DSC01417Last week’s thankfulness project focused on moments of beauty in this lovely place.


It’s easy to be thankful in places of beauty.  But what about the everyday? The mundane?  The dirty floors, the laundry piles, the unwashed dishes–all overwhelmingly calling my name.  Calling so loudly, I miss the things I should focus on.  The things that make me thankful.  The things that make my home somewhere I can finally breathe and say Amen.

Gratitude is always missed in the hurry of now.

What makes me say thank you this week?


The last of the garden tomatoes.  Ripe for a birthday celebration.  (It will be eight long months before I see these home grown ones again.)


The music.  Our comfort in valleys dark.  Music brings healing in ways that other things can’t touch.  It can’t be explained–not logically . But music does something to our souls.

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The ways we imprint our home with special memories–how we leave our mark and turn our house into something more than brick and mortar.  For us, the things we hang up represent memories of special people and journeys we’ve taken.  Sometimes it’s a picture of family or a soft blanket, a memento from childhood or our child’s artwork.  A memory, a person, a home.

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A cup of coffee and his Word.  The way I like to spend part of a morning after the rush of get-up-and-everyone-out-the-door.  Bathing in light.  Soaking it in.

Realizing this too is a gift of home.

“Does anybody ever realize life while they live it?  Every, every minute?” asks a character in the play Our Town. The other character responds: “The saints and the poets. They do some.”

The playwright had it right, but he forgot to include one more:

The thankful ones.

They recognize the gift of here and now.  The gift of stopping and taking in that moment small and proclaiming it good.