I am grateful for the beauty of cottonwood tree fluff that floats through a sunbeam.

I am grateful for memories of end of the day television programming sign off indicated by the Star Spangled Banner and that furling flag.

I am grateful for a good doctor appointment today for Karissa.

I am grateful again for this quote from G.K. Chesterton:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead.

For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.

It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon.

It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them.

It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

I am grateful for moist and flavorful chicken tenders from Culvers, and if I have enough change in the car, two of them will be my dinner tonight after choir.

I am grateful that the Royals win more than they lose.

I am grateful for the one bottle of men’s cologne that I spray on myself most mornings just because I like the smell and I don’t care that I smell like men’s cologne. Thank you, Angela and Rachel, for giving that bottle to Sam two years ago so that I could enjoy it.

I am grateful for Julie today. Your email made me cry and made me realize I am not alone.

And I am grateful for internal hearing memories, so that I can replay in my mind Parker quietly saying with a sweet grin, “Again? Again? Again, Ama! Again!”

sim·ple·ton – a foolish or gullible person.

sim·ple·ton, redefined – unadorned and invisible, but valuable and loved by One.

I am grateful for the beauty of the simpleton. It’s what I named him. Simpleton. He’s my sparrow friend who teases me almost every morning with a visit just inside the open garage. A little hop, hop, hop to check things out, his cute little head turning to keep an eye on me as I peek at him.  I watch this little guy that might be a little girl but how would I ever know, and I am immediately drawn to him because of his simplicity. He isn’t crimson red attractive or head turning blue.  He wears brown just fine.  He is the nobody, the one no one notices.  He makes noise. He sings his song. He goes about his business exactly like the prettier birds. And he sometimes makes his nest where he is uninvited.  More often than not, he is dismissed and rejected.

I’m wearing brown today. I can relate in many areas of my life. There are some days when I feel very invisible, very blah, very annoying to everyone around me. There are days when I wish I could be red or purple or royal blue. I’m just a brown simpleton. But, several times in the Bible, God speaks of the “sparrow” and assures us that His care knows no prejudice.

In 1904, a songwriter, Mrs. Civilla Martin, went to visit a bedridden friend in Elmira, New York. Mrs. Martin asked the woman if she ever got discouraged because of her physical condition. Her friend quickly responded: “Mrs. Martin, how can I be discouraged when my heavenly Father watches over each little sparrow and I know He loves and cares for me?”

On her journey back home, Mrs. Martin completed the writing of her new text, which has since been a source of much encouragement to many of God’s people:

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come, why should my heart be lonely and long for Heaven and home, when Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He: His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me…

“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear, and resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears; though by the path He leadeth but one step I may see: His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me…

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise, when songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies, I draw the closer to Him; from care He sets me free; His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me…

I am grateful for the color brown, and I am grateful for my friend, Simpleton, who reminded me, because my simpleton-ness sometimes forgets, that I am loved today.

I am grateful for the promise of a new day. Forget yesterday and the day before. Focus on today. A co-worker told me yesterday that her daughter deserves to have a Mom who lives in the present, not the past. I like that. I want to be a person who lives in the present, not the past.

I am grateful for growing tomato plants.

I am grateful for those sparrows again. They make me smile.

I am grateful for a clean kitchen floor.

I am grateful for soft almost melted chocolate chips.

I am grateful for happy hosta plants.

I am grateful for shopping carts, especially the ones that have a child in the seat and a child in the bin.

I am grateful for books that I don’t want to put down. If I could spend an entire day at home by myself, I would read. I love that world of peeking in on a different story than my own, of learning another perspective.

I am grateful for the smell of fresh cut lawn.

I am grateful for the simplicity of a Bingo game, for gold dollar coins, for $2 bills, for grumpy friends who wear Royals t-shirts and smell of 5:00 dinner, and for ladies who dress with their pretty earrings and necklaces to step out of their apartments in order to play Bingo with Rhonda on Tuesday evenings.

And I am grateful for a pleasant song playing on my internal jukebox. Hopefully, it will still be playing and I will still be singing when the evening comes.

1. I am grateful for bedtime stories with three eager listeners followed by sweet prayers and goodnight kisses.

2. I am grateful for the sound of a breeze blowing through the trees in the silent of the night.

3. I am grateful to have been wide awake enough to watch the ending of the rain-delayed Royals game, especially since they won.

4. I am grateful to have been asked over and over again to “sing us a song.”

5. I am grateful for the memory of eating Spaghettios, a very rare treat.

6. I am grateful today for the sting and the bite of painful consequences. I read this morning, “Hurt people hurt people. Loved people love people.” It is true. I’ve lived both. I live both. So it is in the sting and the bite that I hold onto this:

I sat in the back of the van, Anissa in a carseat on one side, Andrae in a carseat on the other side. We were on our way to have dinner at the Stockyards after a day of becoming reacquainted. The two oldest are in constant competition, vying for attention and fairness.  “Ama, I wanna tell you a secret,” Anissa whispered in my ear.

“You are the best Ama in the who-o-ole world!”

My heart danced.

“Ama, I wanna tell you a secret, too!” Andrae couldn’t be outdone.

“Thank you for my new toys. I love you.”

My heart was twirling on the ballroom floor.

7. I am grateful for child secrets whispered, even if they are one-ups. They are band-aids for my heart today.

Rain cannot dampen a grateful heart.

I am grateful to have stood at the door on Friday morning and see Annistan’s look of surprise when we rang the doorbell. She and Andrae came running, and she immediately wanted me to hold her, while Andrae ran to Sam with the biggest grin and laughs.

I am grateful for the opportunity to take three grandchildren on a walk on Friday morning to go to Anissa’s school and pick her up after school was out.

I am grateful for the privilege of seeing the look on her face when her teacher said her name and she turned to see us standing there waiting for her.

I am grateful for the enormous hug that she gave me when she jumped into my arms.

I am grateful for littlest clown Anjalie who makes everyone happy with her cheesy grins and infectious giggling.

I am grateful for time to take the kids to breakfast on Saturday morning and then roam the aisles of Walmart looking for new shoes.

I am grateful for my daughter who handles four little ones like it’s no big deal. It IS a big deal, and she makes her mom so proud.

I am grateful to have been invited to spend Mothers Day weekend with my daughter and her family.

I am grateful to have heard the gentle sound of rain and the music of thunder as I waited in the night for morning to arrive, knowing the new day would begin with two little girls sneaking into the room to see if we were awake.

I am grateful for dancing Sam because he makes my grandchildren giggle in the middle of a store.

I am grateful for the fun of seeing the Fort Worth Stockyards, reading each Walk of Fame plaque to Anissa and Andrae, going to Roanoke and enjoying the evening with the family, eating ice cream after dinner and walking outside to see a beautiful rainbow with the kids, watching the sun say “goodnight” with Anissa, and then hanging out while Daddy played balloon with the kids in an open field.

I am grateful that this family spends their Sundays in church and grateful that we were able to worship with them today.

And I am grateful that even though Mom is not here with us any longer, she sees her first grandchild as a young Mom now, soon to have five of her own just like her Grandma had…and I am sure she is beaming with pride.

Happy Mothers Day, Mom. Thank you, Lord, for a weekend of blessing showers.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=IrDwO0TQWjM

Clearly, THE (as in, THEE) best ice cream flavor in the history of the world. And for it, I am grateful.

As well as:

• crisp apple slices
• birds who do not use my hood as their bathroom break
• Dad who fills the bird feeder and gets the mail every day
• toys in the trunk
• peony buds
• downpours without the flash flooding
• the ultimate club from Goodcents during a visit with my beautiful CASA girl
• ironing done
• cool mornings for walking
• a husband who loads the dishwasher and then starts it when I forget
• sparrows
• windshield wipers that don’t squeak
• Mom’s lap to sleep on during church
• shoes that fit and don’t hurt my feet
• long weekends that involve another state, giggling children, a hug from Karissa, sleeping on an air mattress, early morning alarms that involve little people, and
• a ROAD TRIP WITH SAM, starting in about two hours!

One of my all time favorite books is “Are You My Mother?” by P.D. Eastman. I LOVE this book. It makes me happy. You should read it this weekend…

I think of the upcoming “holiday” and all of the strings attached to it. The obligations to send a card, to order flowers, to plan the day for Mom, to make the phone call… I remember the many years that Dad bought Mom a corsage to wear on Mother’s Day Sunday and seeing the pretty flower sitting in its package on the refrigerator shelf the night before, and the many years that elementary art projects were brought home special for Mom, and the mimeographed recipes from a class project that was a secret and surprise. I remember the years that my Mom acted so amazed and surprised at the silly little ways to honor her on Mother’s Day, and how she was always so careful to honor her Mom and mother-in-law. I remember a year when my girls made breakfast for me before church. I remember a year when I received a St. George cookbook with my daughter’s picture inside the front cover. I remember the years of handmade cards from one or both of my girls, saved almost forever in a box.

I also think of the heartache of the day. It isn’t such a beautiful thing sometimes.

Especially for the Moms who are far away from their loves, the heartbeats of their soul, their children.

Especially for the Moms who have experienced the unfathomable loss of a child.

Especially for the Moms who face difficulties with their children who are loved so much but are so unlovable.

Especially for the Moms who want to be Moms but have not been able to conceive…yet.

Especially for the Moms who are estranged from their children because of broken relationships.

Especially for the Moms who are wonderful Moms but receive no acknowledgment and are not given the honor they so deserve.

Especially for the Moms who face the day all alone, trying to forget what day it really is.

So, I am grateful that this year, I will once again spend my Mother’s Day with one of my girls and her family and grateful that I will have the privilege of being a Mom and Ama on Mother’s Day.

I am grateful today for my brother and sister-in-law’s church newsletter. As I read it, I was reminded of Mother Daughter Teas in my history. I reminisce about the minor dread I felt every May when the Ladies Missionary Society would plan this social gathering, and Mom would call or send an invitation for the girls and I to attend with her. Early on, the dread was because of the heartless attitude of her daughter, not wanting to give up an evening to sit with a small group of older women and wear a fake smile. How completely selfish of me…

Later, the dread was because of the invitation to present the “special program” when Mom was in charge and wanted to show her granddaughters off. How completely selfish of me…

And then…the time came, as we grew older, when the dread took over because we lived four hours away and Mom would be one of the women who did not have a daughter or granddaughter sitting next to her for the special occasion.

Can I have do-overs, please?

I would like to go back and re-live each Mother Daughter Tea and savor every last second of sitting next to my Mom, seeing her beam when she saw us walk into the fellowship hall, feeling her hand on my leg when I sat down next to her as she whispered in my ear, “I AM SO GLAD YOU MADE IT!!”

Those special Sunday afternoons or Thursday evenings were so important to her, and I was so preoccupied with myself…

I now love that she put such effort into planning and preparation in order to make it an enjoyable and memorable occasion. She worked so hard on little favors for the guests or writing a poem to read or making desserts for the table. She would plan 2-3 months in advance when she was in charge of the “program,” lining up the entertainment that would be suitable for all ages. She was a faithful servant, and for her example, I am grateful.

For the few Mother Daughter Teas at the Friends Church I was able to attend, I am grateful.

For the memories of my girls sharing their talents while their Grandma looked on with pride, I am grateful.

For the unconditional love my Mom had for her very selfish daughter, I am grateful.

And for her motherly and grandmotherly example to follow, I am grateful.

I am grateful for:

• A muggy May Day to work inside in dry air conditioning
• Pink in the morning sky
• Blue jays, robins, cardinals and a bird bath with clean water in it
• Our small group friends
• A daughter who calls me when she has a few moments to spare, just because
• Pancakes for lunch
• Walking to chips and salsa
• Emma’s hug
• The warm of a car after cold of an air conditioned office
• The opportunity to hear Lance’s music again
• Coloring books and new colors
• Spacious parking spaces, larger bathroom stalls, wide shoulders on the road, and lots of counter space
• Bakeries full of fresh baked bread
• Memories of feeding the ducks with Mom and the girls, her bags of old bread saved for such special occasions

• Counseling day
• An unplanned Sunday afternoon nap
• Abbie’s unique
• A really good PotBelly sandwich on a patio with Sam
• Romans 8
• A request that I bring monster cookies and chocolate scotcheroos and puppy chow this weekend – makes me feel like a Mom again
• People who use dryer sheets and fabric softener and decide to dry their clothes while we take our walk – the smell in the air is a beautiful thing to my nose
• The privilege of attending three services yesterday and volunteering during the fourth
• A car that runs smoothly and a husband who cares for it
• Plastic over the newspaper on a drippy day
• Sunday night popcorn

Little acts of kindness which we render to each other in everyday life
are like flowers by the wayside to the traveler:
they serve to gladden the heart
and relieve the tedium of life’s journey.
– Eunice Bathrick

I feel like that tulip bulb – resting in the dark, waiting for the day when it’s time to break free.

But, some days, I also feel like the tulips in the flower bed just outside our front door this year. They burst through the moist soil and loose mulch, full of promises of early spring color…only to be disappointments, every last one of them. Duds.

They were planted with care. They were given moisture and what I thought was enough sun. They were loved and given lots of gazing attention.

And they were still disappointing duds. Lots of lessons in that picture…here’s the lesson for me today.

Maybe it is this season of no words that is producing no flower, no bloom. Reading in Luke today, I was reminded that fruit doesn’t determine the tree, but the tree determines the fruit. My daily actions don’t determine my heart’s condition or my life’s direction, but my heart and life condition determines my daily actions.

“A good tree doesn’t produce bad fruit, nor does a bad tree produce good fruit. Each tree is known by its own fruit. People don’t gather figs from thorny plants, nor do they pick grapes from prickly bushes. A good person produces good from the good treasury of the inner self, while an evil person produces evil from the evil treasury of the inner self. The inner self overflows with words that are spoken.” – Luke 6:43-45

Funny thing. Jesus hit it home when he said “the inner self [heart] overflows with words that are spoken.” So maybe, just maybe, right now as I am resting in the dirt, surrounded with protection from that which could harm me, as a tulip bulb lies dormant and protected from the squirrels and other creatures that seek to uncover it, maybe I should be grateful that my heart is protected, that deep down in the dormancy, I am still grateful and counting every. last. thing.

I need to remind myself that the words I speak are never meaningless. I’ve heard this a few times over the last week when someone on the news shared, “I didn’t mean to say that.” “I misspoke.” My deeds, my thoughts, my attitudes are part of my daily actions – my fruit – but the words I speak and write often reveal my fruit, my character, as well.

And, I need to remember that the words I leave unspoken also convey a message…loud and clear.

So, as I wait in the quiet, I will be grateful for the protection of silence and for the opportunities that are every day to offer a little kindness to a traveler needing a little peek of flower in order to relieve the tedium of a mundane journey.  I can choose to be a disappointment, or I can choose to poke through and begin to bloom, right where I am.