One Thousand Gifts in December

I'm reading Ann’s journey again, and it is as though I’m reading it for the first time.  How fast was I skimming before that I missed this much?  I slow down, breathe the words in, one at a time.  I live them, in this moment.  

I need to do this.  

How have I known this truth for over a year now, and have still been living in the dark shadows of discontent and skepticism?  

I have a sudden thought.  How many days left until the end of 2011?  December 1 is Thursday.  31 days.  

I pull out my phone and press “calculator”.  1000 divided by 31 days is… just under 33.  


If I write down 33 gifts every day of December, I will finish counting to 1000 by New Year’s Eve.  (No need to post every list online - that will just slow me down.  Highlights, maybe, or joy-lights…) The important thing is having beautiful white paper somewhere visible, and a colorful pen full of ink.  Writing.  Writing down all the gifts of December’s moments, the presence of my God to me, in my life.  Right here, right now.  Writing with the skin, the blood, the muscles, so the mind and heart remember: give thanks.  Live joy.  

I want to finish this year with joy.  I want to be brimful of it on New Year’s Eve, paging back through even just one solid, final month of giving wild, extravagant, non-stop thanks.  

Can I do it?  With all the hectic busyness, etc?  Maybe it's because of all the hectic busyness I need to do it.  

And even just trying will jumpstart my joy-meter.  

I pull out a blank notebook with hummingbirds on the front, place it on my kitchen desk.  A pen.  A white page.  Hummingbirds, with wings so fast they’re just a blur.  Sipping nectar, eating up to 12 times their own body weight each day because they use up so much energy just flying.  Daily nectar for daily needs.  That’s what my “December blitz” joy list will be.

1. Hummingbirds 
2. A pen filled with ink
3. 31 days to give thanks
4. This breath of life
5. My two sleeping children
6. That they’re healthy, happy, and holy.
7. That the kingdom of heaven is made of such as these.
8. Fresh white pages waiting for thanks.
9. That thanksgiving prepares the way for God to show us His salvation.
10. For Ann’s life-giving, life-restoring words
11. For words, for language to express thanks.
12. For naming and the power of names.
13. For my husband and his naming of me as his wife.
14. For trials and how they produce perseverance and character.
15. That this world is the only hell we’ll ever know.
16. That after this breath of a life we’ll see God face to face
17. And we’ll know as we are fully known.

In less than 3 minutes, I’m more than halfway to my 33 gifts for today. 

Joy bubbles in the heart.

too sweet for words

From looking at my blog page, you would think making an Advent Calendar is a 24/7 activity!

I do have other things happening in my life…

Yesterday, my house helper called to say she was busy tomorrow morning and could she come that afternoon instead?  I said ok, inwardly cringing at the thought of giving up my precious afternoon quiet time to supervise housework… and then I realize that if I’m going to see a friend who’s been on my heart for weeks, that would be the time.  I was planning to go the day before, but Will came down with a bad cold.  I couldn’t take him out in the cold and wet, and my house helper is my only source of childcare at the moment.

When my helper arrived, Ben had just woken up and Will was still sleeping.  I put Sesame Street on for Ben, threw some snacks on the counter for when Will woke up, donned raincoat and boots and headed out into the rainy, gray afternoon.  I was carrying a bag of hand-me-down clothes in one hand and my umbrella in the other, slogging through slimy, muddy puddles, even more determined to make this visit after calling my friend and learning that her baby was sick.  It wasn’t until half-way there that I realized God was giving me my 20-minute daily walk that I had slept through this morning!  Full of thanks, I thought back over the story of this baby…

Ada is a miracle baby.  My friend had been pregnant twice before, and lost both babies to late-term miscarriages.  The second time, her waters broke at 8 months but her body didn’t go into labor, and because they didn’t have enough money to go into the big city for a vacuum extraction, her baby died in her womb.  She said she almost went mad with grief.

They adopted a beautiful little boy a few weeks after he was born, and he’s now just a little younger than William.  Last summer, she got clearance from her doctor to start trying again.  In August, she told me she was pregnant.  We cried together.  I laid my hands on her stomach and prayed protection over the precious little life.  

Ada was breach during her whole ninth month.  On my birthday, May 3, I went over to my friend’s house to take her a miniature rose plant, and asked her how she was doing.  She looked worried.  She was a week from her due date, and Ada was still breach.  I asked if I could pray.  I laid my hands on her tummy, felt the baby kick, and asked Jesus to turn the baby around and deliver it normally.

Two nights later, my friend’s waters broke, and she went to the hospital, waiting an agonizing 4 hours before her contractions started… the worst kind of dejavu.  But by noon the next day, little Ada was born, healthy and naturally.  Headfirst.

When I called my friend’s mother the next day to arrange a hospital visit, she immediately thanked me for praying and gave glory to God for turning Ada around.  She still calls me her American daughter.

This is the baby I was going to see, now six months old… I walk past the soccer field, soggy in the rain, two more turns on slippery streets, past the green gate painted with Snow White, into my friend’s driveway.

And then she’s kissing me with warm cheeks, bringing me inside, taking my umbrella and my coat, and I’m relishing speaking this language, being welcomed into her warm house, into her warm heart.

And here is her sweet baby, suffering from a winter virus, beautiful eyes a bit glassy with fever, runny nose, sore throat, a bit rashy… I translate the directions on the bottle of infant Tylenol I brought, and we give her a small dose.  Ten minutes later, her fever has dropped and she’s nursing peacefully.  We stroke her soft cheeks, and call her God’s gift to us.  I pray, laying my hands on her fuzzy black hair and asking God for peace and healing, and for her mother too.  I pray the most naturally and easily in this language when I’m with this particular friend.  I sense she is very close to the kingdom of God.

I pull out the clothes I brought and hold them up to her three-year-old son.  He likes the red Nike sweatshirt.  I hand him a red race-car that Will and Ben wanted him to have, and he starts driving it, making vrooming noises (the same in any language).

A horn beeps outside: James, on his way home from work, coming to pick me up so I don’t have to walk home in the rain.  More warm-cheeked kisses with my friend, she bundles me up in my coat and hat, and says “Wait!  I haven’t given you anything!  You’re leaving dry-handed!  That won’t do” and dashes into the back of her house, returning with a huge green and gold pumpkin which she presses into my hands.  I laugh, thank her, run through the rain to the warm car.

James and I drive home, just the two of us, relishing the unexpected gift of a few minutes together without kids.  I breathe a sigh of relief.  I’ve been to see my sweet friend, I’ve checked on her precious baby, I’ve unburdened  my heart, I’ve been Jesus’ hands and feet.  


More than that, I’ve spent time with someone I love, who loves me.  


And the pleasure of real friendship in this place, in this language, is too sweet for words.

a conversation about stress

After a day playing with friends yesterday, the boys received a new toy.  This morning they were attempting to play with it together in the living room, and William came to me in frustration (peeking through the crack in the bathroom door - why do issues always crop up when I’m on the pot?)  

Will, his little face pressed to the crack: “Mom, when Benjamin says no, it stresses me out.”

What?!?  Where did he hear that?  Must’ve been from his friends yesterday….

“Will, where did you learn how to say that?”

“From you!”

::sigh::  Convicted.

“William, let me tell you something.  If we believe in Jesus, we really should never get stressed out about anything.  If you say Benjamin is stressing you out, what you really mean is he’s not doing what you want him to do.  Right?”

-nods-

“Well, When Mommy says I get stressed out, I’m really just not trusting Jesus.  So… you don’t need to say that, and Mommy will try not to say that any more either.”  

Mental note: intentionally let my trust in Jesus spill over into my words, so I verbalize trust to my kids instead of stress!  

of hot showers, oranges and grace

(Written on Monday... it's taken three whole days of trying to post it!  Thank you for grace!)

I haven’t had a hot shower in almost a week.  In some parts of the world, that’s nothing - people only get a shower once a month, if that.  In my former American life, however, a week between showers would have been shocking - I showered every day as a matter of course.  In our life here in Central Asia, a week without a shower is not so shocking, but considering what else has been happening lately, not having the comfort of a hot shower has felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

One reason we haven’t been taking showers is that our bathroom drain has been blocked for almost 2 weeks.  The drain for the bathroom in this new house is right in the middle of the floor: I stick the washing machine water tube straight into it, and the bathtub drains into the same pipe (under the floor).  This drainage pipe has been blocked for almost two weeks, which means any time we take a shower or do a load of laundry, the entire bathroom floor becomes a scummy lake of dirty water which takes several hours to subside and leaves a disgusting film of grunge behind.  

The other reason for no showers lately is because we haven’t had reliable electricity.  Because this town turns on its water only three times a day, we had to install an electric pump in the basement just to have constant running water in our house.  So, if we don’t have svyet (electricity) to run our pump, we usually don’t have water either.  And the electricity in this house is dodgy at best - in the two months since moving in we’ve had multiple days without power, due to sockets shorting out, blown fuses, and town power outages.  

This Friday I spent the whole day looking after a slightly inebriated, pinch-hitter, second-rate svyetchi  (electricity workman) we dragged in out of desperation (the best guy we know of is building 4 houses at once and couldn’t come for 10 days).  This other guy confidently installed bigger fuses in the hall to handle a higher voltage in the house, and told us all our problems should be solved.  And so, on Saturday morning I confidently turned on the oven to bake a cake for Ben’s birthday - but the hot water heater was also plugged in…  

Thirty seconds later, the whole house went dark.  

Again.  

Groan.  

First thing: check the fuses.  James ran outside to check the outside ones, while I ran into the hall to check our four new inside fuses - and sure enough, all four fuses were down.  I flipped them on again one at a time, but I should’ve turned off the oven first…  As I flipped the last one, which controls the kitchen wiring, there was a big -pop- and a burst of flame and smoke on the wall above me, where the ends of the kitchen wires come out.  I shrieked, and stood stock-still for a minute wringing my hands, until James came inside with the news that the outside fuses were still on - but obviously, the inside wiring was burnt up, which meant we couldn’t hook up our generator.  (During our first year of living here, we got so sick of dealing with unexpected town power outtages, sometimes lasting days at a time, that we finally bought a generator so we could have an independent power supply when needed.  It’s come in very handy and saved a lot of stress, except when the power issue is within our own house, and then we can’t use it.  Bummer.)

So we had another whole 24 hours with no power, until our original Russian svyetchi, a believer, arrived graciously on Sunday morning and missed church to fix our poor svyet.  Three hours later, he told us it should be fine now: he rewired everything and put the kitchen and bathroom on a separate circuit… we rejoiced, thanked him profusely, served him lunch, drank tea, said goodbye.  

We left right away for a belated worship service with our workmates, who live an hour and a half from us.  When we got home at 9pm last night, we walked into the house, turned on a couple lights, plugged in the electric heater in the boys’ room because we’re having problems with our peechka (furnace), and James went into the bathroom to check our blocked drain.  He’d been pouring package after package of local Drain-O and gallons of boiling water down there for days, and finally tonight, after running hot water from the water heater down the drain for about 10 minutes, he pronounced it - clear!  Finally!  

We both started dreaming of limitless hot showers and limitless loads of laundry - and just then, the house went dark.  

Again.  

Sighing, we went around relighting all our candles and were just about to check the fuses, when suddenly, outside our front window there was a big -boom- from the direction of the outside fuse box.  As we ran into the living room to see what had happened, there was another louder -boom- and a light showed through the curtains.  We were frantically fumbling to pull the curtains back when there was a third -pop- with a visible shower of sparks we could see through the window.  If James had been a cursing man, there would have been a volley - as it was, he was exclaiming heatedly as he dashed for the door and ran outside to check, while I stood stunned in the living room having visions of electrical fires and the house burning down around our ears.  He brought back the news that the outside fuse box itself was fine, but there was a big black burned patch in the wires above the fuse box, where they enter the house.  

Great.  Just great.   No power, again.  Another dark, cold evening of going to bed early, waking up to no lights in the house, no running water, no oven, no laundry and more things in the fridge going bad and starting to smell.  

But this morning, instead of waking up to a cold, dark house, I woke up - to grace. 

James kissed me on the cheek and woke me from a lovely dream.  “Do we have any oatmeal?” he asks.  (Due to my stress levels, I’d planned for Saturday’s guests and Sunday’s outing but forgot to buy things for breakfast.  No eggs, no bread in the house meant all our usual breakfast options - eggs, toast, pancakes & french toast - were impossible…) But instead of getting frustrated, he just wanted to know where the oatmeal is.  He’d already lit the candles, and was making coffee by candlelight.  What a guy.  

So I sleepily tell him where the oatmeal is, and as I’m getting out of bed, he says, “There’s a nice fire...” (yes, this house has a working living room fireplace, and I have a husband who builds great fires, thank God!), and so I wrap myself in my robe and a shawl and go toast my toes by the fire while I write down my lovely dream in my Morning Pages.  He stirs oatmeal, I write warm by the fire, and the boys sleep and sleep and sleep… More grace.  

It’s almost 8 o’clock before the first rumpled head appears, and I install Will in my chair by the fire with his headphones and his Jesus Storybook Bible in his lap, while I go pour coffee and fix oatmeal and steal another kiss in the kitchen from my wonderful man.  

After James leaves for work, I dawdle around the silent, electricity-less house in my bathrobe, not willing to face yesterday’s mountain of dishes and convinced there’s no hot water anyway.  At 9:00am (when they usually turn the water off), I half-heartedly go to start doing the dishes, and lo and behold, not only is there still water with good pressure (even without our pump), but the water is hot, because our hot water heater had electricity all day yesterday.  I hastily plow into my mountain of dishes, enjoying warm water on my cold hands, ready for the water to drizzle off any second - but amazingly, after I finished scrubbing the last pan, there is still hot water coming out of the tap.  I quickly check the temperature needle on the hot water heater - it’s in the middle, which means there’s actually plenty of hot water left… 

Maybe I could have a shower?  What a thought.

I spring into action.  I hastily call instructions to the boys to keep eating oranges (they’re amazingly settled this morning after all that sleep, and being so affectionate with each other - more grace), race to the bedroom to grab my clothes, race back to the bathroom calling to Will to say “Mommy’s busy!” if anyone comes to the house, and close the bathroom door behind me.  

And I have my first hot shower in almost a week - my first in almost two weeks without the floor flooding, thanks to the persistence of my wonderful husband...  And even though I’m soaping and scrubbing and sudsing my hair frantically because I know the water could go off any second, the whole time I’m rejoicing.  Grace, grace, grace.  

And at the end of all the necessary scrubs, lo and behold, the water is still running and still hot, and so I stand under it for a long, glorious, extra minute or two, breathing in the warm steam of sheer grace.  Ahhhh.  Bliss.  

A power-less, light-less, heat-less house, filled with grace.  And the smell of oranges.  

So thankful:

For my wonderful husband, and his grace towards me

For oatmeal

For a house with a fireplace

For a warm fire

For our Russian svyetchi brother who is committed to making our house safe

For a wonderful time of worship and fellowship with our workmates yesterday

For settled, rested, happy sons

For oranges, and the time it takes 4 small hands to peel them (the length of a shower!)

For hot showers,

running water,

and unexpected grace.

Dear Ben, Happy Birthday!

(This is an idea I'm stealing from my best childhood friend... recently become mother of her fifth!  I had this ready to post on Ben's birthday, but we've been having serious internet issues... grace, grace, grace!)

Dear Ben,

You are two years old today!  Happy Birthday to my bouncing ball of joy!   You light up our family, Ben.  After you were born, your first two days of life were so sleepy and peaceful, I thought you were going to be a really mellow kid.  And then you woke up.  And our life brightened up and came alive with all sorts of new adventures!  

You are a little climbing monkey!  Your body has to be constantly in motion when you’re awake.  I’ve found you on top of the kitchen table, on top of the couch, up on a high window sill, on the back of the toilet, and climbing up every fence and pile of wood or dirt or rocks you can find outside.  I think you’ll be a great rock-climber or mountain climber when you’re older.

But you also contain your energy when you’re really interested in mastering a skill.  You can really focus in on something and concentrate for a surprisingly long period of time.  You’re growing up so fast… the only time you look like a baby now is when you’re sucking your thumb, which you only do when you’re holding your blue “bee-deh” (blanket) - which you only get at sleep-time. 

My favorite thing about you right now is your grin - your real one: it’s amazing.  (You have a fake, squinty-eyed one that’s hilarious too.)  It’s like electricity lighting up your body from inside, shooting out your eyes and your smile - you’re just giddy with excitement.  You have this giggle that goes with it: a high-pitched shriek with shoulders hunched, then barely-hold-it-in squeaks of excitement with eyes sparkling - LIFE is just SO EXCITING!!  

You are so people-focused and others-aware, Ben.  Whenever there’s something good to eat being passed around, you don’t just take one for yourself, you always think of your brother right away.  “Ah-gookee?  Ah-gookee?”  And after I give you a cookie, you immediately say, “Ah-Will? Ah-Will?” and hold your other hand out for one to take to Will.  You gravitate to babies and small children and want to hold their hand and take them over to play with whatever you’re doing.  

And you are such a ham!  You love suspense and an interactive audience.  You wait for a---ges, grinning secretly with the blanket over your head, before popping out to say “Peek-a-boo!”  You do totally goofy, zany facial expressions whenever anyone gives you attention.

Best of all, you’re already learning about how much Jesus loves you.  The first song you sang on your own was “DEE ah WAH, DEE ah WAH…”  (“Deep & Wide”) You started singing it in the stroller all by yourself out of the blue this summer, after learning it at a retreat (Thanks, Miss Rachel!).  Now you can sing “Jesus loves me, this I know” too.  Before we eat, you squinch your eyes shut, put down your fork, bow your head and hold out your hands to thank Jesus.  If we forget, you shout, “Say gace!  Say gace!”  I love how you pray for all your friends at night before you go to sleep.  May you always know how wide and deep is Jesus’ love for you, Benjamin, and may you always be this loving towards others.  

I love how cuddly you are; you love to snuggle into my lap to read a book, or crawl under my blanket to snuggle with me when you come in to wake me up after naptime.  I love it when you pull my cheek close and give me a big fat kiss goodnight that I have to wipe off afterwards.  We are thrilled to have you in our family, Benjamin Timothy Broughton.  There is no one else like you on this entire planet, and WE get to watch you grow up and show you how to love Jesus.  I’m so thankful for you, and I’m so glad Jesus picked me to be your Mommy. 

Love,

Mommy

a drop in the bucket

My youngest turns two tomorrow.  In a month, my oldest will be four.  Four years is a long time.  I spent four years in high school, another four years in college.  

And now I’ve been a mother for almost four years.  

In high school and college, with each year that went by you felt like you had it figured out a little better, and by the time you graduated you were top of the heap.  All those little puny freshmen looked so inexperienced and immature - you had it “sussed” (Kiwi English for “figured out”).  You could show them a thing or two.  

As a mother?  

After four years, I feel even smaller, even more like a beginner, even more humbled and overwhelmed than when I started.  Bringing William home from the hospital, I was filled with joy and confidence.  I was made to do this, I thought.  My body was created for this - I’m a natural.  

That lasted for a while… motherhood was golden.  Piece of cake.  I loved it.  

Then William turned two.  The week before his second birthday we had our first screaming knock-down-drag-out fight, and panic filled my heart: Who IS this kid?  This isn’t my son!  What do I do NOW?   

He used to get so angry when I punished him - I mean, absolutely kicking-screaming-furious.  He still sits in stubborn silence, convinced he’s right, refusing to answer the simplest, gentlest question.  His craving for fairness right from the beginning has kept me accountable to never discipline him in anger - he simply will not respond.  Not until I calm down, pray for love myself, speak in love, pray out loud for him to want to ask Jesus for help, and walk him through asking Jesus for help himself, do we finally get somewhere.   It’s extremely humbling, extremely frustrating, and extremely good for me.  I’m so much more aware of my own sin than I was four years ago.  Nothing like being held accountable by your three-year-old!

Now, looking at his fourth birthday next month, instead of feeling like I’ve got it “sussed” after four years, it’s like there’s this  massive chasm yawning before me of everything I don’t know, everything I haven’t experienced yet, all the milestones yet to reach… After four years, even with all my mother’s intuition, I’m just barely beginning to get to know my son.  Just barely scratching the surface of who William is.  There is so much down there - he runs so deep.  I’m driven to prayer, again and again - O Lord, help me understand him.  Help me love him even when I’m angry with him.  Help me delight in him.  Help me shepherd his heart, not just demand different actions that please me.  

And Benjamin?  I blinked, and two years went by.  He’s completely different from Will.  He has completely different needs, loves, hates and frustrations.  He is a ball of energy where Will is sedentary, talkative where Will is contemplative, physically in-your-face where Will demands his space.  Ben wants to be outside, Will likes to stay inside.  Ben starts climbing, Will says, “Get down, you’ll fall!”  Will wants to sit and watch television, Ben gets bored after 10 minutes and looks for something to throw his body on, in or over.  Ben has a hotter, more explosive temper and more of a showman’s streak, but a much quicker turnaround time.  They are totally different.  Hardly anything I’ve learned with Will applies with Ben - I’m starting completely over from scratch.  Yikes.  

So much for four years feeling like a completed length of time.  Four years is just a drop. in. the. bucket.  Really.  

On Sunday, we listened to a great message on parenting.  After sharing some anecdotes, the pastor invited his two grown daughters (ages 20 and 18) to the mic to share their thoughts on godly parenting.  Both girls sounded articulate, genuine, not nerdy at all - their voices were beautiful.  And they talked about Jesus more than anything else.  Everything they said related to loving Jesus.  

They talked about learning the fear of God from their parents - modeling  seeking God as a family on financial issues, relationship issues, decision-making - how Jesus was the first person their parents sought for everything, and so that’s automatically where the girls go now for advice: to Jesus.  

The girls never thought “Family Night” was cool growing up - all their friends teased them about it, and they had to miss out on study dates, etc - but those same friends joked later that they thought of ringing the doorbell to interrupt “Family Night” and join in.  Both girls said, “Parents, it’s ok to make your kids do things they don’t want to do!  I used to gripe about having to ride bikes and play games with my brothers, and now we’re best friends.  Your kids will thank you for the memories and relationships when they’re older.”  

They talked about learning how to spend time with Jesus from an early age, starting with Bible DVDs or tapes, and moving on to reading the Bible for themselves, and how their Dad or Mom would ask them later what they read and what they learned, what Jesus said to them… and so now, they not only understand how to spend time with Jesus, but they love doing it and their day isn’t complete with out it.  (I was definitely in tears by this stage.)   

I looked over at James through my tears, and said in a half-whisper, “Oh that our boys would talk about Jesus like this when they’re 20 and 18!”  

A while ago I started a “Jesus box” for William in the mornings, with Bible story books and paper to color with, but he never did much with it because it wasn’t specific or directed enough.  So after listening to Sunday’s sermon, I put The Jesus Storybook Bible CDs on my iPod, and yesterday when Will woke up, instead of just having him look at regular books until breakfast, I gave him headphones and turned on the Storybook Bible.  Afterwards at breakfast (upon request) he told us the entire story of how Isaac was the son of the promise, and how Abraham almost killed him, but God provided a “wam” stuck in the bushes so Isaac didn’t have to be killed.  (The first time he’s really gotten that story!)  When James asked him who the “ram” was that God sent for us so we didn’t have to die, Will immediately said, “Jesus.”  

Today Will woke up a bit later, so he came straight in to eat breakfast.  But the first thing he said afterwards, still in his PJs, was, “Mommy, can I go listen to Jesus?”  

Music to my ears.  

If I do one thing in my 14 remaining years with Will and 16 years with Ben before they leave for college, I want it to be this: showing my sons how to love Jesus.  How to spend time with Him.  How to listen to Him.  How to hear His voice.  Who cares what homeschool curriculum I use, which continent’s material I focus on, how many languages they learn, how many fieldtrips they take or educational toys they have - if they know who Jesus is, that He loves them, and how to love Him back, I’ll consider it a job well done.  

for when you're feeling a bit blue

I’ve been a little blue the past few days.  My parents were here for a 9-day visit, and now, they’re gone.  Richness, fellowship, encouragement, laughter, presents, presence… all were ours for 9 special days, and now the gaping emptiness leaves me feeling rather forlorn.

And then I hear it, piping happily through the children’s songs I turned on this morning (ostensibly to cheer up my boys, but really because I feel so much like a child myself today):

“Give thanks (clap clap) to the Lord, 

Give thanks (clap clap) to the Lord, 

For He loves you,

He loves me too,

Give thanks to the Lord our God (clap clap)!”

(Wee Sing More Bible Songs)

And then I remember: how to get out of the blues, how to float up to normal, how even to find the bubble of joy in my heart:  Give thanks.  

So here’s my list for today:

• Happy perky children’s songs about loving Jesus
• Two boys who are happier today than yesterday, playing quietly while I write this (a miracle!)
• The promise of a house helper coming this morning to help me can spaghetti sauce (after not being able to find a helper for the last month or so)
• A husband who loves me and makes great coffee
• Two incredible parents who love me and love Jesus even more
• Their amazing church who gifted them the tickets to come for a visit 
• The first chance I’ve had, ever, to host my own parents in my own home
• My dad’s raving over my fresh breadsticks :)  
• The sweet savor of their visit, and the sweet aroma left behind by their love
• The way my house is more beautiful for their presence (stenciled verses in my hall, a new carpet, cherries in my kitchen)
• The way our tummies were filled and our hearts were too
• Their attention and entrance into our boys’ two different worlds
• Their commitment to relationship
• Their wisdom and understanding, and ability to listen and ask good questions
• Their example
• The way they taught me to be self-aware and analyze my actions until I find the roots of my own sin, so I can bring it to Jesus and let Him deal with it
• How patient they were during all their jetlag and viruses
• How affirming of all we’re trying to do
• Their flexibility and open hands around all expectations and desires
• Their smilies, hugs, interest, zest for life, and sheer delight in us and all that surrounds us
• The pleasure and privilege of having godly parents
• The incredible surprising blessing of having them here, in person

William’s list (unedited):

For Gramma and Grampa giving me new presents

For Grampa Tim & Gramma Ros playing with me

That you played with me (you, -point point- at me)

That Ben was playing with me

That I could go in your bedroom and drink hot chocolate yesterday after nap

This yummy apple I’m eating

Ben’s list (also unedited):

GrampaTim

GrampTim

GrawRos

New helicop-pa-ter

GrawRos

Gram-pa-Tim

Um… GrampaTim

Um… ABCDEFG

*****

Before the “Give Thanks” song on the CD, there was a child’s voice reciting sweetly:

“Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, His love endures forever, Psalm 139 verse 1.”  

And I think, Yes, You are good, Lord.  And this love of Yours, that endures forever?  One day we will all share it in unbroken fellowship You together, with no separation, forever.  

Balm for my aching heart.