Count Your Blessings

Count your blessings, 
Name them one by one!
Count your blessings,
See what God has done!

Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens.
Bright copper kettles, warm woolen mittens.

This is not a new concept. In fact, Count Your Blessings was written in 1897! Counting blessings, or, rather, purposing to notice them, is good for the soul.

I have reverted many times to including tidbits from my joy journal on my blog because it is what keeps me sane. Well, lots of things keep me sane. Coffee, for instance. My kids. My husband.

I actually count my blessings. Right now I have written down 3061 blessings. Gifts. Joys. Whatever you call it, I have written them down for about two years. I have missed some days (because of busyness, not because there wasn't joy!), and I have other days when my pen just couldn't stop. I have found joy in the hard places and joy in the easy, joy in simplicity and joy in the complex. So here is a little snippet of this week's Joy Journal...

3040. "Can I Have This Dance" with Daddy's little toe tap and smile of fun romance
3045. Family worship time
3048. Cottage cheese and peaches.
3051. Listening as dear husband teaches our family Bible study
3052. Diligent kids
3053. The beautiful, thought-provoking end of a television series I love
3055. Tufted titmouse on the bird feeder!
3058. Tchaikovsky piano music

What's bringing you joy today? There is something. Dig for it.

Triumph and Trial

I just sat on my patio and had an extended quiet time with the Lord on this cool June morning. Sweetening this experience was my little girl sitting in the chair next to me doing the same. We both paused to chat with each other when something caught our attention, sharing with each other the Lord's words on our hearts on this day. 

I ask you, mothers and fathers, does it get any better than this? Is this a moment that could be improved upon? 

I am divinely blessed. I know this. 

After a morning of lively discussion with my pre-teen, I needed this reminder. I was craving this time with the Lord. He knew this, and this is yet another reason why I am divinely blessed.

Pre-teenhood is an interesting parenting stage. This child of mine is just as awesome as ever, but there are moments when I do not know what to say or what to do for him. My influence is not always welcomed, but it is always necessary. This morning he began my day by whispering to his sister, "Hey, Ava, I love you." I counted that blessing as #940. I remembered that blessing half an hour later when he was attempting to debate right versus wrong behavior and whether or not his consequences were just. One hour of our day sucked away by sin.

I can't complain. He was grouchy. He was angry. I get that way. Often. Too often. How can I expect more from an 11 year old than I deliver from myself? 

We thought when each of our children was born that the Lord gave them to us to cherish and care for and raise in the knowledge of the Lord, but what we didn't fully understand was that the Lord gave us to these children to cherish and change and teach the deeper ways of the Lord.

I don't know who is learning more, them or me, but I know that the Lord is in this parent/child journey. These two gifts of mine provide me with so many opportunities to grow, change, and be molded into something that will one day look like Jesus. My great hope is that they will one day look like Jesus too.

And we will count all these things, moments of triumph and moments of trial, as blessings.

How He Continues to Bless

730. Fiddleheads and ferns 

740. Boy's tears much needed

741. How happy she is over curlers in her hair

743. His hug all full of little boy and growing man

746. Repentant heart, restoration, redemption

755. He lays hands and prays for me

757. Mermaid mani/pedi

763. The hope in maybe

767. Neon-fun bathing suit happiness

768. Dinner on patio

774. Family worship

How He Loves Me

678. Red balloons in tallest trees

684. Theological mind-stretching

686. Rainbow painted in evening sky

709. Mom's clock ticks, ticks, ticks

711. Mama's warmth surrounding in sweater

715. Bright pink azalea

719. Breakfast at Jerry's

721. Peace that passes understanding

723. Dr. Fowler, an amazing man

724. Laughing at Eric

Listing

604. Memories in words recorded

605. The yard sale flute in the rotting case that allowed me to pursue a passion

608. Salt water stiff cheeks

619. Purple trees

632. Ava snuggled up, praying, worshiping

646. Meeting someone who knows their stories

649. Alone at an outdoor cafe

658. Love songs and tears

670. Stolen alone moments with Eric

677. Daughter climbing through car window

When Smiling Comes Easy

There are moments when smiling comes easy, happy moments, silly moments, laughing moments. I relish those moments and count them all as blessings. I hope you do too.

 

Making me smile...

472. Ava's outfits, the ones she creates herself

475. Girl giggles

 

486. I write 8s backwards until I over think it and try to make them right

498. Hundreds of daffodils bringing glory to God!

504. Laughter with small group friends

517. Those purple flowers in the corn field are not some freakish fertilizer

519. That kiss

520. Those owls

527. Beach blanket with babies and umbrella

534. He sings and he's awesome

Recognizing the Blessings

Drained. That's how I feel at the end of this very busy day, but even that is a blessing, isn't it? It is better to be busy than to be idle most of the time. It keeps our minds active and prevents us from pausing too much to dwell on what we think is wrong with or missing from our lives.

Sore muscles. My shins hurt. My ankles hurt. This is a blessing too. It is a reminder of the hard work I accomplished on the walking path, the good for my body things I've done his week.

Rainy weather. Thunder. Lightning. Wind. What do you see in it? My kids see fear when the lightning screams across the night sky and the wind rattles the windows. I see the power of an almighty God, provision for thirsty fields ready to produce new crops, the promise of warmer tomorrows.

It's all in our perspective, isn't it? I never used to imagine myself an optimist, and I don't know that I fit that label now, but I certainly have traveled roads that have taught me to search for blessing where it might be harder to recognize. 

When life rocks your world, find the good. It is there. I promise.

474. The man loves me

477. Listening friend who does not judge when I'm in THIS mood

480. Friends who have no idea how much the fact that they need me is pulling me through this very down day.

521. The tears shed for the good memories

522. Missing her so much it physically hurts...having the kind of mother-daughter relationship worth missing

531. Confession

535. Thunder and lightning

539. Peacefully concluding tense discussion

Blessed to be the Someone

Lately I've been allowing myself to be tripped-up a little by Facebook and the things people choose to post. The phrase, "it is what it is," certainly applies to Facebook and all social media. You take the good with the bad. Maybe you block the bad. Or unfriend it. Facebook is a place that easily perpetuates sinful attitudes, and I have needed to step back for that reason.

Before I continue with this post, let me define stepping back. I see the positives in Facebook. This is not a Facebook bashing post. In fact, when people decide they're taking a Facebook fast, I find myself to be frustrated at what they are saying to all their FB friends. "I'm sorry. I can't have you in my life right now." I used to think that they were doing something honorable, but now I am not so sure. Here's the thing, Facebook is a place to connect with people. Why in the world does anyone need to take a fast from people and relationships? Sure, if you are spending time playing games and staring at a screen all the time, practice self-control, but why eliminate your influence on the people you have chosen to include in your life? Because, let's face it, Facebook is a part of our lives. Of course, FB doesn't replace face-to-face contact with friends and family, but there is a point where the collective we seems to just dismiss proper social etiquette and graces because we're not face-to-face when we're on FB. I disagree with this completely. But, as I said...

It is what it is.

When I tell you I'm stepping back a little, I mean that I have found in myself a bad attitude that may have been perpetuated by my recent experiences on Facebook, and I need to ponder that and fix it, which may require me to spend a little less time on Facebook, which is what I did without advertisement. Sometimes, people post things that they don't even realize are having a negative effect on someone else. It's not the "I spent a thousand bucks on my kid" posts that bug me (because that is ridiculous on all levels). It's the "I am living my life freely and skipping the hard stuff" posts that get to me. I know I am clearly confessing heart issues, but that's what this post is about. I made a little journey through muck this week, and I'm sharing the muck with you.

Shoo! That's off my chest. Back to what I came here to write today.

My blog has become this place where I muddle through my circumstances, which are not all that glorious right now, so I hope it isn't becoming a place of sadness. I have joy. I want everyone to see that, in spite of all the muck, I am muddling through with the joy of the Lord. On the days that I don't feel quite so joyous, God is still getting me through, and that's what I want people to see.

However...

Some days really don't feel joyous, and I really haven't been saying that boldly. Sometimes, the circumstances of our lives stink. That is the place where I live right now. Stinky stuff on my to-do list. Why not proclaim the hard stuff too? I'm here to do that today. Digging through my parents' house? It makes me anxious, causes brain fog, makes me cry and want to sleep. It's hard. Just plain hard.

Yes, it is a grand privilege that I get to choose to be a part of this whole experience of cleaning out my parents' home. I found myself wondering what it would be like to not choose this, to be able to move on with life and have time for things that I love like gardening, scrapbooking, writing, and traveling. I wondered for several days if that would make this healing journey easier. If I didn't have to immerse myself into my parents' lives and what is left of them, and I could live my life normally, would I heal faster? Better? 

Because, inside of me, there is this part of me that just wants to feel normal again, whatever normal is. I really don't remember. The grief group which I attend with my children keeps reiterating that we will come to a "new normal." I believe we will. I have to believe it or I won't press on. 

In all this process, I realized that I didn't want to make it easier. I would thoroughly regret it. I don't want to live with that kind of regret.

 

After my two or three days of envying that option of choosing something else, I realized that, at the end of the hardest day, I would never, ever choose it. This is what I would choose, not because it is the right thing to do (because it obviously is that), but because I want to do it for my parents. I would bend over backwards to be a part of this process. Sure, healing may take longer, but that healing will go deeper, and I will be free of regret. I am touching parts of them, remembering, knowing, hearing their voices in my head, laughing, crying, and living my life with them as I dig through endless piles of old bills, photographs, clothes, letters, and mementos. 

I can't say that this is enjoyable, though there are parts of it that have brought me joy. It is so good for my soul. I will be glad to look back and remember these hard months knowing that I did this last thing for my parents, with them, honoring their memories with my choice.

I know it could be said that someone has to do it. We can't just let their stuff sit in their house forever.  I know that. I just want to say that...

I am blessed to have chosen this. 

I am blessed to be the someone.

466. Boy in red hat helping clean shed

467. Girl taking time to process

468. Bits of family history learned

469. Ford and Associates Cable TV jacket. Pin holes where I covered Dad's name with a band button still present. My jacket? Daddy's jacket.

470. Breathing them in

Resurrection Weekend

Every year when Christmas comes around, I think to myself, "This is my favorite," but then, as spring approaches and Easter appears on the calendar, I think to myself, "Nope. It's the resurrection. Easter is my favorite."

And it really is. I long for that moment that seems to be so exceptionally magnetic on Easter Sunday morning, when you begin to worship corporately and celebrate the magnificent miracle of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I always awaken feeling energized, giddy with excitement, looking forward to going to church more than any other Sunday. If I could bottle that feeling and have it every single day, I would do it.

The reality is that we can have some portion of that every single day, can't we? I am grateful for that. Our Father is awesome, is He not?

Since we already knew that things would feel different this year, we took the plunge and changed things up even more by having our traditional Easter dinner on Saturday evening. I have to tell you, it made for a glorious Easter afternoon and evening since we kept the meals easy-peasy. 

I also didn't make lemon pies. As much as we love those pies, I found myself wanting, no, needing, to skip them this year. Eating them without Mom just didn't seem to make sense. Some year, in the future, I'm sure I will make glorious sunshiny triple layer lemon pies and think of pleasant memories. When I was at our local Christian bookstore on Good Friday, the very kind clerk who accidentally made me cry, reminded me to give myself time, which is what I'm doing by choosing not to make Mom's favorite lemon pies.

Instead, I made a Reeses peanut butter cup pie that was oozing with chocolate and chunks of peanut butter cups over a sweet, peanut butter mousse-like filling. It was a big hit among the eaters of the pie (I was not one of them).

After Easter was celebrated, I moved onto Monday, my annual day off. It is sincerely my only "annual day off." I almost didn't take it, but my wonderful husband said, "You're taking the day off," and I couldn't find it within myself to protest even a little. 

I slept a little later than usual, spent some time with Jesus, made a simple lunch, surfed the net, watched "The Sound of Music" with my precious kiddos, gave myself a mani AND a pedi, and, of course, since a mom never totally gets a day off, took the kids to dance and soccer practice. 

It was a gloriously relaxing day, just what I needed to spring me into yet another busy week (though not enough. More R&R is really what this over-stressed mama needs in this tough season). 

Also, for the record, I did all of this in my pajamas, something that my husband wondered about when he got home from work until laughing daughter informed him that I wore my jeans over my pajama pants when I took them to dance and soccer.

Yes I did.

God is good, friends. That's what I found myself dwelling on this Easter weekend. The resurrection is real. Worshiping this mighty God is awesome. Time with family is priceless. If I could repeat this weekend, I would do it in a heartbeat!

I was blessed to take communion twice over the weekend, on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. For the first time ever that I can remember, I took communion with my Aunt Bonnie who attended church with us, an incredible blessing. In all the study of the Eucharist and the concept of thanksgiving that I've been doing over the past months, I found myself pausing and understanding better what Jesus was modeling that first Maundy-Thursday. He was being handed the most difficult circumstance of His earthly life, and He paused and broke bread and gave thanks to the Father.

In all things, I am grateful.

449. Resurrection Sunday!!!

450. God met us in worship service

452. Pink roses from loving husband

456. Grateful child

459. Pure laughter

464. The Sound of Music on a relaxing afternoon

Soundtracking

I could qualify this week with at least a dozen cliches, but I shall not. It was heavy. Emotional. Stressful. Grief-filled. You get it. 

I set this week aside to really dig into my parents' belongings, to pack, sort, prepare to sell, and decide what to keep. I knew this process would be painful, and I have been dreading it for the past three months. Oy. To the day. I didn't even realize it until I was typing that sentence. Three months since Daddy died.

I also knew this journey would be an adventure. Even the unique relationship between a parent and child does not allow for the child to know everything, and so I keep making pleasant discoveries, finding little treasures, laughing my way through piles of keepsakes mixed with old bills and letters and greeting cards. Dad clearly liked those cards that play music when opened. I believe I have found half a dozen or so that he gave to Mom.

I am not a wallow-er, but this grief journey has definitely had wallowing moments and unexpected emotional outbursts. Last week while shopping in K-Mart with my dear children, "Tears from Heaven" began to play. I went through a brief Eric Clapton stage in late high school-early college, so I began to lightly sing along as this is what I do. About 1/3 of the way through the song, I stopped in my tracks and realized what I was singing.

Mom's funeral song.

I decided that we should have chosen obscure music for Mom and Dad's funerals, and I texted my sister to tell her so. The Sunday prior to that shopping trip found me quietly crying in church as a flute duo played one of Dad's funeral songs, "You Raise Me Up." Oh how glad was I that they didn't ask me to play with them for that piece! 

So, music...it's getting to me. No one who has been reading this blog for long is surprised by this, and absolutely no one who knows me is even giving it a second thought.  This is how I tick.

As I was going through Mom and Dad's stacks and stacks of random bills, paperwork, recipes, photographs, etc, I listened to music. I found myself drawn to old CDs of mine. Steven Curtis Chapman, Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant...maybe it's because that is the sound track of my teen years, when last I lived with my folks. Maybe I'm over-analyzing a little, but the soundtrack of my week was very, very old-school.

In the midst of all this emotional hum-drum, we were observing Holy Week at our house and at church. I do not merely love this week; I absolutely look forward to it for 51 weeks (I am aware it is sometimes more or less) out of the year waiting for the opportunity to reflect anew on all that Jesus did for me. It is my favorite week of the year. I look forward to celebrating the resurrection with all that I am, and I did not find it necessary to search for eucharisteo, thanksgiving, as I went through this most holy season in preparation for this Sunday's celebration. 

Life is hard. There is still thanksgiving. It is right there in front of you if you just take a moment to look.

396. German shepherds romping in snow covered field

404. This doesn't get easier each time I come, but it is such an incredible privilege

405. Oodles of eye glasses and sunglasses 

407. Blistex. The scent of Mama's kisses

408. Daddy's aftershave

414. Moments of private worship

421. Hugs from Lukas out-of-the-blue

424. "I can see!"

430. The flicker of the candle

435. Reminder to give myself time

Sharing Grace

I have no time for writing a blog post this morning, but I find myself compelled to do it anyway. When my Father blesses me, I want to tell you about it. I want to tell all sorts of people about it. Don't you think more people should do so? Why are we so forward in sharing prayer requests and so relaxed about sharing praise? It is as if we are telling the world, "Shower me with attention for my troubles," and forgetting that, even in trouble, there is blessing. God carries us through it all, and we should share it all.

A few years ago, this topic came up during a discussion with a group of friends. I didn't necessarily agree completely with the person telling me that I was quite the doomsday bearer that she seemed to think I was (she wasn't merely pointing the finger at me, I should say, but the group of friends in general), but, instead of arguing the point, I took it as a challenge. Focus on the good. Share your blessings. Why hold back when God is showering you with grace? Big and small! Does grace ever come in a small package? It's all big enough to share. Tell all! Praise God for all things. Praise Him in the good and the bad. 

Today I read this...

"It is suffering that has the realest possibility to bear down and deliver grace. And grace that chooses to bear the cross of suffering overcomes that suffering."

Ann Voskamp

324. Prayers with Eric over the phone

329. The knowing of true friendship

331. Knowing the feeling of missing my weekly phone chat with the sister I love

338. The smell of cinnamon wafting from the oven

345. Meeting with Jesus in a perfectly planned worship service

346. Flutists playing Daddy's song

353. Sincerest "thank yous" from grateful kids

358. Mama's Bible. Her handwriting

364. "I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you. " John 14:18

369. The privilege of praying for a friend

Fully Loaded

I had to go to  Zanesville this afternoon for our homeschooling co-op. The nearest Starbucks to my house is in Zanesville. There are two of them. One is part of a strip-mall and has a drive-thru, and one is in Kroger. I have said it many times, and I will repeat it for you, "Starbucks and the zoo are the only things I miss about Columbus."

True story.

So after co-op today, I treated myself to a trip to Kroger followed by a quick stop at Starbucks (the one with the drive-thru. Even my kids thought this crazy, but I didn't want to juggle my coffee and the groceries). I ordered a tall vanilla latte, no, I changed my mind! Venti vanilla latte on ice.

I took the first sip of yumminess and was surprised by the creamy, extra deliciousness that I guessed only tasted so fantabulous because I hadn't had one in 6 months or more.

Then I'm pretty sure my eyes bugged out as I realized...

Starbucks deprived moms shouldn't be allowed to order their own coffee.

There was no skinny. There was no decaf. That coffee was fully loaded.

I came home, changed my clothes, turned on the Wii, and put Just Dance 3 on the Just Sweat mode.

It was so worth it.

I promise I'm not in a sugar coma, but I can't promise that I will be sleeping any time soon.

What's your favorite indulgence?

354. Vanilla latte deliciousness. Fully loaded. Perfection in the form of a beverage.

The Sacrifice of Thanksgiving

"Sacrifice thank offerings to God, fulfill your vows to the Most High, and call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you will honor Me."

Psalm 50:14-15

This is the verse which the Lord gave me today for meditation. I was so struck by it and what it meant to truly thank God for the hard stuff, the stuff you would rather not experience, the stuff that leaves scars...

the stuff that forces you to grow.

171. God-ordained quiet moments when He gives me exactly what my impatient, selfish heart needs rather than what I think I want.

 

204. Allowing the warm tears to drip off my cheeks after a brief stop at Mama and Daddy's very empty house.

310. Oh that I had never felt this deep sadness, I might not recognize true happiness when it comes my way.

313. Divine privilege of time spent with Mama...doctors appointments, hospital rooms, Saturday afternoons chatting and napping, cooking, serving, lunches with just the two of us.

314. Divine privilege of mourning with Daddy...two hard weeks spent with the first man I loved.

315. Daddy sitting beside me in one of my darkest hours.

Capturing Grace Moments

My quest to capture all that is meant for my good is on-going. I am reading One Thousand Gifts at a snail's pace, but I am absorbing it, thinking it through, analyzing, researching. It might take me a few months complete this journey. Most of the time, I save the book for the end of my quiet time, and then I read a partial chapter a few times a week. Some days, like today, it seems that the Lord is divinely directing me to read the pages of the book. 

I have spent many moments crying lately. Difficult waves of emotion are mixed with the good, which is harder to find as of late. I see it, but I can't seem to grasp the happiness and joy long enough to sustain myself. I want more joy and less difficulty.

I have little patience for myself when it comes to feelings of sadness. I scream at myself in my head. "Push yourself! Get through this! Don't slow down!" Sometimes, I speak the words aloud. "Today, you are going to do what you have to do." And I do. 

Usually.

As I was sitting still to have my quiet time today, I began by writing in my private journal as I normally do. It wasn't long before the tears were streaming down my face as I relived precious moments with my mother, bittersweet time with my daddy.

God directed me to read from One Thousand Gifts on this specific day. The words were there for me to read. It was divinely directed that I read the chapters of this book at a snail's pace so that on this very day, when I needed to hear Ann Voskamp's inspired words, I would know that God planned them for me.

I know. I truly know that God is carrying me through this, allowing me to weep, listening as I pray, holding me in the palm of his almighty hand. God is God, and God is good, and I know this to be truth.

273. She still holds my hand. Her choice.

281. "I love to read."

291. Rowen's voice

296. The worn pink-gray leather of my Bible, well loved for nearly 20 years

301. Belief

303. Bedtime conversation with 9 year old Ava

305. Piggies with bright pink hair bows

Looking Through the Window of Blessing...7

I'm still learning through this book, One Thousand Gifts. Some days, I write a dozen or more gift-moments in my notebook. Other days, I chronicle only three or four. I watch as I am doing this and realize that it is less about my attitude on those days and more about the busyness of any given day. I should toss my notebook into my purse when I am out and about. Maybe then those days will reflect the true gratitude I feel for each gift. Maybe then I'll remember those moments that I don't seem to be able to remember once I am home.

Voskamp mentions repeatedly throughout the book that these gift-moments, full of joy, seem to come to life when written down or spoken. She compares us to Adam, naming the animals. I'm naming the gifts. It's an interesting parallel that I am not even able to begin to explain well to you, so I suggest you do what I'm doing. Read the book. You will love her fresh perspective.

250. Random hugs from a boy never too big

253. Happy boy sounds as he works his way through a chore

255. Eric's safety protected in an auto accident

258. Piggy-tails

262. Brief reminders of dear Aunt Ruby

263. Ava's reaction to me in a pretty dress

Looking Through the Window of Blessings...6

214. The laughter and smiles found in a story shared between brother and sister

215. Bird pecking at homemade peanut butter and seed bird feeder

220. The peppermint, cool, freshness of clean laundry fresh from the washing machine

223. Embouchure...My lips remember

235. Pray phone call from my husband, sent by Jesus.

241. The excitement on her face, sparkle of eyes, happiness on lips, blush pink cheeks

242. That feeling as lips press against warm cup first thing in the morning

244. The divine privilege of being a small part of someone's faith journey, given to me by a God who does not need me but only wants to bless because He loves

246. Surprises! The kind you give.

Looking Through the Window of Blessings...5

172. Stories written longer

173. Soft sweaters that feel like Mama's hugs

181. SALTS. Love my sister. :)

194. Solitude of a little girl with pencil in hand creating a masterpiece

200. Trusting them to keep learning when I walk away. Integrity.

201. Snowmen sparkling, taking their last winter's stand atop curio

204. Allowing the warm tears to drip off my cheeks after a brief stop at Mama and Daddy's very empty house.

205. John William's gentle, tugging melodies

208. That giggle, the silliest boy sound

Looking Through the Window of Blessings...4

145. Peanut butter spread messy on English muffin by boy showing love
148. The end of a well-written story
149. The smile on her profile
150. Independent study, because he was interested and wanted to
154. Happy laughter from a boy covered in sweat
158. New books to discover
161. Amelia Bedelia
163. Digging in dirt

Looking Through the Window of Blessings...3

95. Handsome Lukas and his boyhood sound effects
103. Clean house surprise
105. Sunshine on shiny wood floors
107. Lukas made a basket in a game right in front of Daddy!
108. A Father who dotes on me
109. Smooth, rich, jazzy Ella Fitzgerald
112. Little boy giggles from the getting big boy
115. "Adults have too much to get done all the time. You don't always have to get stuff done. Adults should play more." Thank you, Lukas.
122. Life Application Bible and all its warn pages and ragged pink leather
123. Husband quiet on the couch resting on a snowy evening
125. A girl in her brother's old clothes, dressed for bed
130. Glossy, cranberry red fingernails
132. Meeting with God in the space between the notes
133. Tears unexplained but purposeful

Looking Through the Window of Blessings...2

While reading a short portion of Ann Voskamp's book today, I was inspired by her words once again.

"When I name moments- string out laundry and name-pray, thank You, Lord, for bedsheets in billowing winds, for fluff of sparrow landing on line, sun winter warm, and one last leaf still hanging in the orchard- I am Adam and I discover my meaning and God's, and to name is to learn the language of Paradise."

And so I continue to name God's blessings...

51. Love notes from my sweet husband
53. Phone chats with my sister
54. The opportunity to love
55. I Peter 5:10 texted to me by my husband
57. All those cards Mama faithfully sent
58. A man who prays for me and loves me
62. Noise
63. Silence
66. Longevity in friendships
71. Honest words from a child searching for faith
73. The smell of chocolate
76. The smile on her face
81. Heart-shaped pancakes
90. Snow falling ballerina soft
92. The memories held in the photos