Scenario 1:

6:00 A.M.

The alarm blares and I smack the snooze button. I flounder to get dressed … pull one leg on at a time, just like everyone else in the world. I stumble into Andrew’s room, pick up his deodorant, and throw it at him from the doorway. He prefers I wake him this way, and I’m okay with that. It’s most effective, and there’s no ugly tripping across last night’s dirty laundry.

I prepare breakfast and lunch  …

Slop, slop, slop … peanut butter on bagel. Actually – second bagel. First one stares at me with black eyes from the trash. Charred crispy.

Slop, slop, slop … mayo on sandwich.

Ham on bread. Cheese on ham. Spread just a tiny bit of mustard so boy doesn’t gag.

Ho. Hum.

Throw in a bag of chips, an orange, cookies, and a cheese stick. Mission accomplished.

I read Holy Word while Andrew readies for the day. Words wax stale, and I doubt about this day and His goodness, but … *check* … one less thing off the to-do list.

Andrew’s ready. I make my way to the car, void of hustle or bustle.

Scrape, scrape, scrape … ice off windshield.

On the road, Alistair Begg preaches. I tune him out, wrap myself in selfish thoughts.

Body is in Colorado state. Spirit is in Joyless state. I only see mundane … nothingness.

Scenario 2:

6:00 A.M.

My alarm sounds to Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. The violins. The flutes. They fill my ear ~my very soul~ with cheer. Before I’m fully awake, I thank God for blissful melody, for restful sleep, for strong husband already on his way to work. I leap from my bed with anticipation for all God has in store.

The balls of my feet ache with arthritis, and I limp my way down the hall to wake Andrew. But when I remember I’ll do so by throwing deodorant at him – books, too, if he doesn’t wake up – I laugh.

In the kitchen, I pull out a bagel. Pop it in the toaster. Smooth peanut butter just the way the boy likes it. No messy drips. My heart bows in thankfulness for stocked pantry with cereal and flour and sugar and veggies and …… My heart is reminded of those less fortunate, and I pray. I pray for the poor, the needy, the starving.

I take bread. Lavishly spread scrumptious mayo – again, just the way Andrew likes. Squirt only a touch of mustard, knowing too much makes him pucker. I thank God for the bounty. Ask Him to bless it to the boy’s body. That he would know it’s packed with love. I encourage by throwing in a small piece of paper with a Scripture printed on it, and a short note to assure him he’s covered in prayer.

I read my Bible until the boy is ready. I drink in Psalm 119:165, and thank the Lord for the great peace that comes to those who love His law. That nothing causes them to stumble. I ask Him to help me love His law. To keep me from stumbling.

Outside, we inhale cold, crisp air. I lift scraper to cut through windshield ice, but the boy does the manly thing – takes it from my hands. I smile my thanks, hop in, start car and heater, tune radio to listen to my good friend, Alistair. I flip the windshield wipers, just to scare the boy and we laugh.

I drive, and as Alistair speaks, the majesty of His creation hovers in the heavens. And we voice awe and thankfulness at the sight of simultaneous western moon and eastern sunrise … and our hearts praise.

It’s now 7:00 A.M. I’ve prayed, thanked, laughed, read Holy Word, encouraged with written word, and praised the handiwork of a sleepless God who is faithfully keeping His promises to keep me from stumbling. And because of this, I am spurred on to more thankfulness.

See … it’s all about perspective and focus.

It’s about making the daily decision to see our problems or praise our God. To persevere or give in.

To sing of new mercies …

or spout unbelief.

And maybe we feel like an insincere Polyanna if we choose to behold majestic moon and stunning sun rather than the day-to-day, menial humdrum. But the choice remains. And the very health of our spiritual condition depends on which path we walk …

Truthfully, I don’t live in either scenario. I am neither Ghoulish Grinch, or Pleasant Polyanna. I seem to float somewhere in the middle … faltering here, tripping there, and most of all …

I’m just trying to take the next right step …

to praise even if I don’t feel like it …

and hoping you’ll join me.

Clip, clop, clip, clop. High heels on concrete. I hustle into church, because the wind beats wicked.

So does my heart.

Inside, we observe Sanctity of Human Life Sunday. The day centered around moms considering abortion, right? And me … I’m just a mom of three who has never had an abortion, and should probably help those poor, distraught souls who are (wittingly or unwittingly) considering killing their babies.

Right?

Wrong.

It’s Sanctity of Human Life Sunday. Not Sanctity of Unborn Babies Sunday.

The abortion holocaust in America is in the front of my mind as the service begins. But the sermon … it’s not merely about the vexed souls at Planned Parenthood. It’s about me. How I view life. The life of the unborn, yes. But also the life of my children and husband and friends and extended family. Every human being on the face of the earth that I have ever ~will ever~ come across.

My own life, too.

All human life is a reflection of sovereign God, our Creator.

Do I sense that? Believe that? Live that?

My heart constricts with conviction, because the respect-o-meter for my own feeble life runs low.

You want me to respect my life, Lord?

My life … with heart that failed me as a child, required the skill of a surgeon to go on pumping, and will always require the help of a pacemaker to keep steady, adequate rhythm? The one with insides too ill to eat properly? This malnourished, bone-brittle, arthritic life, dependent on the IV drip for nutrition and sustenance?

Yes, He whispers. That body. That life.

See … the change. It always starts here. With me. And if I do not view my life as sanctified … holy … sacred … how will I view other “broken” human beings as carefully sewn, hand crafted masterpieces who were fearfully and wonderfully made by the greatest Knitter and Potter of all time?

How easy it is to look on tangled threads and fractured ceramic pieces scattered about the very dust I was created from, and in my frustration, deem them as rubbish.

But God …

He looks on the thread mess and broken ceramic and sees a work that will one day be complete and perfect. Because my life ~all human life ~ is not just any work. It’s His handiwork … His reflection.

The service ends, and I beg Him to help me see my brokenness ~ the brokenness of others ~ through His eyes. For grace to live in this cracked pot that so often disquiets me.

In song, I ask Him to …

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until my will is one with Thine,
To do and to endure.*

He answers, and my will – it begins to run parallel with His. Sight clears, and I behold a Creator who doesn’t make mistakes … or rubbish …

only beautiful reflections of Himself …

crafted by His own hand …

brought to life with His own breath.

*2nd stanza of Breathe on Me, Oh Breath of God, written by Edwin Hatch, 1878

A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold
      In settings of silver. ~Proverbs 25:11

Evening dawns, and I write a few short entries in my gratitude journal  …

#19 Candlelight
#20 Man’s best friend

By morning, I forget I wrote the prior entries and accidentally write the same entry …

#21 Stocked pantries
#22 Man’s best friend

All in pen. I search my junk drawer for white out.

No luck.

But now #20 and #22 say the same thing, and it bugs me (cuz I’m persnickety like that). I slam the journal closed, irritated instead of grateful, and wish pens were erasable. Then I feel foolish for being irritated, and wish behavior was erasable. Spoken words, too.

Maybe that’s part of the joy of being a writer. The handy dandy delete button patiently sits in the upper right corner waiting for the click, click, click, click, click. Always available to erase the harsh tones. The negativity.

The unfit.

Unfortunately, real life doesn’t work that way. The moment words escape our mouths, they’re final. Like balloons escaping on a windy day – impossible to retrieve.

The lyrics we sang as children. About our mouths, hands, feet, and eyes … they reel through my mind …

Oh be careful little mouths what you say (clap, clap)

Oh be careful little mouths what you say (clap, clap)

For the Father up above is looking down in love,

Oh be careful little mouths what you say (clap, clap).

The next morning, I read the first chapter of Luke. And Zacharias. He opens his mouth to the angel, Gabriel, and doubtfully asks how his wife will bear a son at their age.

In effect, he questions whether God’s promise would - could – ever come true.

“How shall I know this?” he asks. “For I am an old man, and my wife is well advanced in years.”

In today’s English, I think he’s saying, “You’re nuts, Gabe. I’m arthritic. Too old to get my morning chores done. And Elizabeth. Just look at her! The wrinkles, the gray hair. Always catnapping, just so she can make it through her day. How will she ever bear a child at her age? Honestly, Gabe. I think you’ve lost it.”

And of course, Gabriel responds by saying (in today’s English), “Who do you think you are talking to, Zach? Hello?! It’s me … Gabriel! The one who stands in the very presence of God! And you. You have the audacity to ask how a proclamation straight from Him can come true?”

And then …………. ZAP!

Because Zacharias saw fit to speak the unfit - the unbelieving – God mutes him until His promise is fulfilled.

Who knows what would have happened if Zacharias chose not to verbally reveal his unbelief? Oh, his faithless heart would have been faithless, whether or not he put a voice to it. But the mute button was left untouched until the words were out. When voice and unbelief became one … consequences came.

So next time you open your mouth to speak, ask yourself what it is you’re about to reveal. If you’re mind doesn’t conjure up an image of gold apples set in silver, then assume your words to be unfit, and cage them as you would a wild animal. Because you and I … we are not any more immune to consequences than Zacharias was.

And those around us. Are they not also subject to the consequences of our spoken, unfit words?

You think learning sign language was on Elizabeth’s to do list before the arrival of baby John? How frustrating it must have been to her to not be able to verbally plan for this huge, life changing event with her beloved. If I were her, I would’ve thumped Zach’s shoulder and said in my best snarky voice, “Good job, Zach. Now we’ve got all this work of adding the baby’s room onto the kitchen, and you can’t utter a single word. Just … great!” 

But Scripture doesn’t record a single utterance from Elizabeth.  

And quite frankly …. you should follow her cue.

Not mine.

You’re holding on too tightly …

The warning comes as I listen to a sermon. Oddly enough, the sermon doesn’t have anything to do with the earthly. But my ears perk. Not because I don’t believe what I am hearing, but because the warning – it’s so … spot on.

The preacher’s voice wafts into my subconscious while God and I converse …

I know, Lord. I shouldn’t love anything more than You.

And what would you do if I took it? He asks.

I don’t answer. I feel rigid and stiff -  impossible to bend. And I want to hide under my seat, because the awful truth is that if He takes it away, I’ll be an emotional train wreck.

Now I hear Corrie ten Boom: “Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.”

Everything.

Every thing?

He does give us all things to richly enjoy, doesn’t He? Houses, spouses, children, automobiles, food, jobs, friendships, good health … all such grace. Common grace to those who do not know Him. But of course we know everything He has given on this earth will eventually be taken. We do know this … right? Either we will leave it (and them), or it (and they) will leave us. Our cars will die. Parents, too.  We have no guarantee our children will outlive us. And if we leave first, we take nothing.

Nothing.

Naked we came. 

Naked we will go.

Why all of this clinging, then? Adhering to the temporal. The earthly. Our knuckles are white with displaced hope. We trust in and for the wrong things.

So how do we loosen the grip? How do I loosen the grip?

How did Job? I mean, if anyone ever had stuff to clench, he’s the guy. If he lived today, he’d be on the same level as Bill Gates or Sam Walton, only with a lot more kids. But when Satan accused, and the prying began, Job’s knuckles were loose and ready to give back. Pink with blood flow. He didn’t turn and say, “Ouch! Lemme go!” He turned and said “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord.”  The only action prior to Job’s hallowed utterance was the robe tearing, head shaving, ground kissing, and Lord worshiping. The worshiping of the Lord who just permitted Satan’s brutal snatching.

How very opposite of my reaction. I did not robe tear, ground kiss, or head shave (okay, that’s not so bad). But neither did I fall down in worship when He asked me what I’d do if – when – the prying began.

So how did he do it? How did Job, without any hesitation, say with open palm, Here, Lord. It’s Yours anyway?

Job 1:1 says Job feared God and shunned evil. And again in verse 8, the Lord defends him even to Satan, saying he was blameless and upright, one who fears God and shuns evil.

When did he become the blameless, upright, God fearing man?

Before the prying.

That’s the secret. We must  first become blameless, upright, God fearing, evil shunners (if I can invent a word). Then, and only then will knuckle tension ease.

What a high calling Job had. That we have. And this calling … again, it begs the question … how? How will we ever be Jobs? Doesn’t Job almost sound like Christ Himself? Free of blame. Upright. Shunning all evil.

Philippians 1, verse 6 …

being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.

Make no mistake. God has promised. He will complete the good work of making God fearing, evil shunners out of us. Our responsibility? To strive with Him. To love Him with all our soul, strength, and mind (Luke 10:47). To work with Him. Willingly, purposefully fixing our eyes on the unseen, rather than the seen (2 Cor. 4:18).

Because those things that we can see, hold, touch …. they wither like the grass. Fall away like the flower.

But what endures? The Word of the Lord.

Forever.

So go ahead and clench the fist. But clench the Never Ending. The Unseen and Unchanging. Let go of the temporal, and hold on to God’s promise- filled, Almighty hand.

Seemingly painful. Without a doubt, profitable.

In the end … less painful.

In this bleak mid-winter, is there any reason to feel blessed?

I know, I know. We just celebrated Thanksgiving. Giving of thanks. Christmas. Giving of gifts, to celebrate the best Gift.

I should be grateful.

But the hubbub is just a memory, and the daily grind stares at me and says, “What are you going to do about me?”

Every day. Health struggles. Every day. Sin problems. Every day. Dirty house. Every day. Neck pain. Every day. Brainless chore list. Every day. Wondering if I will ever be able to eat anything besides the only two food items my stomach can digest. And that ridiculous Christmas tree. Every day since the 26th, the homely glares at me from the corner, saying, “I win. I win! I win because I’m still here.”

It can get weighty.

I want to share (in pictures) what I’m grateful for. Because I want to stop focusing on the hum drum, joy deserted nothingness of life, and fix my gaze on beauty. Gorgeous (or maybe not so gorgeous) things that make my heart beat wild for my Creator.

I’m skeptical. Will I run out of things to take snap shots of each week? To share with you, my readers? Well, if Ann Voskamp can do it every day, then I’m thinking I can do it once a week … or so (insert mysterious music here).

My first attempt at turning away from the ungrateful, to the thankful:

Works in progress.

Being confident of this very thing, the He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ. ~Phil. 1:6

I’m aware – it’s only a quilt waiting to happen. Even so, the fabric remnants remind me that some day, something beautiful will be completed.

Rotten bananas. Real ones, too. But the rotten show me the ugly can be transformed into delish. Not that I can eat the delish (see above reason for ungratefulness), but I’m thankful that when life throws me something rotten, I can choose to make something good of it. Rotten bananas to banana bread. Lemons to lemonade. It’s all good.

Red.

Gorgeous. Often overlooked. My favorite.

(*secretly tries to focus on red, rather than dust particles on the piano …. sigh)

Since reading One Thousand Gifts, my mind is slowly, surely turning toward gratefulness. I’m turning away from the sulky, sinister, not-so-Polyanna outlook. Turning to being aware – fully aware – of the beauty that surrounds me in the midst of the ugly. Someday, I might even be grateful for the ugly.

A work in progress.

I work. God works in me.

Never complete until He takes me home. But Him and I, on the same wavelength. The same path.

That’s what counts.

On our way home from church a few weeks ago, Shaun turned to me and said, “I heard you singing this morning.”

I opened my mouth to apologize (hehe), but he was finishing his statement.

“I think you have a very pretty voice.”

No, he’s not an awful husband for not telling me sooner. And yes, I considered being a smarty pants and asking him if he finally got rid of all that waxy buildup in his ears. I thought, after attending church together for over 20 years, he’s just now hearing me sing?!

But the truth is that these days, I’m singing louder. More joyfully. Like I mean every word. It’s what happens when the truths you’ve studied in God’s Word move from head knowledge … to heart knowledge. And when heart knowledge comes, you’ll find your thoughts shifting from How on earth can I possibly sing? to How can I possibly keep from singing?

As with all spiritual growth, it was a process. For me, the process went kinda like this:

First, a cloud of trouble came and made my skies gray …

then I doubted, and feared He was hiding His face from me, convinced He didn’t love me anymore, or maybe never did …

but because He is faithful, He showed me that His love is everywhere, that His forgiveness knows no end; that I had simply chosen to forget, to dabble in unbelief …

I needed to repent …

so I told Him I believed …

but asked Him to help my unbelief …

to help me believe that He was there, and that He cared, yes. But more specifically, I asked Him to help me believe that He had borne my grief, carried my sorrows, was wounded for my transgressions, and that I was healed by His stripes (Isaiah 53:4, my paraphrase).

Healing. That’s what I needed …

so I told Him my desire was to be healed, and to stop hurting …

I asked for the healing to be instant, and although He has not granted that, it has at least begun. And you know what happens to a freshly (albeit partially) healed heart?

It becomes joyful.

And a joyful heart sings.

So what volume are you singing at these days? Are you mute? A little on the soft side of singing His praises like I was for so many years? If so, ask the Lord to reaffirm His promises to you in the coming year. Work through whatever is causing your unbelief with Him by studying His Word, and seeking the advice of close, godly friends.

Because I promise … He answers the prayers of those who believe and desire to believe more fervently. And when He answers, you will sing. Not because it’s church time, or because you’re expected to in any way.

But because your joy cannot be contained.

“he shall see it, and to him and his children I am giving the land on which he walked, because he wholly followed the Lord.” ~Deut. 1:36

When I think of all the writing projects I’ve committed in my heart to accomplish, I can get really overwhelmed. One is such a huge project that my heart just sinks (with doubt!) at the thought of one day completing it. I wonder where I’ll get the time, the brain power, the sticktuitiveness, the ability to organize all the information in a readable format.

And then I remember that the Lord has not only directed me in this project, but that He is faithful. His promises to me will never be broken. He’ll never leave me or forsake me. Does that not make every duty He’s ever given me – past, present, future – worth the struggle it takes to complete it? He’s promised that if I follow Him, a path that leads to blessing is before me, even though that path may be thorny and treacherous.

I need to wholly follow …

to focus on those promises, rather than my weaknesses …

to take up my sword (aka, pen), and fight my enemies.

Keep writing my thoughts down … organizing … praying.

A *poem I read this morning states it perfectly:

Coward and wayward and weak,
I change with the changing sky;
Today so eager and bright,
Tomorrow too weak to try,
But He never gives in,
So we two shall win,
Jesus and I.

That’s me. A cowardly, weak, fickle pickle girl who is overly eager one day and too weak to try the next.

Thank you, Jesus, for never giving in, for staying the same, and for keeping your promises day after day, moment by moment. Help me to focus on your strength, rather than my weakness, and to simply work as hard as you enable me to, knowing that in the end … we win.

*author unknown

The only noise in the room is the tick-tock of the clock. The Christmas tree shines brightly in the corner. My space heater radiates warmth to my chilled legs.

My dog lies on the couch nearby, perched on a couch pillow, wondering if I will enforce the no lying on the couch pillows rule.

I decide to let her stay.

My eyes fix on the tree. It’s real pathetic looking. If Christmas trees can look sad, then this one pulls it off pretty well.

I glance back at the faux limbs and pine needles and wonder … grieve, almost … because the world puts so much emphasis on the grandios.

The perfect.

The new.

I decide the tree deserves more attention so I dig out my camera. And I find beauty that could have never been seen from afar.

Simply because I took the time to look deeper.

The holidays are a time when hurting people are hurting more, and searching people are searching deeper. There are Christmas trees scattered all throughout this country that don’t measure up to the standard of the perfect Christmas. And there are people scattered all throughout this country, in your neighborhood, grocery stores, and churches who don’t feel like they belong, who are withering, droopy, and struggling to survive and maybe even contemplating whether they want to survive.

Go find those people, and look deep.

Because unlike an artificial Christmas tree, people can grow and change. 

So look past what might at first seem like offish behavior, oddities, quirks, bad temperaments or fake smiles, and ask Jesus to help you see what He sees.

Sing the words of the chorus to Brandon Heath’s Give Me Your Eyes, to the Lord …

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see.

Lord, help me to see past the facade of those who are hurting and desperate for You. Help me to show them the love of Christ, so that they will turn to you in their brokenness. Thank you for the gift of your son, Jesus Christ, and the wonderful hope that His birth, death, and resurrection bring us.

Grant us the boldness to share that hope.

Amen.

And all God’s people said?

I hear the unfamiliar sounds of pitter pattering feet, and the shaking of a rattle.

Dora the Explorer sings ridiculous songs in the background.

I feel the wet spot on my jeans where the baby spit up on me.

Activity constantly swirls around my kitchen table, where my computer is set up.

Tiny hands play “music” on the ivory keys.

A little face pops up around the screen, asking if she can let the doggie out.

The rattle shakes again, when the baby smacks at it in his bouncy seat. His eyes are getting droopy. Her big blue eyes remain fixed on every move I make. She tells me a story about how she took a nap last night, and knew she would come to Brenda’s house in the morning. I’m curious if she’s making the connection that I’m Brenda.

She loves my tomato pin cushion and I let her move the needles around in it, as long as she’s sitting right next to me. She lets the doggie in again. And out. Then in again.

The doggie looks at her like she’s the best thing since sliced bacon treats. Looks at me like I’m chopped liver for not catering to her every need like the toddler does.

I wonder if we’ll all stay adequately entertained until Mama comes home from work. I also wonder at how caring for little ones is a lot like riding a bike. You may get out of practice, and ride with a bit of a wobble. Or in my case, accidentally try and put a diaper on with the tabs going front to back rather than back to front. But you never really forget how to ride. Or how to care.

And speaking of caring, it time for me to say farewell. Because there are more important things to do around her than pluck away at keyboard. Those big blue eyes are lurking once again, but this time, they have a hint of worry.

Worry that I will do nothing but watch the big white screen. Perhaps she’s wondering why she’s not at my sister-in-law’s house, as is the norm when Mama is at work. And while there’s no telling for sure what’s going on in that noggin of hers, my job is to erase the worry from her eyes and the furrow in her brow …

And replace it with a smile.

God bless you with whatever task the Lord has given you this day. Whatever it is, I hope you season it with love, care, and that you do it to the best of your God-given abilities.

Can I start this post with a little honesty?

I hate Thanksgiving posts.

They’re predictable. They’re never funny. And they’re boring.

I know, I know.

We should be thankful.  I’m glad you are thankful. Truly, I am thankful, too! It’s just that … well … I’m pretty sure I already know that we’re all thankful for our family, for all the pies, mashed potatoes, turkeys, and green bean casseroles that we’ll stuff ourselves with tomorrow, for our house, our car, and that Aunt Betty’s leg is feeling better, even though she fell down the stairs again this week.

I get it.

We all get it.

Who isn’t thankful for all of those things?

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not a fan of being Captain Obvious.  And in my prayers of thankfulness this year, I don’t want to be predictable.

Or ho-hum.

Or ungrateful sounding, because I can’t think of anything I’m really thankful for.

So keeping that in mind, here is my spiced up list of things I’m grateful for today:

• Music.

Ok, that’s not all that original. But it does bless me so, each day. It helps me be focused on Christ, rather than myself as I go about my household duties. It calms my nerves and makes me want to sing! God bless Pandora!

• New life in the midst of grief.

My mother-in-law died on my birthday back in June. Last Friday, her newest granddaughter, Elsie Raeann, was born. While I’m deeply grieved that Jeanine won’t be joining us to slather that baby with the love she deserves, I’m also deeply grateful that the Lord continues the cycle of life. She’s so very precious. And perfect. Just … absolutely perfect, and in a lot of ways, exactly what our hearts need this holiday season. I know if Jeanine were here, she would say, “Thank you, Jesus!”

• Real relationships.

In a world of social media, blogs, and texting, I am thankful for the real relationships in my life. For my husband, who sticks by me like glue, even when I’m a crabby patty. For my kids who love me, even though I’m no Carol Brady. For friends that help me through the deep waters of spiritual struggles and personal difficulties. I am one blessed lady when it comes to real relationships. And … I’m pretty blessed when it comes to social media relationships, too.

• The sanctification process.

By grace, I have been justified. And now I’m in the sanctification process, where God is slowly molding me into His image. Where would I be without this? I would be hopelessly wandering in my troubles and sufferings with no direction, no purpose. I’m thankful He is faithful to keep chipping away at my shortcomings, convicting me when I need to be convicted, and enabling me with His power to change my ways. I know one day, I’ll be called to the end stage of glorification. I’m thankful for each stage, because each is equally as important. However, I think I look forward to that end stage the most!

• Stories.

Yes … stories. There’s nothing better than luscious plots and dramatic endings. I am and will always be a sucker for well written books, plot filled movies, or a good chat with an older person who knows how to tell it like it used to be. I honestly can’t imagine a world without good storytellers. (I’m currently reading The Help, by Kathryn Stockett – sooo good!)

• Art.

Paintings, pictures drawn by little ones hanging on my refrigerator, a gorgeous sunrise … they’re all delicious.

• The little things.

A baby’s toothless smile, a friend’s hug, any picture perfect moment, the myriad of colors that surround us each day … roses. We should stop and smell them more often, and make an effort to notice the itty bitty things that seem insignificant. I know God is in every one of them, and that He very often whispers His love to us in these little ways, rather than shouting them to us with something grandiose. Like the Toyota truck I’ve been wanting ….

Just sayin’.

And last, but not least …

• The alphabet.

Yep. I’m thankful for all 26 letters. Each day, they’re like a little puzzle for me. I have an opportunity to arrange them in ways that will tell a story or bless the holey (not holy!) socks off of someone. And if you think about it, this is is what God chose to leave us until He comes for us again. All 26 letters, perfectly arranged in the most beautiful love letter ever written.

What’s not to love about that?

How ’bout you? What’s on your thankful list? Tell me in the most colorful way you know how!