I’m not very grateful for that feeling I get when I swallow something wrong and it is stuck in the middle of my back.

And I’m not very grateful for air puffs in the eye at the doctor’s office that make my eyes water and wish they didn’t have to open.

I’m not very grateful for loud yawners, bad breath breathers, knuckle poppers, and those who cannot say the words, “I’m sorry.”

And I’m not very grateful for a dog who screams – Angela, you know what I’m talkin’ about.

But I am grateful for the ability to swallow. And for swallows.

And I am grateful for my eyes that still mostly work. And also grateful for a really expensive eye picture machine that has taken the place of dilation.

I am grateful for people around me who are careful to cover their mouths when they cough or yawn or sneeze, for people who are aware of their breath and keep mints or gum close in order to be pleasant for everyone in their air space, for people who CARE IF THEIR KNUCKLES GROW ABNORMALLY LARGE and refrain from pulling and popping in the presence of others, and for people who have learned the value and the humility of saying the simple words, “I am sorry.”

And even though she screams like a banshee – what in the world is a banshee – I am grateful for that thumping tail and the “hurry up and get inside” or “please, please don’t leave me” howl of Natia, known as Naughty, Doggie, Dog, Tippy, and Goof Nut.

This is Goof Nut, not laughing.
She’s not laughing because this picture was taken by a stranger HVAC man who rescued her and she was in a stranger’s house waiting for my sister to come and take her home.

(I just looked up banshee. I shall not post a picture of a banshee. Not so pretty.)

I am grateful for my husband who sat in a parking lot for 2+ hours waiting on me. It was comforting to know he was just outside the whole time. And then he handed me a hamburger and an iced tea that he had gotten for me – dinner with Sam at 11:15 pm on a Monday night on I-35. My idea of a blissful marriage.

I am grateful for animators. Their art and skill fascinate me.

I am grateful for leftover Easter candy from my boss’s family Easter egg hunt. She buys the good stuff.

I am grateful to be wanted again.

I am grateful for sticky when sticky is good. Sticky notes, sticky tape, sticky glue, sticky Velcro, sticky envelopes and stamps.

I am grateful for Babe’s fried chicken, the best the world has to offer. If only there was one closer than Roanoke, Texas.

It has ALWAYS bugged me when people use exclamation points to the extreme. Like this!!!!!!! Or after every sentence! Because it makes me want to read in my head louder and more excitedly! And now I can’t calm my heart down!

But I was brought back down to earth and taken off my high horse this morning…

I learned that ellipses are only to be used “to signal to the reader that some piece of a quotation is removed.”

I haven’t been following the rule…

I use them frequently to add a silent sigh at the end, or a pause for effect…

I like those three dots. I do NOT, however, like it when they are doubled or tripled or quadrupled, like they are an army of ants marching to a picnic…………

I am grateful to have learned something new today.

I am grateful for moments of no drama. Sometimes, being an ostrich sounds like a pretty good plan. Stick my head in the earth and pretend everything is quiet and okay.

There are lots of scribbles right now. I would like just a picture of a simple happy face. Or maybe a house with a flower in the grass. But what we have are scribbles.

God knows my heart, knows my worry. He knows her heart and her worries. He knows all the scribbles. So He gave two things to me this morning.

The first was this quote on my desk:

Dare to love and to be a real friend. The love you give and receive is a reality that will lead you closer and closer to God as well as to those whom God has given you to love. – Henri J.M. Nouwen

The second was this song. It’s an older one that I’ve known for years, but I listened to it as I drove. I really listened.

Word of God Speak.

And these are the lyrics that stood out to me, blaring like a marching band, but as precise and quiet as a pin drop.

The last thing I need – is to be heard
But to hear what You would say…

I’m finding myself in the midst of You
Beyond the music, beyond the noise
All that I need is to be with You
And in the quiet, hear Your Voice…

Word of God speak – would You pour down like rain
Washing my eyes to see Your majesty
To be still and know, that You’re in this place
Please let me stay and rest, in Your holiness…

So I am grateful when God speaks.

And I am grateful when I am smart enough to actually listen.

And I am grateful that I am daring to love, even when it would be easier to walk away.

Scribbles.

I remember seeing a story about an artist who took her child’s scribbles and turned them into beautiful pieces of art.

It’s kind of like the dark scribbles that now grace our dining room table, the green scribbles that decorate our dining room wall, the pink scribbles that add to the trim next to the front door, the multi-colored scribbles that take over the signature tablecloth.

What to some may look like mistakes, moments of disobedience or kids undisciplined, to me they are reminders that my grandchildren sat at our table and played in our home.

I have a friend who knows scribbles well.

Her life looks like scribbles right now. It’s very messy. It’s sometimes not very beautiful. It is a problem to some, an annoyance to others, a distraction to a few, an irritation that sparks bitterness in the hearts of some who have to look at the scribbles on a daily basis. Some of her scribbles were made by her, intentionally. Some of them were mistakes. But other scribbles in her life have been made by others, deep, scarring scribbles that she has to live with, to endure, to learn to appreciate for what they are and how they shape and define.

Yet, Jesus sees her scribbles. He sees them up close in the tears that flow on the inside, in the pain that comes out in anger, in the crazy chaos of not knowing and searching for answers and just wanting to belong.

He sees how those scribbles are not just scribbles. They are shaping her, they are teaching her.

He sees the scribbles from afar, looking at what they are going to actually become, what they will turn into.

She is going to see this one day. She will see that the scribbles of her life have made her strong and have given her a unique quality that others will want to emulate, will want to notice and gaze upon, others will appreciate. She is going to share her scribbled life stories with the world and have a piece of artwork uniquely hers.

I am grateful for scribbles and for the realization that they can turn out to actually be beautiful.

I am grateful for patterns. Paisley, checked, stripes, floral, polka-dotted, swirls… They make life more beautiful.

I am grateful for fresh-baked bread.

I am grateful to have watched Natia go outside and roll in the grass and enjoy the sunshine on the warm patio.

I am grateful for an empty dumpster.

I am grateful for flowers everywhere right now.

I am grateful for Snickers.

I am grateful for a vocal music concert to attend last night and for some time with my CASA girl afterwards.

I am grateful that my sister and Dad are in Washington DC and watching a baseball game this afternoon, even if it is yucky weather.

I am grateful that Mom isn’t worrying and doesn’t have to worry about Donald Trump…because she would be worried if she were here.

And I am grateful for the reminder to be still.

I am grateful for a clean shower.

I am grateful for a microwave at work.

I am grateful that Sam doesn’t wait for me to ask him to help in the kitchen and doesn’t watch me work in the kitchen, but he always says, “What can I do to help?”

I am grateful for friends.

I am grateful when people in the neighborhood are grilling outside or are doing their laundry and use really good dryer sheets or when they just mowed the lawn.

I am grateful for Natia’s sweetness.

I am grateful for weeds to pull.

I am grateful for memories of hearing my daughters’ laughter in the house.

I am grateful for my Dad’s jokes.

I am grateful for a Royals Opening Day win.

I am grateful for a haircut.

I am grateful for Sam’s encouragement and gratitude when I hardly help at all with the remodeling work, but he tells me my help is a big deal.

I am grateful for lotion.

I am grateful that I have softened over the years and am no longer offended or bothered by people who cuss or drink socially or have more liberal views than I have been exposed to in my past. I am grateful that I am learning to see people as people, not people with labels.

I am grateful when good smells pass my way.

A person of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds.

I am grateful for sore muscles.

I am grateful for desk tape dispensers.

I am grateful to have finally met really nice neighbors that we always pass on our walks but had never really talked.

I am grateful for packages wrapped pretty.

I am grateful for people who laugh heartily and often.

I am grateful for clean windows.

I am grateful for little girl curls.

I am grateful for busy weekends, but I am also grateful for weekends with nothing to do but relaxation and fun.

I am grateful for new shoes that my Dad bought for me.

I am grateful for a dandelion digger tool.

I am grateful for hunger pains and food to ease them.

And I am grateful for Kosher salt that reminds me of Ruth. I think of her often, every day in fact, when I swallow my supplements. She was definitely a weed that didn’t grow in a row, and sometimes she had thorns. But sometimes, she was a pretty weed that I didn’t mind so much.

I am grateful today for this deli surprise from a co-worker. It was toasted and warm and wonderful at 2 pm this afternoon. Just because. And it was without the T, just like I like.

I am grateful for a wonderful place to work.

I am grateful for my court report written and submitted.

And I am grateful for Natia’s happy tail and for the way she looks when she’s curled up and fast asleep on the couch.

And because of the Lamb, this group of people, my Dad included (right there in the middle of the center table on the right, blue shirt), spent their morning stuffing bulletins for the many thousands of people who will attend Easter services this weekend at our church.

It is Dad’s birthday today, and I am so grateful that I have the blessing of coming home each evening, knowing he is there.

I am grateful for the plane rides he took me on.

I am grateful for driving lessons on dirt roads sitting on his lap.

I am grateful that he let me climb into customer cars for a ride just before he pulled the lever and raised the car on the lift at the station.

I am grateful for stops at the Dairy King after church to get ice cream cones.

I am grateful for my potato chips and macaroni and cheese obsession, passed down from my Dad.

I am grateful for blue pants stained with grease, handkerchiefs to iron, and red grease rags found in every nook and cranny.

I am grateful for credit card slips signed by “Bill Clinton” aka Dad.

I am grateful for a picture that I no longer have, of Dad looking at baby Karissa as she laid on her tummy on a mattress in the back of the work pickup.

I am grateful for the recitals and music programs and ballgames he attended for me and for my girls.

I am grateful for his jokes that he never forgets.

I am grateful for the cards he has given to me since Mom passed away. She always did the card thing, so it is extra special to receive a card from Dad.

I am grateful for two hugs I will never forget: in my bedroom when I told him I was pregnant at 18, and in his living room when I told him my marriage was ending.

I am grateful that my Dad walked by my side in the ugliness I created, experienced, and lived.

I am grateful that my Dad was a witness at our wedding 2 1/2 years ago.

I am grateful that Dad still puts a flower in a vase each week.

I am grateful that Natia now has someone to give her treats all the day long.

I am grateful that Dad likes birds and feels our pain when it comes to the squirrels.

I am grateful that my Dad likes to read and likes to walk. And likes to watch Andy Griffith and Barney and the Royals.

I am grateful that my Dad thinks of others when he sees a political cartoon or funny joke in the newspaper or in an email. He cuts it out/prints it off, and sends it in the actual mail to the person he thinks will enjoy it.

I am grateful that my Dad chose to spend his birthday serving others.

And I am grateful that my Dad has been an example to follow and has shown his children what it means to live under God’s grace and show grace to others.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you!

Tuesday was Bingo day. Tuesday is always Bingo day. And my boss knows this. The morning had just begun, and I was sitting at my desk when she walked in with arms loaded down. After dropping everything into a chair, she walked over to my desk and laid out six packages of Lindt bugs, a bag of special strawberry gel candy, and Ferrero Rocher truffles to give to my Bingo friends.

Always thinking of others. Always paying it forward.

The title of my writing, both Tuesday and today, has more than one meaning.

I like my boss.

I want to be like my boss.

I see Jesus in my boss. She has that softest-heart-of-gold, but she’s also tough. She is quick to forgive, but she means business when it comes to business. She shows grace more than we deserve. She wants the best for those in her circle and even those who are outside of it. Her heart is sensitive and full of love.

People who deal with life generously and large-heartedly go on multiplying relationships to the end. – Arthur Christopher Benson

I see Jesus in others when I actually pay attention.

I see Jesus in my brothers when they sacrifice their time in order to help others.

I see Jesus in my sister when she speaks out on behalf of those without a voice, those who are rejected by society.

I see Jesus in my Dad as he helps without asking, often without any acknowledgment.

I see Jesus in Sam, as he has forgiven and shown grace in many situations in the past five years, and as he cares for family members and those who pull at his heartstrings.

I see Jesus in my girls and their husbands, as they show passion for their calling and ministry.

I see Jesus in Michelle when she spends her birthday bra-shopping with her 90+ year old friend.

I see Jesus in Geri and Connie as they spend their days in service to students and teachers, doing a job that calls for higher pay and constant appreciation but lacks both.

I see Jesus in Linda and Horst, Roxanne and Bob, as they desire to learn from each other and to bond as a group.

I see Jesus in Delores as she loves her family and those who are not officially her family.

I see Jesus in Helen, my Bingo friend, when she is the recipient of biting, ugly words from a fellow Bingo grump, and she just smiles and responds with sweetness and kindness.

I see Jesus in my nephew John, who made time to drive several hours in order to bless his mom on her birthday.

I see Jesus in my co-worker when she sees an elderly lady walking outside her office window and rushes to the front doors of the building to assist her inside.

I see Jesus in Ginger, letting the little children “come unto Me,” and at the same time, ministering to all of us older people by her example.

I see Jesus in Charlie and Patsy, in their godly countenance and infectious optimism.

And I see Jesus in my Aunt Estalene, spending time with my Aunt Drula, even when it isn’t so easy or fun any longer.

So, I like Jesus. In fact, I love Jesus. I am grateful for this weekend to celebrate what He did. For me.

I want to be like Jesus.

Today, I received a résumé in my email from a very intelligent scientist who is looking for a new position. These types of emails show up in my inbox fairly frequently, and because we don’t normally work for the “candidates” but rather the client, I typically move the résumés into a folder and don’t pay a lot of attention to them.

However, this guy had put a key word, “cancer immunology,” in his subject line, an area for which we are currently searching high and low, so I opened his document.

I had never seen one like it and it made me laugh! I printed it off and took it to our morning meeting to ask the experts in the office what they thought of his approach.  Comments around the table ranged from “What a goofball!” to “Yes, but he got OUR attention.” We spent approximately five precious minutes discussing this guy, in fact. And then we moved on with the agenda.

An hour later, after the meeting was over and we had all gone back to our offices and desks, my boss called me to tell me she had picked up the phone and called the guy. “What?! Why would you do that?”

My boss is something else, I tell you. She can be the silliest woman and have goofy fun, and then she leaves me shaking my head because she is pretty far-out in her philosophical/theological thinking, but then she is the most professional go-getter tough negotiator smooth-talking business woman that makes me sit back in awe at her skills in dealing with high-powered pharmaceutical genius companies.

But most of all, her heart is made of the softest gold. She thinks of others many times daily. She is generous in her compliments and her gift-giving. She sends texts and emails and hand-written notes of encouragement to every last person she comes into contact with, whether they are the plant waterer or the president of the most prestigious biotech company.

So today, she took it upon herself to call this scientist whom she had never met but saw his ridiculous résumé. She coached him. She spent time with him and asked him questions about his motivation behind the ridiculous. She offered her thoughts and then offered to assist him in finding a new position.

When I asked her “Why would you do that?!,” she said that it was the right thing to do. She wanted him to know that he had captured our attention, even if it wasn’t completely positive. She felt like this was an opportunity to “pay it forward” and help a decent, very intelligent scientist find his way in the world of job search.

So today, I am grateful for my wacky, goofy, amazing, heart-of-softest-gold boss.