Ah, the 90’s, turning this song up on the radio, plaid flannel, all the campus trees aflame and Timberland hiking boots. Nostalgia. . .
But actually, this morning as our little family parted to start our days, I was thinking of all the things I’m in love with right now. All the little blessings drifting around me like leaves, and how gratitude presses them between waxed paper, how thankfulness warms and preserves their color and texture. A woman who chased the moon has been teaching me that, for a long time. My hands are filling with russet and gold:
- Sam’s prickly boy hair beneath my lips for a goodbye kiss.
- Joshua’s quiet companionship near the end of the day, sitting on the sofa, just being.
- Making my husband laugh.
- Reading, reading slowly, Grace for the Good Girl, and finding old hurts buried, but unearthing places where healing can flow in.
- Soup and bread, simple meals, spoons scraping bowls.
- My cat’s satisfied purr when she claims my lap in the evening.
- Turning up the music loud, singing along.
- Time with an old friend, her face across the table.
- A second cup of coffee, just because.
- Needle slipping in and out of fabric stretched in a hoop, the breath-like rhythm of stitching.
- A husband who knows how to rescue a day gone sad. . .
All these things so ordinary, but you know, I know, that these blessings will never come again in just the same way. They are as fleeting as they are familiar. I want to drain my cup of them, slurp the last drop. This Friday, I want the heady senses-all-awake, wide-eyed falling in love receiving of this mundane, marvelous day.
November’s fourth Thursday is a feast, the twenty-fifth of December a festival. Next week I’ll write more about heart and hands preparation for those gracious and glorious days. But today I’m sitting down to this daily portion.
What’s on your plate this Friday?