One Thousand Gifts . . .

This thousand gifts.  Sometimes it is easy.

But sometimes it is hard.  Diligent.  Like treasures underneath rocks where the soil is moist and easy to tap - but out of sight and easy to forget.

In the moments, in the moments where I dig places that dirt covers the treasure - in those moments where soil must be brushed off to reveal beauty - in those moments results yeild easy if I try.

And isn't that what each breath is?  A try to find what brings joy. 

And when I find it, easy or hard, I must acknowledge and thank. 

Because isn't that what each breath is?  Thankfulness.  For nothing is ours.  Not our hearts or body or mind or soul. 

And when it is hard or effort tired or the thanks feels forced I must remember that Heaven's rain washes all things clean.

My list continues . . .

water bottles turned into banks to collect pennies for a well

a dozen Cracker Barrel biscuits

blanket on a trailer, legos scattered

rocking on the porch

lemon icebox cake

a game of airhockey with Max - he lets me win

Mama's little notes in church

toys that need batteries

a card in the mail from a dear friend

a long phone call from Penny

sock puppets

double solitare

screens on windows

ceiling fans

70 degree breezes

Angela's tea glasses chilled in the freezer

orange sticky notes

a daughter still in pain - but less, and less brings even more hope for the good days that will be

the rest in Jesus in the bad days

those who are what I could never be

all that pray when I seek

prayers answered

Then there is the gift that is crystal clear.  Not even a thin film of dust to blow away.  Clear as Ma's blue eyes.

This gift . . . just one long week later.



My list, #'s 516-537.