I am grateful for:

• a quick weekend trip full of decisions and miles and circus and chaos and sweetness and emotion
• papers signed
• tears shed
• the joy of hearing the sound of running feet and “Ama’s here!” through the closed door
• hula hoops for Anissa and Annistan
• clean children after baths
• make-up time with Ama
• too-cool-for-school hair on a 4 year old soccer stud
• a very happy Andersyn
• bedtime stories with little ones snuggled close
• the giggles of Anjalie
• green ringpop slobber dripping down a chin
• the thrill of sitting on the sidelines for the first time, watching grandchildren play soccer
• hearing Andrae say, “yes, sir” to his Daddy
• Sam’s sensitive heart
• well-behaved children who do not fuss when bedtime is announced
• the pride of watching my daughter coach soccer, handle five on her own, sing at church, manage her photography sessions, entertain company, create costumes for the entire family, and act like she isn’t tired in the midst of it all
• a safe trip home
• a driver/companion who talks to me and lets me read to him
• Bobbi Jo’s book read out loud to Sam
• tile unloaded
• Royals on Monday night and an evening to watch the game
• being asked to play for choir again
• the way the sunrise highlighted the jet trails this morning

And I am grateful for the gift of being in my daughter’s home and having a small part in their lives again.

Today is Boss’ Day.

I am grateful for my boss. Both of them.  They always correct me when I introduce them to others as my boss, but they are. My bosses.

They are also my friends.

They are actually so many things:

• Funnier than any boss I have ever had
• Full of drama
• Always ready for laughter
• Completely inappropriate in so many ways
• Generous beyond measure
• Crazier than cray cray when it pertains to juju and vortices and dogs and wine and KU basketball and Chiefs football and wrapping presents
• The best card givers I’ve ever known
• Willing to take a chance on a former Christian school music teacher who was looking for a new start
• Great listeners
• Patio dwellers and plant masters
• Eskimos in their own home
• Gifted and professional in their ability to secure a search and see it to a successful close

Happy is the employee who can call the employer “friend.”

Thank you for taking a chance on me three years ago –

Happy Boss’s Day, Ken and Karen!

You. Are. The. Best.

I recently read that there is a difference between being thankful and gratitude.

Thankful is something you feel, but gratitude takes thankfulness to the level where the feeling must be expressed to the one responsible for what made you thankful.

If we deny God and refuse to acknowledge all He has done for us -gratitude has no expression, since all good gifts come from Him.

It is like receiving a ‘perfect’ and generous gift from an anonymous giver, that leaves us with that stuffed-up feeling of gratitude because it has no where to go!

I am grateful tonight for a very black night sky that makes headlights seem that much brighter.

I am grateful for an air mattress and extra sheets.

I am grateful for a fun night last night watching the Royals win, so that the season continues!

I am grateful that I am in a new season of life and can enjoy my daughter’s stories of raising children. It’s really easy to be on the outside and giggle at the adventures. That saying, “Not my monkeys, not my circus,” is normally true, but they ARE my monkeys, and they are SO FUNNY.

She called this morning to tell me how exasperated she was after two bandits threw Lucky Charms all over the house, eating the marshmallows of course, but leaving the cereal that crunches underfoot into tiny mounds of crumbs.

She shared that Daddy dressed him this morning, and when she went to pick the little soccer player up after school, he was wearing the exact outfit he had worn the day before.

When desperation sets in on a rush hour freeway, there’s nothing like improvising a portable toilet for the kindergartner in a Sonic cup.  Only one problem…the little soccer player had put a hole in the bottom of the cup with his straw. I’m sure my daughter was grateful for cleaning supplies when she returned home.

She shared that in one of the rings of this daily circus, the neighbors could have observed the two little bandits who love cereal marshmallows escaping out the front door to play in the freedom of the front yard when they discovered Mommy was busy. Escape artists in the making.

She lamented about the utter terror a parent feels when the kindergarten child comes home from school doing the latest dance and singing the lyrics to songs she had hoped would be foreign to her children.

She speaks in breathless exhaustion from stuffing 87 gazillion frozen items into the not-large-enough freezer to be delivered to all of the recipients of the school fundraiser tomorrow, or as she chases the little circus monkeys around at soccer practice, or as she tries to soothe the baby in her arms while marching the circus acts upstairs for nighttime.

So, again, I am grateful for this Ama season of life, so that I can just enjoy the circus. I am grateful that I get to attend the circus this weekend, and I am grateful for this quote from the great Fred Rogers, one of my “friends” when I was a little monkey.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself for the times you’ve said “yes,” when all it meant was extra work for you and was seemingly helpful only to someone else.”  

Royals, you’re gonna have to win without this Ama this weekend. She has tickets to the circus! As Jarrod said last night, CAIN’T WAIT!

It’s one of those afternoons when lots of drama is happening in lives around me.

I feel like curling up on a couch with my very own chocolate roll.

I am grateful for my Mom, who gave this nervous tic to me – the tic that says, “FEED ME. FEED ME ANY SORT OF CHOCOLATE OR POTATO CHIP YOU CAN FIND.”

I am grateful that the piano will be tuned tomorrow.

I am grateful that even the sky above is a Royals fan.

I am grateful that my Bingo friends don’t really mind the dumb prizes I bring to them.

I am grateful for $1 children’s books at Half Price Bookstore.

I am grateful for flowers in vases.

And I am grateful for facial tissue (aka Kleenex or Puffs) and the genius who invented the pop up box.

Homecoming.

My CASA girl celebrated it on Saturday night. She was SO EXCITED and was looking forward to getting ready for the dance.

I kind of remember those days. Not mine so much, but my two girls’ experiences. Homecoming was a big deal. This Mama really loved seeing both of her girls crowned Homecoming Queen.

Homecoming.

I have such fond memories of coming home, seeing the ecstatic joy on Mom’s face, hearing her squeal, “Get in here!” when she opened the door and then having our “guts squeezed out,” as my daughter so eloquently described it once.

Homecoming.

It’s a wonderful thing, when there is a good home for which to come. It isn’t such a wonderful thing when home is carpeted with emotional eggshells, when family members bicker and ignore each other, and hurtful words filter through the air and are thrown as darts aimed at the soft spots.

Sam was gone for days last week to harvest corn. Dad was visiting my brother and sister-in-law in Indiana.  It was nice for a few hours to have quiet and my own agenda, but as the sun set and night blanketed, I missed conversation and companionship. I had no interest in checking off the boxes of my to-do list. It was foreign to me, the realization that I was alone for days. For two nights, I slept in short naps, every noise waking me. But, as the week progressed, I began to understand that this was good for me. It was good for me to be alone, to learn that I was okay by myself, to realize I could handle this sudden solitude and total independence.

And then Sam returned, and I wanted to squeal, “Get in here!” when I heard the garage door open and I wanted to squeeze his guts out. Sam came home.

On Sunday, our church celebrated 25 years. It was so good to sit in the chapel and hear the message of how the vision began and where we are headed. It was so good to hear how so many people have come to call The United Methodist Church of the Resurrection “home” and work diligently to spread Jesus across this city. It was so good to feel that connection, to have a sense of pride, to know that this church is where my heart is. It was so good to write on the steel beam that will be a part of the new sanctuary, “I am home.”

Last night, Dad came home. Almost all is right with the world again.

I remember almost three years ago now, several people spoke of Mom as she began to labor in breathing like we had not seen previously, and the words they used were comforting to me: Grace is going home. Grace is preparing for her homegoing… Her heart was here, but really, her heart was THERE.

So, I am grateful that Sam is home. Dad is home. I am home. Mom is home. And all is almost right with the world once again.

I’m in the middle of this book. It’s about Bobbi Jo Reed and her story that she has chosen to share with the world. I read this morning about the time when her only option for living was under a trailer in a parking lot. Her first reaction was to be wary of seeing someone she might know from her past, but she had gotten to the point where it just didn’t matter any longer. She was who she was.

My counselor told me this week something so simple but so profound: If you are feeling slightly irritated or frustrated or angry with someone or dismissive of them, you are most likely looking at them with a little judgment and condemnation. How quickly I forget. How quickly I slink back to Pharisee frame of mind.

We are all different. None of us are the same. We grew up with unique experiences. We all have a story that has shaped us into a particular personality and with the character traits we exhibit.

Story. Each one of us has one. Before we decide on worth and credibility and impressions left, do we take the time to learn the story behind the person? Behind the behavior? Do we offer grace and a listening ear, a hand held out in order to help and hold? Do we assume we know their story because that’s what we heard from someone else? Because we stereotype “those kind?”

I remember. I remember being on both sides of that line. The side that assumed and came to a righteous conclusion without knowing firsthand. And the side where it just didn’t matter any longer. The sins of my life were for all the world to behold, real and exaggerated, and it just didn’t matter. I was who I was.

That is when God met me where I was. Broken. Alone. Seeking. And full of remorse. He used a few people who didn’t turn their back on me in disgust and righteous indignation. He used those who pointed fingers with their silence, and their hurtful words, to teach me how it felt to be on the other side. He used my parents full of grace and arms wide open. He used key people who remain in my life today to walk beside me and love me in the pain and the ugly. He used my sister to start me counting every. last. thing. He used scripture to fill my mind, hymns to bring me to a song once again, and He used my new church home to provide me with safety and security and a sense of belonging, a church that seeks the lost and the broken in spirit. And because of that, all of that, I have learned to be grateful.

This afternoon, I shared part of my story with Hong. She is a gentle soul who made me feel safe enough to share and be vulnerable enough to peel back a few chapters of my book. I am grateful for Hong and our new friendship.

I am grateful for my church, The United Methodist Church of the Resurrection, celebrating 25 years of ministry to the people of Kansas City this weekend. I am so grateful that Sam took me to his church, because, his church became MY church, my church introduced me to my counselor who has been with me for three years now, my church gave me the opportunity to play piano in ministry once again after I thought I would never again have the chance, my church provides multiple ways in which to serve the Lord in this city, my church gave me the gift of meeting with a group of feisty Bingo players every Tuesday evening, going on three years now, when I had an emotional heart pain that needed a bandaid, and my church provided an introduction to The Healing House.

Finally, I am grateful for Bobbi Jo and her very large family on St. John Avenue. I am grateful that Dad wanted to serve there last Saturday. I am grateful that Judy sent us to the Ruth house and we were able to visit with Tammy and MJ and Ken. I am grateful that in serving, WE were the blessed.

And I am grateful that in a small way, because of my story, I can say, “Me, too.”

I’m fairly certain I have the best counselor in the history of the world. She has a way of redirecting my thinking and correcting my attitude without condemning me. I know that when I walk into her office, I am in a safe place, I am speaking to a trusted confidant, and I can say anything bitter and frustrating. I can be sad and angry, I will have no answers, and she will not look at me less but will offer words of gold and suggest positive with a smile and a hug before sending me back out into the world to try again.

Many years ago, and I know I’ve mentioned this before, my brother and sister-in-law sent us their newsletter every month. One month, they included this quote from Saint Francis de Sales that I cut out and magneted on the fridge for YEARS, because I needed it as a DAILY reminder:

Complain as little as possible of your wrongs, for as a general rule you may be sure that complaining is sin; the rather that self-love always magnifies our injuries: above all, do not complain to people who are easily angered and excited. If it is needful to complain to someone, either as seeking a remedy for your injury, or in order to soothe your mind, let it be to some calm, gentle spirit, greatly filled with the Love of God; for otherwise, instead of relieving your heart, your confidants will only provoke it to still greater disturbance; instead of taking out the thorn which pricks you, they will drive it further into your foot.  – Saint Francis de Sales

My counselor is that calm, gentle spirit, greatly filled with the Love of God.

I am very grateful for my counselor.

I am grateful for wheels on the dumpster. I saw a dumpster down the street with broken wheels. THAT would be such a bummer. How privileged have we become as a society…

I am grateful for Beautifully Broken by Bobbi Jo Reed, the book that Dad insisted I open. I see why, now that I am a few chapters in.

I am grateful for sunshine at lunchtime.

I am grateful for the rare indulgence of a chocolate malt, and a very clever way to package it, with tiny cookies on the straw. Thank you, Pot Belly Sandwiches, and your very nice employee who didn’t judge me for indulging.

I am grateful for a to-do list. I’ll be more grateful to draw a line through everything on it.

I am grateful for post-season baseball and a Royals shirt to wear.

I am grateful for a tuna-free diet.

I am grateful for purple in my marriage.

And I am grateful that the Peanuts Movie is almost here – this would be the one movie for which I would stand in line at midnight in order to get tickets.

I am grateful for a microwaved egg in a cup to begin my day every morning.

I am grateful for morning routine to keep the flow.

I am grateful for clean teeth.

I am grateful that I am not in charge of the world.

I am grateful that today is Bingo day with my friends.

I am grateful that my Dad gets to take a trip today to see his son and I am grateful for his credit card with miles.

I am grateful for the beauty of wood grain.

I am grateful for the surprise we saw last night as we drove:

I am grateful that I live in this city.

And I am grateful for this silly song that calmed my fear on a ski lift gondola in Glenwood two years ago.

Sometimes I am an emotional wreck. Sometimes my wreck is justified; other times, not so much. Sometimes, outside influence causes my brain to crash into a mush of emotions and tears well up and just spill over. Sometimes, it’s the inside influence that blenders my emotions and water leaks from my eyes. And sometimes it is a good thing and sometimes it is not such a good thing.

Yesterday morning, it was a good thing.

I was already feeling the blender being plugged in before we ever left the house to go to church. Because, funny thing, the Holy Spirit works that way, pulling out the blender and setting it on the brain counter in preparation. I was anticipating a wonderful service by guest speaker, Bishop Viola Fisher, and I could sense that she would be a vessel used by God and a beautiful culmination to a busy weekend.

She was.

“I had come to see that the great tragedy in the church is not that rich Christians do not care about the poor but that rich Christians do not know the poor…I truly believe that when the rich meet the poor, riches will have no meaning. And when the rich meet the poor, we will see poverty come to an end.” – Shane Claiborne, in “The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical”

But even before she began to speak, I had tears. I had tears as we sat down in the chapel. I had tears at the first hymn. I love when I sense the power of the Holy Spirit’s presence.

So, I am grateful for the strong presence of the Holy Spirit that seems to fill a room even before words are spoken.

I am grateful for the opportunities to hear Kristin Chenoweth in concert on Friday night and to attend a dinner theater on Saturday night with friends.

I am grateful to have been reminded on Friday night at the concert of a young girl on the choir trip two years ago who sang to me on the ski lift in order to calm my fear. Jenna sang, “Taylor the Latte Boy” and took my mind off the swaying gondola chair – a memory I will always cherish.

Every time you forgive someone who hurt you, encourage someone who feels defeated, extend compassion to someone who stands alone, confront someone in love, open your heart to a friend, reconcile with an enemy, devote time to a child, you align yourself with God’s central purpose in this world. – John Ortberg

I am grateful to have been privileged to spend part of the day on Saturday working with my Dad and my husband, volunteering at The Healing House.

I am grateful to have met some very beautiful and broken people who are healing and living life on the other side now.

My neighbor is not the person who is like me, whose skin is the same color, whose bank account is roughly equal to mine. They need not be from the same culture or country. All that makes a person my neighbor, says Jesus (in the parable of the Good Samaritan), is their need of my mercy. – Michael Card

I am grateful for the opportunity to serve, because it is in these times that I am most blessed.

I am grateful for technology that allows me to save all these quotes that are “ah-HA” quotes, and then put them into my gratefuls to share with others.

I am grateful for co-workers who will participate in our food drive with us.

And I am grateful for blenderized emotions, the good ones anyway.

I am grateful today for the deep blue skies of October and the beginning of the most glorious time of the year, in my opinion.

I am grateful for the smell of classic Irish Spring soap.

Right now, I am grateful for no guns. Or maybe I am grateful for no guns in my little world. Or maybe I am grateful for an absence of knowledge of no guns in my little world. At a loss… I just know that I am grateful right now that my children and grandchildren are safe.

I am grateful for the anticipation of changing colors and naked trees.

I am grateful that my court report is written and submitted.

The tiniest dewdrop hanging from a grass blade in the morning is big enough to reflect the sunshine and the blue of the sky.

I am grateful for my Dad who puts the trash dumpster out to the curb and picks tomatoes from our mess of plants and makes sure the birds are fed and waters the grass every day.

I am grateful that although I love fall, I don’t have to eat or drink anything pumpkin-y.

I am grateful that I just don’t really care about TV shows any longer.

I am grateful for the person who thought it would be smart to combine peanut butter and chocolate.

And I am grateful for a paycheck with a bonus.