first weekend of summer is about. Though we all go back home, and the kids (or at least the oldest one) has two more weeks of school, summer is official with Memorial Day weekend.
* I spent three nights staying up too late with my mom and dad on the porch at Sandy Pines.
* We all woke up too early every morning when little voices started talking as the sun came up.
* Ellie learned to swim--even underwater!--without any flotation device. And she has a red bracelet that says she can ride the water slide all by herself to prove it.
* I have four new mosquito bites.
* Addie decided to pee in the potty and has spent four days dry, except for one accident at the picnic table (much to Megan's disgust, since she was next to her on the bench).
* We have eaten grilled food for three days and will again today.
* We enjoyed ice cream instead of dinner one time and will again today.
* The deck is covered with towels, swimsuits, beach toys, and people relaxing in chairs.
* I received ramekins, both seasons of Downton Abbey, a beautiful new sweater, and lavendar sachets from my birthday celebration.
* I read the second half of a book in three days instead of the five weeks it took me to read the first half.
* We watched the Tigers win three games (in a row!) and the Angels do the same.
I'm calling this one a success.
But I also know what the first weekend of summer is about. Though we all go back home, and the kids (or at least the oldest one) has two more weeks of school, summer is official with Memorial Day weekend.
* I spent three nights staying up too late with my mom and dad on the porch at Sandy Pines.
* We all woke up too early every morning when little voices started talking as the sun came up.
* Ellie learned to swim--even underwater!--without any flotation device. And she has a red bracelet that says she can ride the water slide all by herself to prove it.
* I have four new mosquito bites.
* Addie decided to pee in the potty and has spent four days dry, except for one accident at the picnic table (much to Megan's disgust, since she was next to her on the bench).
* We have eaten grilled food for three days and will again today.
* We enjoyed ice cream instead of dinner one time and will again today.
* The deck is covered with towels, swimsuits, beach toys, and people relaxing in chairs.
* I received ramekins, both seasons of Downton Abbey, a beautiful new sweater, and lavendar sachets from my birthday celebration.
* I read the second half of a book in three days instead of the five weeks it took me to read the first half.
* We watched the Tigers win three games (in a row!) and the Angels do the same.
I'm calling this one a success.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Strange Whom He Chooses to Use
This morning was a rough time. Ellie and I really struggle in the morning--she's too much like me for me to handle in a mature manner, and she's too much like her dad to be a morning person. That combination leads to most mornings beginning with a fight and tears from at least one of us. This morning it ended up being both of us.
As I cried my way through most of my morning shower--alternating between complaining to God and pleading with Him--it dawned on me (again) how hard it is to be a parent. Many days I'm not even positive that I enjoy parenting, and most days I'm confident that I don't have what it takes. I think most mornings I allow the arguing and the nagging and the crying and yelling (all of which come from both of us most days) to settle into my brain with a resounding, "Beka, you are a shitty mom." Forgive the language, but that's where I settle. Today was one of those days. I prayed that God would help me love my job of mothering His precious girls and that He would help me figure out how to be good at it.
After searching for shoes, getting stuck combs out of hair, and reminding everyone that there isn't really time to chat while we're brushing our teeth, we left the house a bit late. The rain made it clear we wouldn't arrive to school on time (every tardy Ellie gets is a reflection on my ineptitude as a mother, you know), so I was still grumbling in my spirit. Then, traffic slowed to a standstill on the highway, and my battery light popped on. No. Time. For. This. I pulled off at the next exit, drove around for a couple of minutes, and the light went off. Deciding not to drive on the highway in monsoon conditions, I opted to take the back roads. As we stopped at our first traffic light, the battery light popped on again. I said a quick prayer that we'd make it to both of the girls' schools before the van stalled completely and continued on with our morning routine.
After we dropped Meg off, Addie and I headed to AutoZone to get the battery tested and replaced. I was still feeling like a royal failure at everything and felt on the verge of tears. We've discussed Addie's obsessive question-asking in the past, so it should surprise no one that she had to touch every item in the display under the cash register and ask--several times--what each item was. I can't count the number of deep breaths I took as I patiently attempted to answer each question with both the identification and an example of use in our lives (only because she asked for it, mind you--my high school Geometry teacher could have used my question-answering skills!).
As I handed my debit card to Tony, the kind AutoZone man, he said, "You're a great mom, by the way."
Me? A great mom? How did you know I needed to hear that? He went on to explain that most parents just tell their kids they don't need to know the answer and swat their hands away. So there was his answer. The world's answer. But I know that he could just as easily have said, "Huh. Most parents don't answer their kids' questions in here. Good work, Mom." Instead, he used the exact words I needed to hear: "You're a great mom, by the way."
Thank you, Tony. God used you to answer the cry of my heart.
And thank you, God. For both the message through Tony and for the reminder that I, too, could be the person You use to answer the cry of a mother's--or a father's or a teenager's or a stressed-out worker's--heart around me.
As I cried my way through most of my morning shower--alternating between complaining to God and pleading with Him--it dawned on me (again) how hard it is to be a parent. Many days I'm not even positive that I enjoy parenting, and most days I'm confident that I don't have what it takes. I think most mornings I allow the arguing and the nagging and the crying and yelling (all of which come from both of us most days) to settle into my brain with a resounding, "Beka, you are a shitty mom." Forgive the language, but that's where I settle. Today was one of those days. I prayed that God would help me love my job of mothering His precious girls and that He would help me figure out how to be good at it.
After searching for shoes, getting stuck combs out of hair, and reminding everyone that there isn't really time to chat while we're brushing our teeth, we left the house a bit late. The rain made it clear we wouldn't arrive to school on time (every tardy Ellie gets is a reflection on my ineptitude as a mother, you know), so I was still grumbling in my spirit. Then, traffic slowed to a standstill on the highway, and my battery light popped on. No. Time. For. This. I pulled off at the next exit, drove around for a couple of minutes, and the light went off. Deciding not to drive on the highway in monsoon conditions, I opted to take the back roads. As we stopped at our first traffic light, the battery light popped on again. I said a quick prayer that we'd make it to both of the girls' schools before the van stalled completely and continued on with our morning routine.
After we dropped Meg off, Addie and I headed to AutoZone to get the battery tested and replaced. I was still feeling like a royal failure at everything and felt on the verge of tears. We've discussed Addie's obsessive question-asking in the past, so it should surprise no one that she had to touch every item in the display under the cash register and ask--several times--what each item was. I can't count the number of deep breaths I took as I patiently attempted to answer each question with both the identification and an example of use in our lives (only because she asked for it, mind you--my high school Geometry teacher could have used my question-answering skills!).
As I handed my debit card to Tony, the kind AutoZone man, he said, "You're a great mom, by the way."
Me? A great mom? How did you know I needed to hear that? He went on to explain that most parents just tell their kids they don't need to know the answer and swat their hands away. So there was his answer. The world's answer. But I know that he could just as easily have said, "Huh. Most parents don't answer their kids' questions in here. Good work, Mom." Instead, he used the exact words I needed to hear: "You're a great mom, by the way."
Thank you, Tony. God used you to answer the cry of my heart.
And thank you, God. For both the message through Tony and for the reminder that I, too, could be the person You use to answer the cry of a mother's--or a father's or a teenager's or a stressed-out worker's--heart around me.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Kairos Moments
I discovered another blog yesterday, via a Huffington Post article that a mom I know posted. "Don't Carpe Diem" it said. Don't carpe diem? This is for moms? So don't carpe diem a parenting moment? I have several I'd like to not sieze. There are many I'd like to brush under the rug or into a corner in the closet so that no one ever finds out about them. Maybe those are the skeletons in my closet, since I've lived a fairly mundane and safe life. Look into the darkest recesses of my life, and you'll find all the parenting moments I chose to pretend never existed. Like, oh say the last six years.
Kidding.
It hasn't been that bad. There have surely been good moments. But, for the most part, if I'm being honest, if I'm telling my deep secrets, if you promise not to call Children's Protective Services on me (I work with some of them, and they're on my speed dial, so just try it), if we're going to shed light in the corners of my closets and lift up all the rugs in my house, if you promise not to tell anyone . . .
I really don't like parenting toddlers. Or first graders, apparently.
Back when I was simply babysitting, I discovered that I really don't like 4 year olds. I thought it would change when I actually had a real attachment to the child, but then my nieces hit four. Didn't like them either. Well, maybe it will change when they were birthed by me and call me mom. Nope. Even worse. Now that my youngest has been wholly consumed by the terrible twos, I've discovered that the truth is all these 2-6 years are something I could do without.
I don't like cutting up food. I don't like getting up from my computer or my book or my moment to breathe or my moment to sit on the toilet peeing allbymyselfforjustasecondplease in order to get a snack or find a toy or stop another fight or get a drink or get another snack or put the skirt on your mini Cinderella or find your Littlest Pet Shop purse. (Could toys possibly be bigger, please? Maybe all toys could be like those magical Snap 'N' Style dolls that even my two year old can maneuver.) I don't like wiping butts either. And I don't like all that whining. I don't mind zipping up coats and tying shoes, but I'll be honest and say that it gets a bit annoying when they're dancing around like a pretty, pretty princess fairies while I'm doing it.
But I'll also be honest about something else. They really are a pretty, pretty princess fairies. They are my joy. They are my hope that there are bright spots in the future. They are my I love you. Because, even in the middle of my wishing for a second to myself prior to passing out to the world at 10:30 p.m. (hopefully in my bed and not my onesecondtomyselfonthetoilet), even in the middle of my fear that I won't actually like any stage of parenting and my kids will grow up to hate me for it, I have another secret:
I love parenting toddlers. And I love parenting first graders, apparently.
It's hard, hard work. I know that middle schoolers and tweens and teens will also be hard, hard work. Or a challenge. But I'm excited to get there. So I hope that my kids forgive me for speeding us through a few of the rough patches, for losing my temper when my second in the bathroom is interrupted by a third little voice whining "Can you get me a piece of candy?" (Really? From the bathroom? Let me know how that goes.), for listening to Maroon 5 in the van when all they want is "Silly Songs!!!!!" (For. The. Fifteenth. Time...Today.). I hope that we share a mutual respect and love and admiration when they grow up and move out and I realize that these years went too fast and wish I had less time to myself and wonder why the juice boxes and Fruit Nuggets start lasting longer than two days. I hope I don't screw them up too much. And I hope, that like Glennon says, I don't forget to notice the Kairos Moments. I can seize those.
Yesterday's moments:
* Reading "Little House in the Big Woods" with Ellie
* Addie walking around the kitchen with her baby on her shoulders while I was making dinner
* Ellie's stunningly gorgeous face after she's been outside playing in the cold
* Megan's big blue eyes peeking at me from under a blanket
* Addie asking where the seat is at the table for her baby and then remembering that she only drinks milk
* Megan exclaming, "Oh my chinny-chin-chins!" when all the marbles from the marble run fell off the table in the dining room
It was such a good day.
Kidding.
It hasn't been that bad. There have surely been good moments. But, for the most part, if I'm being honest, if I'm telling my deep secrets, if you promise not to call Children's Protective Services on me (I work with some of them, and they're on my speed dial, so just try it), if we're going to shed light in the corners of my closets and lift up all the rugs in my house, if you promise not to tell anyone . . .
I really don't like parenting toddlers. Or first graders, apparently.
Back when I was simply babysitting, I discovered that I really don't like 4 year olds. I thought it would change when I actually had a real attachment to the child, but then my nieces hit four. Didn't like them either. Well, maybe it will change when they were birthed by me and call me mom. Nope. Even worse. Now that my youngest has been wholly consumed by the terrible twos, I've discovered that the truth is all these 2-6 years are something I could do without.
I don't like cutting up food. I don't like getting up from my computer or my book or my moment to breathe or my moment to sit on the toilet peeing allbymyselfforjustasecondplease in order to get a snack or find a toy or stop another fight or get a drink or get another snack or put the skirt on your mini Cinderella or find your Littlest Pet Shop purse. (Could toys possibly be bigger, please? Maybe all toys could be like those magical Snap 'N' Style dolls that even my two year old can maneuver.) I don't like wiping butts either. And I don't like all that whining. I don't mind zipping up coats and tying shoes, but I'll be honest and say that it gets a bit annoying when they're dancing around like a pretty, pretty princess fairies while I'm doing it.
But I'll also be honest about something else. They really are a pretty, pretty princess fairies. They are my joy. They are my hope that there are bright spots in the future. They are my I love you. Because, even in the middle of my wishing for a second to myself prior to passing out to the world at 10:30 p.m. (hopefully in my bed and not my onesecondtomyselfonthetoilet), even in the middle of my fear that I won't actually like any stage of parenting and my kids will grow up to hate me for it, I have another secret:
I love parenting toddlers. And I love parenting first graders, apparently.
It's hard, hard work. I know that middle schoolers and tweens and teens will also be hard, hard work. Or a challenge. But I'm excited to get there. So I hope that my kids forgive me for speeding us through a few of the rough patches, for losing my temper when my second in the bathroom is interrupted by a third little voice whining "Can you get me a piece of candy?" (Really? From the bathroom? Let me know how that goes.), for listening to Maroon 5 in the van when all they want is "Silly Songs!!!!!" (For. The. Fifteenth. Time...Today.). I hope that we share a mutual respect and love and admiration when they grow up and move out and I realize that these years went too fast and wish I had less time to myself and wonder why the juice boxes and Fruit Nuggets start lasting longer than two days. I hope I don't screw them up too much. And I hope, that like Glennon says, I don't forget to notice the Kairos Moments. I can seize those.
Yesterday's moments:
* Reading "Little House in the Big Woods" with Ellie
* Addie walking around the kitchen with her baby on her shoulders while I was making dinner
* Ellie's stunningly gorgeous face after she's been outside playing in the cold
* Megan's big blue eyes peeking at me from under a blanket
* Addie asking where the seat is at the table for her baby and then remembering that she only drinks milk
* Megan exclaming, "Oh my chinny-chin-chins!" when all the marbles from the marble run fell off the table in the dining room
It was such a good day.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Giving Thanks
I was preparing to write our annual Christmas letter when I came across last year's letter. I closed it with words my dad wrote for a Thanksgiving litany some years ago at the church he pastors. The fact that it is December instead of the fourth Thursday in November should not prevent us from giving thanks for this year that was up as much as it was down.
For all the times we laughed until our sides ached; for all the times we were troubled and friends we didn't even know we had sprang up from nowhere and cared for us; for all the times we could have chosen evil over good but didn't; for all the times we could have been hurt but weren't; for all the times we could have died suddenly and unprepared but didn't; and for what would have awaited us even if we had--O Lord, we thank you!. . . For all persons who love us unconditionally and in whose presence we can drop all pretense and still be accepted; for the one who calls us long distance and the one who calls us "Darling"; for the one who calls us "Mom" or "Dad"; and for the one who will one day call us into eternity--O Lord, we thank you!
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