I have moments when I feel so intensely thankful that I’m pulled to sit down at my computer to write out all of the wonderful ways I’m blessed. Funnily, once I find the moment to do so I don’t know where to begin.
So what are you thankful for this year? Let’s go around and share.
This sharing inevitably happens at one dinner table or another. Maybe not this year because for the very first time we won’t be at my parents’ home for Thanksgiving. Why do I feel bashful when I share what I’m thankful for? I suppose there’s some vulnerability involved, some emotional responses that might present themselves upon hearing my declarations, and a wish that the feelings could just float around the room without anyone remarking on them. Funny, I like to share these things in writing where I can’t see anyone’s reactions. Funny.
Caleb has taken to putting his head on my shoulder when we enter a room full of people, or a room with even just one new person in it. He puts his head on my shoulder when I’m singing his bedtime song in the dark, my cheek against his head, my voice nearly drowned out by the noise machine. (I imagine the combination of noise machine and lullaby is what makes the routine work so well.) He plants himself in my lap, demands to be picked up, cries when I leave, and reaches for me when I return. He communicates more, walks more quickly, insists on flipping his own light switch on or off depending on the time of day, and knows where his snacks are in the refrigerator. He’s everything. Absolutely everything. My thankfulness for his life will grow more and more each day, month, and year. He is more than I deserve.
My husband and I are not perfect, but I’m thankful that there are signs of growth; tempers checked, conversations broached, labors divided, and feelings preserved. There’s a trend going around on Instagram to show a picture of yourself two years ago. The people we were two years ago were so different from the people we are now. There was closeness learned from heartache, but I’m thankful that there is closeness now from learning to build each other up for happier reasons.
Our family members support our little trio as much as they possibly can. Babysitting so we can work or sitting watch over a baby monitor so we can go out for an hour or two in the evening has much more significance than they can know. Perhaps they do know and that’s why they continue to show up. They are devoted and we are devoted to them in return.
My friends are a smaller crew than in the past, some far away and others near, but all of them are very dear to me. There’s music and poetry that itches to be experienced and heard, books that expand the boundaries of my mind, and intrinsically poetic nature that appears every morning and night.
There’s turmoil that never sleeps, and, even at this moment, it’s probably snaking its way into unsuspecting homes. But we can’t languish in the past or fearfully whisper our gratefulness, anxious that turmoil will hear our celebration and visit us next. Life is too short and goodness is too abounding for that. Life is good.
Drops of Jules 