Silence was needed, and God spoke. Funny how that works in the silence.

We drove in the early morning darkness as we do every two weeks – Sam feeling the dread, and me sitting beside him wishing I could take it away and make everything alright.

As the night turned to dawn, we tried to focus on the gift of the new day – the beige-colored rolling fields, dotted with black angus; the charcoal sky turning to purple and then pink right before our eyes; the moon with its last hurrah as the sun prepared to make its entrance…

And then, in the silence, we both began to notice off in the distance before us, a gray whisp of what we thought was a very long trail of smoke. It curled and swooped from the left side of the windshield to the far right side of the windshield, and as we continued to drive, the smoky tail grew. And then it slowly changed shape. After several miles of watching it to the tune of the Acura engine hum, we both recognized at the same time what we had been watching:

Murmuration.

Thousands of birds in formation, close enough to each other they should crash, but in sync and flow, and oblivious to their audience of two down below.

I’ve heard speakers talk about the overuse of the word, “awesome.” How it should be reserved for the reverence of an experience, a moment – how it should be in a category just for descriptions of God.

I think about that every time I comment on someone’s success, or a grandchild’s artwork, or the Super Bowl win…

Murmuration is awesome. It is a visible description of God’s handiwork. It is a gift. And we were the recipients last week on that early Wednesday morning. Sam kept driving as we passed underneath the show, but I twisted around in the seat and watched as long as I could until they were no longer in sight.

The act of murmuration reminded me that God has it all under control. Even though it seems our world is chaos and fragile and we cannot see what is ahead, He is directing our path.

He is the Creator of order.

He is the Master of the universe.

He is awesome.

For Him and the relationship I have with Him, I am grateful.

That’s how long it took me to get up from my desk at 1:04 pm, go downstairs and put a coat on, get in the truck and drive to the grocery store, grab some milk and yogurt, wait in line to pay at the checkout, drive home, put my coat away and hang the keys on the peg, put the milk and yogurt away, and go back upstairs to sit back at my desk and resume work…at 1:12 pm.

I am grateful to live in small town USA.

I am grateful for our little grocery store, where a shopper can get a bunch of bananas, a box of kitty litter, Valentine flowers, a long john with a heart stick, or a box of ammo and a couch. One stop shopping.

I am grateful Sam didn’t come home this morning with a box of ammo or a couch.

I am grateful for the gift of disinfecting wipes, much needed this week.

And I am grateful for the weekend with only a long walk and house cleaning on my agenda.

I am grateful for sound sleeping, the breathing in a steady rhythm just behind me .

I am grateful to be home, even if it is late and late night work is in front of me.

I am grateful for moments of joy in the past four days – especially surprising grandchildren.

I am grateful for family members who are supportive and loving when we are stressed beyond what we think we can handle.

I am grateful for a quiet drive home, for the beauty of the Flint Hills, for a clear blue sky that stretched from the driver’s window and beyond to the passenger window and beyond.

I am grateful for purring kittens who are glad we are home, even if they crawl all over the desk and keyboard and make me have to re-do.

I am grateful for doctors who prescribe meds over the phone in emergency situations.

I am grateful when fever is broken and sleep finally settles.

I am grateful for a great friend who stepped in as a substitute mom nurse – thank you, Brigitte.

I am grateful for boss friends who took us in, gave us an over-the-top bed & breakfast, and better be disinfecting every surface we touched.

I am grateful for Tamiflu and Lysol.

I am grateful for the gift of sunshine glare on Waconda Lake glass water, geese in formation above the beauty.

I am grateful for a heartbreaking moment at the end of last night – evidence that life change is hard, and Sam is so very sensitive. His heart is so big and soft, and so very fragile…

I am grateful for a few minutes to myself tonight under the stars in the brisk cold air, to have a private conversation, to ask God to give me strength.

And I am grateful that even though it seems like a big valley, it really isn’t in the grand scheme. Life is too short to dwell on the whole journey – just take it one pit stop at a time.

I am grateful for both.

Kittens, because they crack me up – one minute they are stalking the birds and the squirrels on a screen, and the next, they are taking afternoon naps to the sounds of the birds and the squirrels.

Prostates, because Sam’s is behaving. Four weeks ago, his PSA was 128 and acting like Stage 4 cancer.

This afternoon, we learned that his PSA is 1.7.

That is not a typo. THAT, my friends, is a miracle.

It’s a great evening to celebrate with some gratitude.