You might just get to have the most beautiful ambulance ride ever, and even get a new “Life is Good” outfit out of the ordeal, or …

you may die.

As you may have guessed, I didn’t die.

Kate and I were doing a puzzle, and I had perched on the corner of that table when after a few minutes it suddenly it gave way, and I fell through the table, sitting inside the frame with glass everywhere.

sorry for the gory pic!

My poor husband was just trying to get a break, a rare nap.

My not-playing-around yell for him had him front and center in no time, taking in the bloody mess.

There he was, looking stupefied. How?  How was it that my highly trained medic didn’t seem to know what to do!!  And surprisingly I had time for a few sarcastic thoughts to run through my head.

…so then, (I can be a tad bit bossy) I started commanding him to tie my son’s pj’s around my arm.

As it turns out, the guy is smart.  He knew better than to respond to the first blood he saw without  first making sure that I wasn’t more critically wounded.  …and how I fell through 1/2 inch thick glass w/o severing a vein, an artery, a tendon, slicing into an organ – I DO NOT KNOW!)

Warning shot across the bow, God?  Miriam must learn to not sit on a table while doing a “Doc McFluffy” puzzle!

Poor Kate was terrified.  How could a doc McFluffy puzzle go so wrong? M was concerned…about her own micro cut.  Can you blame her?  She had a drop of blood, like a whole little bead!

Blue was worried but holding it together, but in no state to run out the door (it would take an hour to get meds, diaper on, feeding pump etc ready and get everyone out the door. )
Long story short, the guy I married has smarts.  He called 911.   I then had a beautiful ambulance ride 60 miles up the beach (while I prayed I wasn’t taking up resources that someone else needed more), lots of stitches on left arm where some muscle was cut and right thumb where miraculously vein and tendon were all exposed but not cut.

Hours later I walked across the parking lot, all bandaged up in bloody pjs to join my fam for lunch.  (The brilliant hubby man also decided to entertain the kids nearby with food, rather than expose them to the worst germs the OBX could serve up!  Another pat on the back for that man!)  But back to the walk across 2 parking lots with fresh stitches, a splinted arm, and stained clothes…  Nothing to stare at here folks! …not the zombie blood stained mom, the 6ft+ parents, the service dog, the cute kid w/ CP, the 9ft+ van, the loud wild little self tattooing girls…none of it.

I then got some new duds at “Life is Good.”  Ya’ll know this whole thing was a plot to get the clothes, right?  

But the name?  How perfect is that?!  (It may sound wrong to you, but seeing that look in my husband’s eyes, knowing he could have lost me, that my misplaced rear could have radically changed life, I did and do feel that life, that God, is good.)

Now, you should know that the next day I kept accidentally calling them “life is short” clothes –

also true.

Back to the beach.  What better to do when your day is hijacked and you are now 60 miles from the rental house?  Go to the movies! Get fro-yo for dinner!

Lifting, swimming, showering, the beach…they all became challenging – you know, like, for the first time ever I couldn’t play and help the kids, so I had to just like, sit there and enjoy myself, take pictures.  Torture. Sheer Torture!!!  (Seriously though, it wasn’t bad at all, especially considering how much worse it could have/should have been!)

I’ve stressed and worried about a LOT of things in life.  I’ve felt like we always got the short end of the stick for years…but now, even in our own brand of crazy….I FEEL BLESSED…blessed to be here, blessed to be a momma, a wife, a daughter…blessed to be beloved child of God…and to be along for the adventure (…and let’s not forget, I’m also blessed to have superman for a husband, he’s been proving that more every day!)

The whining happens too, but not right here, not right now, because there is more than 1 way to view a thing, more than 1 way to focus.

(I took these pics within seconds of one another.)

I know my whole ordeal is so dang interesting that you just HAVE to have a reenactment of my stupidity, so here you go!  (My kids got a kick out of it!) From now on I’ll take my dad’s post-event advice.  I’ll keep my arse off the glass…and praise God for the things that make me slow down and savor the blessings!

These days I’m taking some time off-line here and there, to be still and dry my feathers for whatever dive or flight is next on the agenda.

In the meantime, here is the flight of the cormorant.  Turns out, having a photographer-dad has its perks – one of which in spotting a great shot.

I LOVE shooting birds for my boy!!! (He can’t hold binoculars, so I got a long-range lens to help him out).  He is making a birder of me!

We both very enjoyed watching the cormorants sun on the dock every morning over thanksgiving, and of course, this magnificent scene!  Many thanks to Dad for spotting it!

In sequence:

What can I say?  The boy LOVES his dog.  Malcolm is boarding and training to become a service dog.  We visited him today.  I took this on the way home.  Love this sweet boy, always saying so much with those baby blues!

Malcolm is a 10 month old Cane Corso (with some Dogo Argentino in his blood) that we adopted just over a week ago, and we’ve all fallen in love.

A rare breed that works for our family without tons of research? {I normally research EVERYTHING to DEATH.}  …only God.

The fact that the friends that we had over to lunch the next day had extensive knowledge of both breeds …only God.

After buying the dog and realizing that the dog needed MUCH more training than we thought or could handle – finding a great obedience school in minutes of research…only God.

Malcolm is not intimidated by Blue’s wheels or his movements.  A tough dog he’s been very gentle with the kids and loves to play with Blue.  This big boy also happens to think he’s a little dog and LOVES to cuddle.  Malcolm is getting some basic obedience training along with some service dog training.  He’ll be back home in December and in the meantime we will visit.

Smiling, laughter, tears…life.

You can’t have those tears without knowing something good.

at home

at school

In different words, my Dad taught me about this whole business, “being rearranged.”  He began teaching me this lesson that I still dwell in.

He told me how his mother couldn’t hold him for weeks after his birth – oatmeal on his arms, to keep his tiny hands from his face.

He was born rearranged – a cleft lip.

I hardly know how to tell you: this was not 2013.  It wasn’t as simple as a surgery or two.  This tall skinny boy had over a dozen surgeries on his lip.  He wasn’t done with the operating table until he was a teen.  But don’t even think that was the hardest part.

The stares.

The words.

Some of them cruel, some of them curious.

The reactions of other kids bounced back at him like an ugly distorted mirror –

glances telling him that he was broken,

that he was worth less.

ALL LIES.  Horrible lies that were flung in his face long before he could spell.

But God – God was not absent.  God has and has always had a plan for Scott,

always.

Whenever I came home in tears, or as he tucked me in bed at night, he would tell me how the cruel reactions of a false world shaped him, caused him to find true kindness, to dig deeper, to have compassion, to make him who he is.  He told me that these good qualities might not be a part of him had it not been for the cleft in his lip, had he never been called a “hare lip.”

And yes, the man has his faults.  I still can’t get over him hiding my keys from me when I was 17…all because I left them out.  

And when our stories converged, when his first-born’s first-born was rearranged, not by birth defect, but by something preventable (mismanaged jaundice) – this was no small thing for my Dad to bear.

Some people think nothing of others pain and everything of their own – but not this man.

I think a large part of him, felt immediately what was ahead – what I couldn’t fathom.  (I hadn’t absorbed those blows that he had – I’d only heard about them as bedtime stories.)  I’m pretty sure that my son’s trials knocked my dad off his feet. It was a direct hit.  He knew too much about growing up different.

For years afterward I’ve seen it (in myself and my husband too) this root of bitterness that has desperately sought to lay hold.  He too wrestles with the “Why and Until.”

So no, I won’t tell you that he’s perfect, but I will tell you that he is the man who taught me how to look below the surface:

for friendship,

for beauty,

for life.

He taught me

to seek out the light that illuminates (behind the lens and in life),

how to string trout on a belt (I’m not kidding, we had no stringer and it was one of the best days of my life!),

how to love the Blues.

He taught me a father’s love –

a father that will use the broken to create wholeness,

a father that will use the broken to teach his children how to be whole.

And just so you know, the cleft lip enhances my Dad’s look if anything, but truth be told it’s taken me 8 years to connect the dots, probably because I have NEVER, not for a second, thought of my Dad as different, but as one of the most handsome men I know.

So far I’ve unpacked the kitchen gear.  But the rest?…it’s going to have to find its way put in the chaos of the week.

I try to think of how to sum up vacation…our vacation.  It can’t fit into a text or a status.  

Although I do my share of complaining below, please know that I really do think of those who would very much LOVE to vacation but can’t for various reasons.  Although our vacation seems to have its less-than-peachy-parts, I am VERY grateful that it’s something that we’ve been able to do!

Vacation should be…vacation, right?

But is it always?  I wrote about this, out here, at the beach, last year.

And this year, {drumroll please} I managed to do it….again.

ON VACATION, I somehow still manage to max out (pretty much every time).  This time was no exception.  In no time, I was into full-fledged coping mechanisms (shoveling candy in, locking self in bathroom, hiding out on the porch…you may know the drill)….and my hubbs had his own version. It wasn’t pretty.  My marriage isn’t always pretty.

TO COMPLAIN

This is the thing: vacation is a lot of work…for any young family, especially at the beach – renting a house, driving for hours, packing everything from toilet paper to spices…and then there is the parenting together, figuring out how to team up on the million questions that plague parents (like whether whining merits correction).  But the hardest part of all: EXPECTATIONS.

EXPECTATIONS ARE ENDLESS LAYERS OF WALLPAPER

No matter how hard you try to remove them, or how much you assure yourself that you’ve finally peeled down to your base layer (no expectations)…those stubborn layers of wallpaper are there without your knowing, layer upon ugly old layer.  I always think I’ve reached the bottom layer, and in no time I find that there is more to scrape away, and the scraping…it’s painful and tiresome.

Come to think of it our honeymoon was a lot of work…and I was miserable the whole time, for various reasons…mainly being a spoiled brat…and those damned expectations.  (It included a missed flight, mystery illness, didn’t make it to the picture perfect island etc…but we still got a week alone together in Florida, something I’d move mountains for these days.  A story for another time.  I digress.)

“SPECIAL” VACATIONS

For special needs families at the beach, or anywhere…there are a WHOLE LOT of wheels that need to be reinvented to make things work….and that’s true at home…and MUCH more so on vacation.  In short, many many unspoken expectations are trampled to death, year after year.  Mental pictures of reading on the beach etc…they may never happen.

We’ve obtained sets of specialized gear that we’ve scoured the earth for. There is the stuff for the beach, the pool, kayaking, the dock, the ferry, the wildlife refuge, the aquarium, and then figuring out diaper changes, COMMUNICATION, potty breaks, meds, batteries charged (so my boy can hear), and tube feedings on the go…

My head spins.  I crash.  I hit pause.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME

And…in the case that you agree with me (in thinking that I am a miserable human being to take the time to complain about vacation), know this: I’m not the only one.  Put a human being (especially this one) and put them in ANY scenario…in the lap of luxury or in the middle of a desert, and it won’t take them long to identify the things that stink…and sometimes the stench in what should be paradise is so strong, that you can’t think about anything but the smell.

On the 6 hour drive out to the beach, I tuned out babes chattering in the car I listened to a bit of Paradise Lost…and the quote that gripped me…that I forgot in the midst of my internal gripping? –

“The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” – John Milton

And there is always this gem:

“Everything bad that can happen to a person has happened to me.” – Paris Hilton

case. point.

HITTING PAUSE

So I hit pause.  Or more like ran into a wall…and it wasn’t without tears…it was what I needed:

to be still.

And a true vacation, it requires being still.

So under the covers, or hiding in the bathroom, or slipping onto the porch…I was still.

I had to be, because vacation can be tough.  In the still – I peel back layers of expectation and see the beauty that lies beneath…that is – in the mess, in the break-downs, in the different.  It ain’t always easy…but it is good – so good.

NEXT TIME: FROM THE MOUTHS OF MY BABES…

With sandy bodies in soggy towels there were lessons learned – from the babes.  Sweet tender lessons that also ROCK my world.  Stay tuned for those!

This is a question I dared not flirt with.  But there has been a distant hope. I hardly knew what it would look like.  I barely dared dream.  The possibility has seemed as if it lay beyond the further horizon at times.

HOPE

It’s a darn tricky word….”a thing with feathers” according to Miss Emily Dickinson.

I’m inclined to agree.

Completely unaware, I’ve been in flight from grief to hope to joy in this journey.

ALWAYS GRANOLA

Before I begin, I should explain – I’m a bit granola.  I grew up on organic food, grown in our back yard. I love the outdoors, even if I’m never actually doing the sort of thing you see featured on an REI ad.  Charlotte Mason – totally up my alley!  Her words resonate through the centuries to me.  Learning about local plants, birds calls, wildlife, etc?  Learning how to explore?  How to express themselves?  Yes, please!  Whether my go to school or not – my main goal in their education is that:

THEY LOVE TO LEARN

AND that they have an appreciation for the outdoors, brimming over with creativity and the desire the explore and create.

What good is knowledge crammed into a child if they do not like it?  …if they don’t desire to learn?

These ideas, and the desire to create and explore alongside my children – it’s somewhere deep within me…and likely all of us.

THE DARK DAYS

I can’t quite explain to you the dark days.  They weren’t all dark.  Flitting shadows and shards of light came in.  But there was much grief.

It was a time to mourn.

The heart takes time to count loss.  AND there must be a shifting point…or the counting begins to rob you of life.  The heart can go on counting negatives to it’s own destruction, or it can switch gears and discover precious positives that can only be found in the shadows of grief.

Thankfully, somewhere along the way…somewhere on this treacherous journey, a shift occurred for me.  Looking now, you might think that I always had a happy song, but you’d be wrong.

There were days and the ER when many people tried to share hope, and it was just a feathery annoyance when I was trying to mourn.  Stories of happy people with disability were far beyond my reach.  I lived in the days of baby screaming, shaking, struggling to eat, counting vomiting episodes by numbers per hour, doctors visits by # per week.  I survived.  God truly brought me from one minute to the next and gave me some moments with beautiful friends along the way.

As I’ve paled over the years, vitamin D deficiency and all. I’ve mourned unmet expectations of how my children and I would interact, and I have adapted. …and sometimes I’ve dared hope.

I actually began to read Charlotte Mason after I had Blue.  I plugged through the pages hoping for divine inspiration on HOW to interact with my child.  I had no idea how to juggle the tangled wires of old tech that is often used in the special needs world (something I’m still working on).  (FYI, when I say I read these CM books…you should know that my definition of reading often means reading the first 100 or so pages of several books.  Who ever finishes what they start?  – not this girl!)

The SHIFT.

Now, I write to new parents, dealing with KI.  I recall the days when my boy couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t eat, … the list of couldn’ts could fill paragraphs.

This shift, has unfolded in pages and prayers and tears and years and, one wild adaption and out-of-the-box idea at a time.

I hardly knew it was happening, and now I look back and see the pages.

Page 1 -TV

Then we discovered the TV.  I know, I know!  It sounds horrible!  HORRIBLE!  But listen for a sec.  You have a smart boy with every sort of physical of impairment and barrier between him and the world.  He cannot reach out to touch what he longs for.

So one day, “Baby Einstein” happened.  A slow progression of toys and classical music.  He was captivated!

HE COULD SEE!

Prior to that, we had NEVER seen him look directly at anything that he wanted to look at…including US.  (This, along with staring at lights etc is a symptom of cortical visual impairment.)

So this TV thing, it grew as did his vision.  It was a motivator.  Educational books on video, different engaging stimuli at a slower pace…he not only began to see, but to interact with his world!  This all began to happen around one year when the awful falling/spinning sensations that stemmed for serious issues with vestibular stability began to normalize.

As the years have gone on, the TV has been a means of engaging, motivating and educating my son.  We even did DVD home school one year and it was a huge hit…because the boy LOVES to watch TV.

2 – A Surgery

2 years later, HE COULD HEAR too, thanks to a cochlear implant!  He began to understand spoken language and laugh not just at slapstick humor, but things we did too!

After a while, with 2 typical girls watching far more TV than I would wish, educational or not, I started to despair again…just to feel a little helpless to accommodate all of my kids needs.

3 – Plopping down – without a plan

Last summer we began to venture outdoors.  But how to get around in the yard???  What could he do??  There is too much of a slope to work for the gait trainer or stander or a power chair when we are lucky enough to try one…  I felt lost.

What COULD we do?  I didn’t have the energy to chase the girls…and carry a 60lb boy in constant motion.  He couldn’t help me plant.  In a step of faith, we began to pull the cushion off the papasan chair and SIT.

What could there possibly be to see in 1/4 acre of grass?

Well…  It takes another set of eyes to see it, and they don’t always open rapidly…or at least they didn’t for me.  But bit by bit, we saw things growing, a toad, a lizard, a large bug, the feathery clouds floating by.  My boy loved the sky.

…it took being still…being willing to sit outside and hope that we could find something entertaining…nothing planned.

It wasn’t easy for me, and I didn’t do it every day, but each time we did, I wondered how I had doubted that we’d be occupied.

The Bats

This spring we discovered some bats that like to fly between tree tops at dusk and my boy and I could lay there watching them for an hour while the girls ran wild.

A Good Deal

THEN, Barnes and Noble had a book that looked like it should be $100 for $20.  I love books, and I especially love a deal.  This deal had illustrations and a built in bird call player for 100’s of birds.  Who knew that a $20 book would clue me in to an incredible gift? …a gift that had been there all along.

My husband had fed birds with my son for years, yet somehow I was oblivious to the birder within.  I loved how Mason’s schooling goals included bird calls and identification.  TOTALLY UP MY ALLEY.  But….WHERE TO START. I didn’t know the first thing.

So I bought the bird book, and it sat.  AND it sat…for months, under a stool.

One day, I finally pulled it out.  We played a cardinal call and a cardinal immediately flew within 3 feet of my son.  Blue nearly JUMPED out of his wheelchair! (He really does practically stand in his wheelchair when excited.)  I was introduced to a love of my child!

A voiceless child, had voiced his love for something.  It only needed opportunity, opportunity that evolved over years.

Now, a couple of months later, he usually chooses to sit on the porch over watching TV.  Blue is able to distinguish different bird calls.  He’s working on a field journal in powerpoint, using his communication device.  He’s spotted over 2o species in the past 2 months, and he’s pulled his mother into a little addiction too.

I’m his “binocular” operator.  Given that he cannot use binoculars, I use my camera with a 500mm lens, and together we spot birds.

We capture and release.

We share something in a way I never would have expected.

We bond.

My heart skip a beat to share this joy – to hear his voice!

And I say – YES – hope is a many feathered thing!

Thank you Lord for giving me joy in something I barely ventured hope…for hearing prayers that mixed with tears and for opening the eyes and ears of my son and I both!

So, 2 weeks ago, I didn’t even know what the word was.  All I knew was that we had an avid bird watcher in our family.  I could see when a bird was near by watching his eyes. Actually, forget about his eyes!  His whole body is telling.  He nearly jumps out of his wheelchair when he spots a bird nearby.

In DC he LOVED seeing all of the fearless city birds, coming close.  And now, after watching countless bird documentaries and logging some hours on our porch, I know.  I know my boy is a “birder.”

Funny thing is, his sisters want to be just like him, so they’ve taken on the title and the passion for spotting birds too.

In a short matter of weeks we’ve moved into this territory of binoculars, stacks of bird books, bird calls, gray cat birds, cardinals, eastern towhees, robins etc…and utter marvel at these fascinating creatures!

Another beautiful gift!  And I get to watch them take it all in!

Stress seems to ooze out of every poor of my body this week, but this – these words – these beautiful souls engaged in observation – this brings beauty and stillness and praise to my God.

Hmmm.  And then I think.

If enjoy my children’s delight in creation, how would it be for our creator and heavenly father?  Might He not have joy at seeing His creation enjoyed by His children?

That is all.

I’ve been itching to share pictures and words with you.  I’ve been buried in the battle.  Not many words today, but gifts…oh so many gifts – gifts in birthdays, in painted little faces, in digging in the dirt in Sunday dresses, in the grass blades peaking through the snow, in sunlight and shadows – gifts a plenty!

Between the battle lines and in the juggled mess, I try to slow – to be still – to know that He is God.  In the stillness there is much to see, no matter the mess, no matter battle!

Enjoy the pics!

From Psalm 105:1-5

Give praise to the Lord, proclaim his name;
make known among the nations what he has done.
 Sing to him, sing praise to him;
tell of all his wonderful acts.
 Glory in his holy name;
let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice.
 Look to the Lord and his strength;
seek his face always.

Remember the wonders he has done…

And there is design in the gifts…from my beloved George MacDonald!

People talk about special providences. I believe in the providences, but not in the specialty. I do not believe that God lets the thread of my affairs go for six days, and on the seventh evening takes it up for a moment. The so-called special providences are no exception to the rule–they are common to all men at all moments. But it is a fact that God’s care is more evident in some instances of it than in others to the dim and often bewildered vision of humanity. Upon such instances men seize and call them providences. It is well that they can; but it would be gloriously better if they could believe that the whole matter is one grand providence.

– MacDonald, George “A Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul”

Months ago I discovered M, my curly-haired 4-year-old, bawling beside our fence.  Why the very loud tears, you might ask?  A Popsicle.  The neighbors had given her one, and she was crying that she couldn’t have another.  After my initial, “What now?” thought, I saw more than tears and blonde curls.  Conviction rushed in, and a flood of words, words from Give them Grace and One thousand Gifts  – words that come straight from The word.  These words pointed to me and said, “This is how you look.”  Indeed, I AM that curly-headed girl, shedding tears over unmet expectations, rather than giving thanks.  How could I help her see when I was just opening my own eyes to this simple self-evident (and yet so easily overlooked) truth?

I told her that she had a choice, a critical choice.  She (and I – countless times a day) could choose to be grateful for what she had gotten, or sad that she hadn’t gotten more.  Oh that I would open my eyes wider to see how much like a pre-schooler I really am!

How does this tie in with vacation?  Well, it ties in whether your kid is in a hospital on a vent or you have a vanilla life with the occasional hitch in your day.  We all could use some perspective, right?  No matter the circumstances there is always the opportunity to get tangled in the popsicle moments.  So as to vacation, bear with me for a sec, first a note on special needs and vacation…then to my notes from my own bumy road to gratitude.

We special needs parents learn how to move quickly in crisis.  Many of us have emergency bags packed ready for a hospital stay (or know how and when to round one up FAST.)  Somewhere on the kitchen counter lie long lists of contacts and providers, should someone have to step into our shoes, if something happens to us.  There is the daily grind that may look much different from our friends, but after a while, it becomes comfortable and…safe. 

Vacation?  Vacation is often not safe, but it can be good – depending upon our attitude as we ride these waves.

Handicap accessibility is a great unknown for every restaurant we consider, every threshold we cross.  Lifts for safe transfer and hospital beds…these don’t seem to exist in vacation-land.  We never know around what corner unkind children and their uncaring parents lurk.  How to make it all work – where to tuck the medical equipment, the logistics of making family fun – fun, and then the deeper darker concern – in the midst of all the busy-ness will we have time to really get to interact and connect with  this child that cannot speak for himself.

I considered calling this post “Being Still,”, because I really DID get a chance to “be still” on this vacation – but maybe not in the way that you think.  The still-ness came in hard-fought gratitude.  Being still on vacation in the normal sense?  The kids are 2, 4, and 6-years-old, and there are the days of packing and hoping and praying that critical items like the feeding pump, cochlear charger, medical formula and 100’s of other things aren’t left hours behind us.  Then there are the 3+ hours of unpacking (if the kids cooperate with a nap, once we get there).   And as for the beach, we haven’t sat in a beach chair since we became parents.  We have one 60+lb kid that must be held the whole time and 2 girls that might like you to think they can swim.

This type of listing – tallying of trials comes to me all too easily.  Whenever we get a week away, without fail, it hits me like a wave.  My ingratitude.  My natural posture.  The counting – of remaining days, hours slept, days that we manage to make it to the water, days since a shower (You know, the kind of counting we moms do!), time spent cooking/cleaning, loads of laundry…you KNOW what I mean).  The comparisons – what vacation looks like for other families, how much more quickly a family with 6 kids can get out of the car vs our 3.   Picket fences have to fall every. single. time.  Expectations and layers of grief have to be peeled back, like layers of wallpaper that never end.  Change the environment – see our family and our son’s trials from a new angle – pull back the curtain on unfamiliar limitations. 

Circumstances never being what I expect them to be, I embark on these disastrous trails of thought.  In choosing this route, I bring little bits of disaster to my own and, in turn, my family’s happiness.

If I want to enjoy vacation (or life, for that matter)…I have to fight for it – tooth and nail.  Yep, in the midst of blessings without number – ON VACATION, I have to FIGHT to be happy.  Ridiculous, I know.

I’m always painfully aware of the mother sitting in a hospital with her daughter, the friend awaiting the results of her 2 year old’s tumor, the mom that longs to have siblings for her special needs child, the friends that have horrible health insurance that struggle to keep their heads above water, the family mourning the loss of their teenage son that suffered from Kernicterus.  There are always those circumstances around me to remind me that even in our hard times, there are others that would trade to be in our shoes.  But, shamefully, even with this knowledge…it doesn’t stop my heart from wandering!  I’m learning that it is only with prayer, studying God’s word, and real concentrated effort (writing down the daily gifts) that I begin to exercise a truly grateful heart, alive to the “good and perfect gifts”  – gifts that always abound, whether I notice them or not.  I battled this out over vacation, and it was NOT always pretty, at all.  But in the end, I look back and see moments where the gifts were so sweet, they brought tears to my eyes.  I was truly IN those moments.  I was PRESENT (a rarity, for me).  As to the tears…well, I just happen to be the type that will tear up at the drop of a hat.  And I’m seeing that it’s a raw and unruly place…dwelling in these moments of gratitude!  A vacation with these moments, and a day with these moments is the best that I could ask for.

So, today in a midst of things falling apart and phone calls that did not let up, a WHEEL  fell off my boy’s lounge-wheelchair.  Yep!  It just FELL right off!  The nurse and I were shocked and jumped into action to make sure he didn’t fall.  And my boy….he sat in his chair laughing with real pure uninhibited joy!  There was still the wheel to fix, and the internet was still down and there were phone calls to be made, but in that moment – in that priceless moment – we allowed ourselves to tumble into splendid waves of laughter with him.

Counting these gifts, savoring every last sugary bite of the popsicle for whatever moment we have it – THIS IS JOY!  This is joy that points to our creator…joy that comes in humility…joy from the knees, not proudly standing saying, “I’ve got this!”   You don’t give thanks for things that you feel yourself entitled to.  Raw thanks puts you on our knees.

Grace flows down.

Thanks glorifies our creator.  In thanksgiving we enjoy Him as he intends us to.  Giving the hard thanks…the thanks that comes from a broken and contrite heart that is willing to take out whatever He gives, this is living on the edge…living in a dangerous and beautiful place…a sw

“Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.”

Psalm 100:4

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