Yesterday, my boss surprised me with a “Go home, Rhonda. It’s getting bad out there.”
Yipppeeee! A snow afternoon to go home and warm up on the couch with a book, write thank you notes, make some cookies, and enjoy the beauty of the first snowfall!
It took a few minutes to clear the heavy this-is-snowman-kind-of-snow from the windows on the car, but I was careful and drove slowly on the snow packed road, sliding slightly when I turned the corner onto our street. No problem, though. I am an experienced snow pack driver.
Until I turned into the driveway and made it about five feet up the sloped runway and stopped, tires spinning. I backed up and went nowhere. I tried forward. Went nowhere. How completely ridiculous that I could maneuver this vehicle all the way home only to get stuck at the bottom of the drive.
I got it unstuck and backed up across the street to get a running gunning go. Woohoo. Halfway up the drive. Only to slide back down and stop in the same stuck place at the bottom.
And then I saw my hero open the door.
For the next 45 minutes or so, my rescuer worked to unstuck the car, get it up the driveway mountain and safely in its place in the garage, and then shoveled the entire driveway with me.
I was grateful for my Dad yesterday, and I am still grateful for my Dad today.
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I am grateful for the gift of being inside when snow is falling outside.
I am grateful for the silence of a beautiful snowfall.
I am grateful for a shoveled driveway and no falls while shoveling. I think that’s a first for me on Mount Scofield, driveway of the Rockies.
What we SHOULD have been doing on Mount Scofield, except that we need it for vehicle storage.
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I am grateful for the sound of snow crunch.
I am grateful for just enough time to come inside, make cookies, write most of my thank you notes, and put some chili on the stove for dinner.
I am grateful for a new sweater that I could live in every single day if only no one noticed. Thank you, Sam.
And I am grateful for lots of Kleenex and Mucinex.
I am grateful for an amaryllis that is in the kitchen windowsill.
I am grateful for busy Christmas weekends to numb the dull ache.
I am grateful for family gift exchange.
I am grateful for a sister and niece who stayed for dinner.
I am grateful for carols sung at church.
I am grateful for games played around the table.
I am grateful for family who wants to spend Christmas together.
I am grateful for hugs goodbye.
I am grateful for beds made with clean sheets all ready for company again.
I am grateful for early morning devotions with Sam.
I am your refuge and strength, an ever-present Help in trouble. Therefore, you don’t need to be afraid of anything – not even cataclysmic circumstances. The media are increasingly devoted to fear-inducing subject matter: terrorism, serial killers, environmental catastrophes. If you focus on such dangers and forget that I am your Refuge in all circumstances, you will become increasingly fearful. Every day I manifest My grace in countless places and situations, but the media take no notice. I shower not only blessings but also outright miracles on your planet.
As you grow closer to Me, I open your eyes to see more and more of My Presence all around you. Things that most people hardly notice, like shifting shades of sunlight, fill you with heart-bursting JOY. You have eyes that see and ears that hear, so proclaim My abiding Presence in the world.
I am grateful for Psalm 46:1, my verse that I said over and over and over and over when I was in the hospital at 15 years of age with a broken leg and major surgeries to follow.
I am grateful for the beauty of sleet on a sidewalk.
I am grateful for the gray of a snowy day.
I am grateful for Michelle chocolate chip cookies.
I am grateful for sad thoughts of missing Mom.
I am grateful for Christmas tree twinkle to enjoy for one more week.
I am grateful for five little boys to share Christmas Day.
I am grateful that my girls have memories of Christmases at Grandma and Grandpa’s, and years of Christmas goodbye hugs and tears.
I am grateful for defrost.
I am grateful for memories of Christmas past. I may not have Christmas future, but I’m hanging on to my Christmas past.
I am grateful for mint flavored floss.
I am grateful for the smell of Christmas candles and tire department and poster marker and onions and green peppers sautéing in butter and cinnamon rolls baking and hardware store and wood burning. But not all at the same time.
I am grateful for news of a little first tooth pulled and excitement for the tooth fairy.
I am grateful for the employees of Chick-Fil-A who have to put up with long lines inside and drive-thru, kids that are like ants crawling all over the place in and under tables and on top of and at the condiment counter and in and out of the play area, adults who don’t know a straight line from a mob blob, spills and chairs and bags and trays and order waiting and order ordering…oh my goodness. I learned a lesson yesterday. Never go to Chick-Fil-A at noon up. Those employees handle complete and total chaos with smiles and they deserve Christmas bonuses. Monetary bonuses, not pats on the back bonuses.
I am grateful for easy peel oranges.
I am grateful for time with Abbie and Lisa last night. I am grateful to hear the voice of an angel once again. And I am grateful for Lisa who knows how to clip dog nails like a boss.
Rhonda’s rules for living stress-free: no guns, no clippers.
I am grateful for funny Christmas movies.
I am grateful that Natia needed to potty at 4 am and she and I saw a surprise in the backyard – a mama deer and her two littles, enjoying Dad’s birdseed. 20 minutes of quiet and peaceful entertainment…and I am grateful that Natia wasn’t desperate and could wait until they moved on.
I am grateful for accidental sleeping longer than expected.
I am grateful for Carriage Crossing cinnamon rolls.
I am grateful for friends and family who still send Christmas cards with pictures. Or even just Christmas cards. However, I have never understood the purpose of sending a card with just a signature and no personal greetings or news, except that those people have one up on me…I have neglected to send cards since 2011, and even then it was just an email card, and I always say I am going to send New Year’s cards but then the new year arrives and the cards do not. This year, I will send New Year’s cards. There – throwing it out there to make myself accountable to my own writing.
And, I am grateful for memories of Christmas past.
Paper sacks with candy and an apple after the program at church
The baby food jar twinkly tree on the hope chest by the front door
The Rudolph Hi! and Bye! decoration at our front door
Shopping downstairs at The Better Book Room after the Johnson Christmas
Grandmommy’s pink popcorn balls and slobber kisses to avoid
Making kitchen towels with Delores
Watching the girls play Santa in Grandma and Grandpa’s basement
Mom’s peanut brittle
Miniatures and nativities and gag gifts and the signature tablecloth and the good silverware
Driving around to look at lights with the girls in the backseat
Avon gifts of cologne in cars and cute little pins that opened with perfume grease inside
Pulling out Mom’s box of recycled wrapping paper that had been used and re-used and folded and re-folded and then adding faded red ribbon and a stick-on bow that had been stuck on too many times and needed extra tape help to stay
Watching Santa’s Workshop and KAKEman
Decorating our tree with ornaments from my students and ornaments that the girls had made at school
Getting a BigWheel and a Chrissy doll and a parakeet and Pegues $25 coins and an Easy Bake Oven
Dishes of nuts with the silver nutcrackers to crack
Christmas caroling at “old folks homes”
My 21 years of music teacher Christmas programs: St. George programs packed with 500 students and parents in every crevice, Elyria and “The Candle Song” finale, CBA and “The Hallelujah Chorus” tradition and my favorite Christmas program there when we had the high school guys go out and cut down cedar trees from fields and decorated the gym with LOTS of trees and it smelled SO GOOD and one tree in the middle of the stage was trimmed in the shape of a cross…
Karissa and Katrina singing Grandma’s favorite, “Jesus, Name Above All Names”
Most people won’t have a clue what I am describing. There are five pianos in my past and present that have made me feel like I could play practically anything, and it was and is a tiny piece of heaven to sit at their keyboard and play.
The first one was an old upright with yellowing ivory keys, the edges of some no longer smooth but worn and chipped. Sneakers the cat sat on top of it, curled around the 8×10 pictures of my brothers and sister, and sometimes in the dark of night, that cat would decide it was time to walk the keys and wake the world. It was my first piano and was always decorated with John Thompson and Note Spellers and sheet music for recital practice. My sister and I played “Rockin’ Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu” on that piano.
I learned Fountain in the Rain, my favorite recital piece ever, on that piano. That piano earned me the right to take lessons at age 4 with my favorite Aunt Patsy and it got me through the rough years with the cranky and mean Mrs. Good who wasn’t very good. It was a partner to the organ that sat across the room, Angela’s fingers and feet making electronic music, and Rhonda on the old upright, thrilling our Mom with duets from matching books.
The next piano was a beautiful and sturdy Yamaha studio piano that Dad and Mom bought when we made the move to Hutchinson. It was brand new and even had that soft burgundy felt cloth that we were so careful to use and cover those keys.
This piano got me through high school, the years I played for the Chorale at Central Christian, the years I spent with Mrs. Schubert and grossly exaggerated my practice time for lessons each week, the concerto contests I participated in, the United Methodist youth choir I accompanied, the cassette tapes Mom and I made of her singing and me playing. It eventually moved with me when I was married and the girls came along, and it became my piano to teach other littles how to play, my piano to accompany my two little girls as they sang through their growing up years, my piano to practice for church offertories and major pieces for contests and recitals, and my piano to create music programs when I taught school.
A memorable piano is the one that sat in the sanctuary at the Mennonite Brethren church we attended. It had one of the best touches ever. I loved the “action” of those keys, not too heavy, played with ease, so that 16th notes and fast runs were not difficult. I felt like I could just let loose and be free. Every once in a while, I will find a rare piano that just allows me to create, and this was one that talked to me and told me with its touch, “Just make music. Sing with your fingers.” It was easy to have an open mind to whatever the Holy Spirit wanted to speak, walk up to the piano during the offertory prayer not knowing what was going to come out, and begin playing. I would get lost in the moments, praying and worshiping through the music that came from my hands.
There is another piano just like that one, although a different color and name. It sits in the rehearsal hall at church and I am privileged to play it once a week. One of these days, I will go and spend time with it, all by myself, and just be. Just create. Just worship. It is an instrument that I am growing to love very much, and when I have the opportunity to sit at its keys, I feel like I can “sing” again and make the music that is down deep. There is just something about the touch, the action, the feel, that allows me to open up and create.
When life fell apart and I was at my lowest, I borrowed time and a piano across the street at a church during my lunch hours. I went months and months without being able to play, my piano gone. I felt like my tears couldn’t release, because the music was gone. Sam hadn’t experienced my lifetime of piano, but he knew. He knew that a piece of me was missing. And so he surprised me with the gift of another. It doesn’t have quite the easy touch and action freedom as others – it needs many hours of music to loosen the heaviness – but this piano has been my medication, my crutch, and a vital piece of healing to this wounded heart.
Most won’t understand. It doesn’t matter though. It’s not about most. It’s about being grateful. And I am grateful for this “thing” that God put inside me. This “thing” that makes me want to play. This “thing” that allows me to worship and pray without words.
I am grateful for these Masterpiece instruments that have graced my life.
And I am grateful today, that God gave me such a gift.
I am grateful for snowballs and peanut butter balls and now Nutella pretzel balls and popcorn balls, too.
I am grateful for little encounters with pleasant people.
I am grateful for Sam, because he creates little encounters with pleasant people, and it is nice to observe.
I am grateful for things to keep me busy during this time of year.
I have SAD. Seasonal Affective Disorder. They actually have a scientific name for the Christmas blues. It’s not just holly jolly depression. It’s SAD. Yes sirree, it really is.
I am grateful that I can realize that this too, shall pass, and January will arrive and the memories and hurts will fade once more.
I am grateful for the ridiculous simple pleasure of watching a new washing machine spin.
I also watched Polar Express last night all by myself while I wrapped a few presents, so I am grateful for new Christmas movies and ones I have already seen.
Mom’s nativity scenes look a little hay-less. Maybe Bradford Pear leaves will work. We have plenty of those.
Actually, I was at that store that rhymes with Knobby Mobby today, and I ALMOST bought a bag called “Nativity Hay” for $2.99. I was going to PAY $2.99 for a bag of brown grass. Oh, Rhonda. You do know how to kill your paycheck. Thank you, conscience, for stopping me.
I am grateful for my conscience.
I’m also grateful that I can laugh at myself and don’t care as much anymore what others think of me. Don’t get me wrong, I still care way too much, but if I can live through what happened this morning and still face the crowd walking by the glass front of my office, I have come a LONG way:
I prepared myself this morning at home, and I stuck a couple of personal products in my pocket for just in case. (Yes, I know men read this. I am assuming the men who read this are not completely clueless and know what “personal products” mean when a woman refers to them.)
As I walked into the building at 7:40 am, there were two men behind me a few feet back. I stopped at my office door to unlock, since I was the early bird getting the worm. Just as I was unlocking the door with my lunch bag and purse in tow and arms loaded, the men walked in the building at the same time my personal products fell out of my pocket and onto the floor at their feet.
It was a lovely moment.
But…my cheeks didn’t even turn red.
I am grateful that it takes a little more than tampons on the public floor to make me embarrassed anymore.
I am grateful for tacos. I think I could live on tacos.
I am grateful for my counselor’s advice to keep the purple in our relationship.
And I am grateful for snowball cookies that made my boss cry, because her Mom used to make them and she misses her Mama like I miss mine.
Which reminds me to be grateful for those nativity sets – I have very little from my Mom, but I do have those. Hayless and beautiful.
In conclusion, I paired nativity scenes with personal products for this post. Wow. Nothing like keeping it real.
Are you grumbly hateful or humbly grateful? What’s your attitude? Do you grumble and groan, or let it be known, You’re grateful for all God’s done for you?
That was a song my Mom used to sing to me on occasion when I was younger.
Tuesday night was Bingo night. I walked in to the assisted living facility, and my regular group of 14 has dwindled to six.
Jim has moved to a full care facility, so I will not have any more mean stares when I tell him he didn’t actually win that game.
Louene, my 100 year old, was under the weather, as was Ken, my right hand man.
Helen has been at a rehab hospital recovering from illness.
Cindy was in the TV room sprawled on the couch not feeling well.
Dotty was confused and so didn’t play.
Betty and Dorothy have stopped playing because it’s too late at 6 pm.
Katherine passed away. Lucy moved to a full care facility, Anne moved back to West Virginia to be close to her son.
And during the hour of Bingo excitement, Happy Barb was confused and thought someone needed to give her a ride to go see her Dad and she has forgotten that she lives there and her Dad has been gone for years.
Norma looked tired but still had a smile as she helped her husband keep track of his numbers on his two cards, dementia beginning to take hold of his mind.
Ruth falls asleep sometimes between numbers, so I try to keep track of her cards for her.
Avis, my left hand “man” and resident Oscar-the-grouch-but-oh-so-loveable, is my informant, keeping me updated on everyone’s “issues.”
Even Betty, steady Betty, who is always so pleasant and clear-headed, was a little off kilter for some reason.
It’s kind of sad to see how my friends are slowing down physically, and a few of them mentally, a blanket of loneliness and resignation covering the dining room where we play. I’ve been with them almost three years now, and they have taken residence in my heart. Sometimes, I don’t know what to say. “What did you all do this week?” just doesn’t work when the excitement of the day is watching Happy Barb ask everyone to take her home…
A few weeks ago, I saw this ad online:
Oh, how it makes me cry. And oh, how it makes me so incredibly grateful for my Bingo friends this year. Each one of them has made a lasting impression on me, and I find myself relating to their lonseome sadness on occasion. Every one of them deserves time. Each one deserves a little more excitement than Barb’s confusion. I am grateful to be reminded that this Christmas, I need to show them that I love them.
I could be a little grumbly, a little Oscar-the-Grouchy about a whole lot this season. And I do catch myself grumbling… Christmas is not all happiness and joy in this heart. It is extremely bittersweet and lonesome. It is sadness and feeling “outsider” as I long for what could be.
But, I am grateful that Mom’s grumbly humbly song is still playing in my head all these years later, and I am humbly grateful for the little things.
Life is what it is, and as Mom also used to say, “Bloom where you are planted.” I will try, Mom, I will try.
I am grateful for fires to put out, for fires that CAN be put out, for the opportunity to put those fires out.
I am grateful for the simple pleasure of pressing a chocolate kiss into a hot peanut butter cookie and creating the sound of the squish.
I am grateful for enough money in the bank to send birthday presents.
I am grateful for safe trips.
I am grateful for encouragement from my CASA supervisor.
I am grateful for a nice next door neighbor.
I am grateful for Christians who are not afraid to love their neighbors and who stand up for them and with them, no matter their race, religion, gender, age, or behavior.
I am grateful for baked potato soup with fresh baked bread.
I am grateful for my Dad who works so hard just because.
I am grateful for a lighted wreath above the garage.
I am grateful for Christmas at Resurrection this weekend.
I am grateful that at least we have choices in this election season. I’ve never wanted to move to Timbuktu before, but it sounds like a pretty good place about right now.
I am grateful for more than one pillow.
I am grateful for diversity in my world.
I am grateful for commercials that make me laugh and cry. But not at the same time. Actually, that would be okay, too.
That makes me grateful for memories of a former brother-in-law laughing so hard he had tears. He did that quite often. Good memories…
I am grateful that I no longer live in a divisive Christian community but one that is inclusive and seeks to serve and love as Jesus taught.
I am grateful for a little travel sized toothpaste tube, since I ran out.
I am grateful for REALLY GOOD MUSIC. Thank you, Jordan Smith, for making REALLY GOOD MUSIC. Oh my word I am stunned and can’t get enough. THAT was a performance. THAT was a memory to cherish. Okay. Breathe, Rhonda. It’s just a song. Huh-uh, no way. This guy can SING:
I am grateful for people who sneeze funny.
I am grateful for Psalm 139:23-24:
Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
I am grateful for a closet stuffed with jackets and coats that need to be shared with others.
I am grateful for clementine season. $3.99 is a whole lot better than $6.99.
I am grateful for the smell of Lysol Clean Linen scent. Mmmmm.
I am grateful for Judge Sloan.
I am grateful for people who keep their gum in their mouths and don’t chew it all hanging out for the world to see, because I am around someone quite often who does this, and it kind of makes me ill. Like my daughter feels when she sits at a table with someone who chews and smacks with their mouth open. So I am grateful for people who chew their gum in the privacy of their closed mouths. Kinda like clipping nails in the privacy of a bathroom, the only place one’s nails should be clipped. Ugh, just typing it makes me a little queasy.
I am grateful for Jimmy Fallon’s funny.
I am grateful for a heating pad, a heater at my feet all day, standing next to a vent that is blowing hot air, the comfort of wrapping my fingers around a cup of hot cocoa or hot tea, heated seats or as I call them heat seaters, and the feeling of having a hot face after sitting in front of a roaring fire in a fireplace.
I am grateful for the reminder this Christmas season that Jesus is the Light of the World, but He calls us to be a light in the world. There is no better time of darkness than 2015 to shine…
This morning, I am sore throat-less, it’s a Hoops and YoYo happy sunny day, and Sam and I just read a wonderful devotion:
So how do you lift your head off the pillow in the morning to face a day you know will be filled with distressing trials? You need to know the secret to blessed assurance.
In her infancy, Fanny Crosby became blind. As a young girl she was once asked by her mother if she resented her blindness, and she replied, “Mother, if I had a choice, I would still choose to remain blind…for when I die, the first face I will ever see will be the face of my blessed Savior.” Hers are powerfully convicting words to those who lack contentment in their predicaments. With more than 8000 hymns to her credit, Fanny remained confident in her visually impaired state, saying, “I don’t believe I would have ever written all of those hymns had I been able to see.”
To see joy in our trials, good in our pain, purpose in our frustrations, is the secret to finding strength to live each day. Instead of resentment, find renewed confidence in your trials. Make Fanny’s song yours: “Bless assurance, Jesus is mine!…This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long!”
I am grateful for my favorite hymn and the reminder of it this morning to keep me singing all day.
I am grateful for memories of Nanette and the Hoops and YoYo Happy Sunny Day Hallmark e-card. This used to drive me bonkers but it’s just so HAPPY. You can watch it/view it here by clicking on the “play arrow” over the “Do you know what today is?” question, since I don’t have a clue how to post it any other way:
I am grateful for beautiful poinsettias with big leaves, especially the one sitting in front of me that is a gorgeous orange and yellow, and especially the little red one on the end table that arrived last Saturday from one of our friends and we don’t know who!, and especially the humongous one in the living room that Sam bought for me at Home Depot with leaves as big as my head.
I am grateful for the sound of a dishwasher and a washing machine working this morning while I sit here and type. It is a very pleasant sound, with Charlie Brown Christmas music playing in the background.
I am grateful that one day I will see Jesus. Until then, I will live my life so that maybe, just maybe, someone will see Jesus through me.
I am grateful for 20 minutes last night to just drive through a neighborhood and look at Christmas lights in silence.
I am grateful for a desire to make a salad or two today. If you know me, you understand. That desire does not come around very often.
And I am grateful for a day to be productive and get things done.
What we SHOULD have been doing on Mount Scofield, 
Hoops, Piddles, and YoYo.
rhondaisgrateful 