I am grateful for a microwave so that I can have a “baked” potato in a matter of minutes.

I am grateful that I have a blue shirt to wear today.

I am grateful to have had the joy of doing dishes last night with my CASA girl.

I am grateful that she has such a loving home to be in, that she has such wonderful foster parents, and that she has three sisters to fill her life with laughter and drama and family.

I am grateful for my daughter who shares so freely how God speaks to her and teaches her new lessons every day.

I am grateful that I like to edit.

I am grateful that my husband brought me some medicine for my headache.

I am grateful for chicken tortilla soup.

I am grateful for a new picture hung.

I am grateful that the Royals play tonight. I love birds, I love Orioles, but tonight and for the next few days, they are on my hit list.

I am grateful for the simple pleasure of late night Freddy’s chocolate custard in the quiet of the pickup, sitting in the driveway, listening to the falling rain.

I am grateful for eyes that smile.

I am grateful for pretty buttons on clothes. I remember Mom’s jar of buttons and how fun it was to search through them, looking for just the right one.

I am grateful that I am self-sufficient enough to do simple car tasks – I can fill my tank, I can check my tires, I can check the oil and antifreeze/water and washer fluid, and I wash a pretty mean windshield, too. Thanks, Dad.

I am grateful for plumbers.

I am grateful for KitKat bars and peanut butter chocolate kiss cookies and chocolate cupcakes with surprise peanut butter filling and melty peanut M&Ms. Yes, I’m hungry.

And I am grateful for the anticipation of a fire in the fireplace.

May you always find three welcomes in life:
In a garden during summer,
At a fireside during winter,
And whatever the day or season,
In the kind eyes of a friend.

I did something this morning that I thought I would never, ever, in a million years do. I saved a Ziploc bag to re-use. Good honk, what is this world coming to.

I am grateful for perfectly good Ziploc bags that are just as good the second time around.

However, when I begin washing them and letting them drip-dry over the kitchen faucet, when I have re-used them so many times their zipperness is no longer zippy, when they are coated with orange spaghetti sauce film and I still insist that they are perfectly fine, it’s all over, folks. Put me out of my misery, it’s time to go home.

I am grateful for maintenance guys who took their break and had a piece of chocolate in my corner of the world today.

I am grateful for friends who make me laugh out loud. Thanks, Julie.

I am grateful for a very fragile little recipe book that I received in the mail from Aunt Patsy. It belonged to Mom and was a school days gift from Steve when he was a little guy. Thank you for sending it to me!

The life that counts blessings discovers it is yielding more than it seems. – Ann Voskamp

I am grateful for evenings at home, making dinner together in the kitchen, challenging each other to figure out the Wheel of Fortune puzzle first.

I am grateful for empty computer paper boxes with lids.

I am grateful for weather girls and reporters on local TV who drive me crazy but are so funny to watch and mimic. That’s not okay. I need to stop doing that.

I am grateful for a granddaughter who is feeling better.

I am grateful for the purr of a cat.

I am grateful that I have the opportunity to see my CASA girl again tonight, AND, I have the opportunity to play the piano at church tonight. It’s good to fill the evening with activity when there is no Billy Butler stealing bases on TV.

And I am fairly certain I have shared this before, probably last October 9, but it was so good this morning, and apparently, I needed to hear it again, so for this, I am once again grateful:

You have been on a long, uphill journey, and your energy is almost spent. Though you have faltered at times, you have not let go of My hand. I am pleased with your desire to stay close to Me. There is one thing, however, that displeases Me: your tendency to complain. You may talk to Me as much as you like about the difficulty of the path we are following. I understand better than anyone else the stresses and strains that have afflicted you. You can ventilate safely to Me, because talking with Me tempers your thoughts and helps you see things from My Perspective.

Complaining to others is another matter altogether. It opens the door to deadly sins such as self-pity and rage. Whenever you are tempted to grumble, come to Me and talk it out. As you open up to Me, I will put My thoughts in your mind and My song in your heart.

Do everything without grumbling and arguing so that you may be blameless and pure, innocent children of God surrounded by people who are crooked and corrupt. Among these people you shine like stars in the world. Philippians 2:14-15 (CEB)

– Jesus Calling, by Sarah Young

I am not a fan of this, nor am I grateful for it, either:

• Aches and pains for no reason other than age
• Being caught without toilet paper at the ready, NOT that it has happened recently – I’m just not a fan.
• Gray hair
• Weight gain
• Staying up late, not because it’s fun, but because the anxiety will not allow me to sleep
• Bitter celery
• Ebola
• A granddaughter with fever
• Dog slobber
• Going to someone’s home for dinner and really, really not liking what they are about to serve
• Feeling invisible when all I want is to be noticed
• Diarrhea
• Irrational fear
• Eating something heavenly and still being hungry when it’s gone
• Dead mouse smell

However…

I AM grateful that I am no longer in junior high, or high school, or in my 20’s. I kinda like the stage I’m in.

I AM grateful for indoor plumbing, for private bathroom stalls, and therefore, that I am a woman and don’t have to use a urinal.

I AM grateful for Michelle, because she covers the gray nicely.

I AM grateful that although weight gain is inevitable, I am the same size I’ve been for years.

I AM grateful that when I cannot sleep, my mind seems to come alive and I have the ability to write and pray and reflect.

I AM grateful that I will actually eat celery at all. Bitter is better in a pot of soup.

I AM grateful that God is God and ebola is just ebola. It’s all in the way you look at it.

I AM grateful that my granddaughter has a Mommy who is so loving and caring and is doting on her, covering her little girl with prayer and Tylenol.

I AM grateful for dogs. That’s all. There’s no turning slobber into a gift today.

I AM grateful for an invitation to have dinner in someone’s home – it’s nice to be wanted.

I AM grateful to feel invisible when the world is too much to bear and being alone is rare. I am also grateful to feel invisible when I feel particularly homely and ugly and fat.

I AM grateful that my boss loves funny cards and bought one with the above saying about diarrhea and showed it to me a little bit ago. You thought I had diarrhea today, didn’t you.

I AM grateful that I can feel fear and actually have some healthy fear. It’s okay to be cautious and alert.

I AM grateful that I have taste buds and can appreciate something heavenly-tasting.

And I AM grateful that I haven’t smelled dead mouse in a vewy, vewy long time.

I am grateful for chairs that spin.

I am grateful for the anticipation of spending Halloween with all six grandchildren and both of my daughters. Can the days drag on any slower?

I am grateful that I mostly realize when it is just hormones, and I do not need to take complete and total responsibility for my emotions.

Don’t let artificial light and city streets keep you from noticing sunsets and sunrises,
from experiencing the spring of new life and the harvest of fall. – M. Basil Pennington

I am grateful for the honking of geese this morning overhead. What a cheery, silly sound. It reminded me of when I was young and hanging around my cousins, Sheri and Debbie. Their “signature” idiom was “Good honk!” and it was the funniest expression to hear and to use. Go ahead. I dare you. It’ll make people look at you funny.

I am grateful, again, continuously, in fact, for the beauty of a flower. I’m just mesmerized by God’s gift of floral artistry. From the kitchen table this morning:

I am grateful to have been welcomed this morning at the office by a cricket who was singing at the top of his lungs down the hallway. He sure is a happy little guy. I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free (to roam in this grand, glorious office)!

I am grateful for a great email from my brother Ron this morning in my inbox. How did I get to be so lucky as to have him for a brother?

This week in my church devotions, we are focusing on the first missionary journey of Paul and Barnabas. Today, my devotion was taken from Acts 14 and the difficulty that these two missionaries constantly faced.  I love how one of our pastors, Glen Shoup, summed it all up:

…they were determined that it didn’t matter how much it cost them, it didn’t matter how insufferable the conditions, it didn’t even matter how many or few responded to their message, they were going to keep going until somebody sent them home…and clearly even when they got sent home, they were going to regroup and come back again and make another run at it…no matter what.

Why?

They had apparently been so seized by the power of God’s Call that clearly nothing, short of 6 feet under, was going to stop them.

Sometimes I feel like this effort is futile. Sometimes I feel like it is so pointless to count my blessings, to name the seemingly insignificant gifts and things for which to be grateful.  But even in that powerful message this morning, I was reminded that if for none other than God Himself, I am to name every last thing in my life that is a gift, a blessing, a reason to say thank you. It doesn’t matter if I feel like it or not. It doesn’t matter if no one else shares in this endeavor with me. I will be grateful until He calls me home. And then, I will be ever more grateful while standing next to Mom, and Aunt Arlene and Uncle Tommy, and Ruth, and Uncle Cecil, and Grandmommy and Granddaddy, and Grandpa and Grandma, and Olin, and Vicky, and Uncle Fred, and Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Naomi, and Judy, and June, and Harold, and Elwood and Norma, and on and on and on…

We must rejoice before it comes. – Karissa, my daughter

I am grateful for pancakes made by Sam for dinner last night – it was so nice to just watch him make our dinner while we visited. And he makes great honey pancakes.

I am grateful for episodes of Green Acres. I loved Fred and Doris Ziffel and their “son” Arnold. And I loved Hank Kimball. And Mrs. Douglas’ boas that flowed as she walked. Sam’s pancakes were no Lisa Douglas pancakes, that’s for sure.

And finally, I am grateful that tonight is Bingo night, and I will once again be privileged enough to spend an hour with my friends.

I am grateful for the intricacy and beauty of veins in leaves.

I am grateful for the way those leaves float so peacefully to the earth as they let go.

I am grateful that every leaf is different and unique.

I am grateful for the beauty of autumn color.

I am grateful for the vibrancy of deep pink roses that take my breath away when I walk into the kitchen on a Saturday morning when not feeling well.

I am grateful for the sensations of a cool autumn day, for the sound of walnuts raked, for the feel of moist clay dirt, for the smell of a grill down the street causing noses to deep breathe, for the taste of steaming chili and saltines slathered with butter, for the thrill of victory as the world erupts in cheers.

I don’t like not being able to have the answers to the questions posed toward me. I don’t like not knowing a definitive. I wish I could respond to the questions with black and white answers.  Someone is seeking and struggling with theological questions that I cannot answer, seeking answers to questions that are not in my realm of concern at this stage of my life, my journey. I wish I could help figure it all out. But it is not my journey, not my quest.

I am grateful for unanswered questions that force me to rely on faith, force me to rely on the fact that I am in the palm of His hands and that’s all I need to know.

So with that, I am grateful for this blog post by Ann Voskamp today. I love her pictures that she tells. I love the fact that just when I seem to need something to hang onto, God places her gentle wisdom into my inbox.  I am grateful for her gentle, hope-giving way.

How to Keep Hoping When You Want to Give Up

The earth’s cold under the finger nails.

I dig holes with a wedge of steel and around fringes of the domed sky, the clouds scud gray.

Dad had called first thing in the morning: if I had anything to do outside, today looked like the last day. Might be the last warm day to dig in bulbs, before autumn begins her blustery, muddy wrestle.

I’d nodded. Yes, Dad. Bulbs, today, will do. And last clean up of the flowerbeds. Thank you for calling, thinking of me, Dad.

I’d hardly hung up the receiver before it rang again, a friend, whose first words spoke of weather too: brooding storm bearing down.

“What do I do when I just don’t know how to go on?” Her voice cracks, flash of pain forking across skies.

I listen to expectations struck, her hopes snapped off in gale.

“Just a day to be sad, I guess,” she finishes, beaten.

“Today, I’m not up to trying to fix or solve any of it. Just grieving today.” And then the quiet rain of tears. Together, we let the lament come.

Then I gather bulbs. Pull out the spade, and go dig holes, because I’m just dirt with no answers, only prayers.

“Why do we have to dig so deep?” One of boy’s face reddens in the excavating. The Littlest Girl digs her own hole alongside mine.

“Well —  some things are meant to really be laid down.”

“I’m going to drop mine in now.” The boy’s holding his bulb poised, looking my way for assurance.

“No!” Little One wails. “Don’t put the flower so far down in the dark!” She tries to wrest the bulb from his hand. I scoop her angst all up close.

“But it has to go down in,” I brush the hair out of her eyes, kiss tip of that pug nose. Because sometimes, Child —  hope’s waiting is dark.

She turns her face up towards mine and our cheeks brush.

“Will we have to dig them up to get the flowers after the snow?” I squeeze her tight.

“No, Girl. When He’s ready — all that beauty will come up through the black earth as if by themselves.”

We kneel down, drop a bulb into opening earth, then wait “for the forces above and below and beyond our control to work upon” all these things. The boy pats the earth down and over and the Girl, she watches.

We bury hope in a tomb of its own.

Like the faith diggers do every day. We bury our swollen prayers in Him who’s raised from the tomb.

We lay our hope, full and tender, into the depths of Him and wait in hope for God to resurrect something good.

Good always necessitates long waiting.

Every tulip only blossoms after cold months of winter wait. Every human ever unfurled into existence through nine long months of the womb waiting. And the only kingdom that will last for eternity still waits, this millennia-long, unwavering-hope for return of its King. Instead of chafing, we accept that waiting is a strand in the DNA of the Body of Christ.

That. 

The boy digs another hole and I drop a bulb, life warm, into depths as dark as my friend’s sadness today.

Every person needs hope planted at the bottom of their hole.

Because that is the thing:

Hope is what holds a breaking heart together. 

Hope is a thing with keys…..

Maybe I could plant a bit of hope in my friend’s ache?

I smile all the drive over to my friend’s. Knock on the front door. Read her confusion when she opens her front door, finds me standing there.

“Gotta little spade I can borrow?” I grin, hold out a hand full of bulbs.

“I just wanted to tuck some hope into that hole today. He’ll resurrect good things out of this too– hold on…. ‘Blessed are all who wait.’”

Her chin trembles and she nods.

“They’ll be pink. Tall.” I show her hope with my hands.

“In the corner of the front flower bed? So I can see them from the window.” She manages a smile.

I grab her hand, squeeze tight.

And we live in wait —

because there’s an old and steadying wisdom cupped in the curve of just those two words, ‘Hope and Wait.”

I am grateful that Billy Butler ate his Wheaties this morning!!

I am grateful for blue shirts and fanny packs to show the world that it’s a great day to be a Royals FANny pack wearer!!

I am grateful for a TV to watch the game since we don’t have tickets tonight!

I am grateful for the electric excitement in the Kansas City air. This is so much fun, and I wish Mom were here to enjoy it with all of us!! Sam said she IS enjoying it. She’s cheering from heaven!

I am grateful that Dad is just a phone call away! End of the first inning, and I’ve already talked to him twice!!

I am grateful for highly skilled advertising geniuses who allow us to enjoy FUNNY commercials rather than ANNOYING ones. Bring on the Sonic guys with their WHAT DID SHE SAY hilarity, and put out some more Rob Lowe funnies, please.

And I am grateful for a random laugh at church this morning when the hymn we sang was “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” and our pastor thought it was chosen especially for today.”…let angels prostrate fall. Bring forth the ROYAL diadem…!”

I am grateful for chocolate chip cookie dough in a mixing bowl.

I am grateful for a brilliant blue sky in October.

I am grateful for baseball players who know to keep their mouths closed when chewing gum, who respect their fans enough to not spit in public, and who know how to shave and do so. Basically, I am grateful for fantasy baseball players.

I am grateful for the Cinderella team from my city, even though they chew obscenely, spit obscenely, and grow hair on their faces.

I am grateful for the smell of fresh balsam. Mmmmmmmm.

I am grateful for a Friday evening at home, with cookies in the oven, baseball on TV, a chill in the air, and nothing to do but relax. Well, I have lots to do, but those things will wait. Life is too short to hurry and stress.

I am grateful for an email from my daughter yesterday:

Wow.  Chpt 19 in Battlefield of the Mind was amazing.  Such a good reminder that every single interaction with everyone is always our opportunity to turn someone towards Christ or away from Christ. We live in a “customer is always right mentality” world, and when we feel wronged by a restaurant,  store, person, etc., it is important to remember we might be the only light that person ever sees. Instead of demanding a manager or reacting in anger or getting what you might feel you deserve, we should respond in agape love, putting their feelings first and seeing the best in everyone and every situation.  This might be our hardest calling, but Jesus walked on the earth to show us how it’s done. He was crucified and tortured greater than any human ever will be and still never showed one ounce of anger or bitterness or anxiety or revenge, but patiently suffered for us.  What an amazing example He is.  Next time someone gets your order wrong or speaks rudely to you, remember how much Jesus went through on the cross and what kind of example He is.  If He can suffer through that with a good attitude, how much more we can do!   Wow, I’m so convicted but so excited to let my extreme difference from the world shine.

Philippians 2:14-15 NLT

Do everything without complaining and arguing, so that no one can criticize you. Live clean, innocent lives as children of God, shining like bright lights in a world full of crooked and perverse people.

I am grateful for fleece jackets, thick socks, and blue jeans.

I am grateful for the refreshing smell of a chilly October afternoon.

I am grateful for a kitchen timer so that I don’t have to constantly check the oven.

I am grateful for two daughters who are so passionate about raising children well, who are so passionate about making a difference in this world.

And finally, I am grateful for blankets, fireplaces, heated seats, a working furnace, and weather stripping for the windows.

I am grateful for the beautiful sound this morning as I sat in my car at a stoplight. I was under an enormous cloud of rain that decided to spill over onto my roof, and it was HEAVENLY.

It was like sitting on the curb on a hot summer morning, waiting for the band to come marching down the street.  The music started out quietly, and I strained to hear more. And then, the little drops introduced me to bigger drops that made glorious music. As the car began to move, the pitter-patter  increased in speed and developed a higher timbre, and then the wipers joined in, sounding like a tuba playing a steady “OOOM-pah, OOOm-pah, OOOM-pah” as the big bass drum thunder occasionally added a boom to the wet symphony. I parked in the parking lot and sat in silence, enjoying the concert. I am grateful that God gives this gift of a thunderstorm, and I am grateful that I am in a place to fully appreciate its magnificence.

I am grateful for a roll of stamps and extra envelopes, so that I could finish my family reunion mailing.

I am grateful for people in my life who have chosen to go on and not dwell on my past. I am also grateful for the friends and family in my life who were distant but have reconnected and have decided that I am worth getting to know again.

I am grateful for the way that God brings people to mind – I’m still praying for “our pastors” in Minnesota and Kentucky and North Carolina, and I love how their names randomly appear in the first folder of my mental filing cabinet.

I am grateful for McDonalds Monopoly stamps that are instant winners.

I am grateful for people with southern accents, Boston accents, and Australian accents. They make me smile.

I am grateful for people who enjoy the rain and dance in it.

I am grateful for the brightest crayons in the box.

I am grateful that after my CASA visit, tonight will be a night to sit on the couch on watch some baseball. Go Royals! Be Royal.

Have you noticed what has happened in our culture the past few years? And yes, I am just as guilty of this. People have quit saying, “Hi!” and have replaced it with “Hey.”

I would like “Hi!” to come back. I would like for “Hey” to go back to the barn.

So, I am grateful for the handful of people who still say, “Hi!” May your numbers increase, beginning with…mwah.

Who’s gonna win, gonna win, gonna win?
We’re gonna win, gonna win, gonna win!!

Oh. My. Goodness.

I used to think watching baseball was about as exciting as watching C-Span.  I used to think that watching the Royals was nothing more than a royal pain in the butt and a huge waste of perfectly good reality TV time. But over the past two years, (unfortunately after my Mom is now in Heaven and can’t witness history-in-the-making and her youngest enjoy the team like she did) this former MLB-eye-roller has become a loyal Royal fan. I’m gonna have to break the bank one of these days and go get us some Royals blue like Mom had…

Llama, llama, I miss my Mama.

I am grateful for a granddaughter who is so brave and conquered the wall last night! She’s only FOUR YEARS OLD. This Ama is so proud:

I am grateful that wasps are not like flies and generally stay outside.

I am grateful for Lindor Truffles.

I am grateful for the pure pleasure of sniffing fresh coffee from the jar/can/plastic container/K-cup.

I am grateful for the smells of:

• a steak on the grill
• a fire ready for a hot dog
• that same hot dog beading hot and juicy with burnt spots
• popcorn in a movie theater
• alfalfa in the mill
• the tire department at Sam’s Club
• a turkey baking in the oven
• sautéed onions and green peppers

I’m a hungry, hungry hippo, can ya tell.

I am grateful for Children’s Church songs that for some reason keep playing in my head today.

Behold, behold, I stand at the door and knock, knock, knock…
We are climbing Jacob’s ladder…
Climb, climb up sunshine mountain, heavenly breezes blow…
Satan is a sly, old fox, if I could catch him I’d put him in a box…
He’s able, He’s able, I know He’s able, I know my Lord is able to carry me through…

I am grateful for flannel board stories with Violet Emery. Winkie the Bear was my favorite. Oh, I wish I still had access to him. My grandchildren would love Winkie.

Sam and I are trying to start a new small group. We need friends. We need friends who are like us, friends who go to our church, friends who are in a similar stage of life. We have had dinner with a couple who is interested, as well. We shared with them our favorite book, “Love Does,” by Bob Goff, and told the story of Bob’s children writing letters to all of the world leaders, inviting them over for dinner.  This theme keeps showing up these days, and I am beginning to believe it is not a coincidence. From our dinner at Tortilla Ranch with this couple, to the message on Sunday, and now, in my current read, “Speak” by Nish Weiseth:

We spent the next hour or two around the table over glasses of wine, discussing women in ministry. We all had differing opinions – some of us more passionate than others, to be sure. We pushed and pulled, we poked and prodded, but at the end of the night we all looked at each other and said, “We really need to hang out more.” It was a beautiful sign of graceful disagreement.

I think the world needs a little bit more of this – good discussion over shared meals. There’s something to be said for looking a person in the eye when you’re talking about sensitive issues. Unlike the anonymity of the Internet, when you share a table with someone, it’s impossible to forget you’re speaking to an actual human with real feelings. You’re forced to treat others as though they’re the real people they are. I think the world could do with a lot less Internet and a lot more shared meals.

I am grateful for this conviction to DO something in order to start a small group among church members who are not associated with one already.

I am grateful for this “table” message in my head and heart that will not go away.

And I am grateful for friends who feel the same way.

I have been thinking about the message from Sunday. About bringing back the table. About how the table has been a huge part of my life. About how the table really was a focal point at home growing up. About how I am responsible for letting it get covered up with mail and a centerpiece and stuff when I was raising the girls. About how I let it become a shelf for things I wasn’t sure where to put or things I didn’t bother to put. About how I wish I could have a do-over and re-train myself and my girls and insist on making the table a big deal in the life of our family.

Growing up, we never ate meals away from the table. Unless it was a rare picnic or a neighborhood weeny roast, all meals were shared as a family, at the table. It was where “The Daily Bread” was read each morning. It was where Mom or Dad began the day and ended the day in prayer. It was where we discussed the days’ events. There were no cell phones to invade space and distract. There wasn’t a TV in the kitchen to steal our attention.

• High chairs were a part of the setting when babies were hungry
• Hands were occasionally held when guests were asked to lead prayer and prompted this gesture
• Scraps were quietly dropped onto the floor for Fifi or Tuffy or Sneakers or Squatsy (don’t judge – they were beloved pets with silly names, and I don’t claim responsibility of any of the naming)
• Tears were shed when plates were not cleaned up and we were made to sit until we decided to finish our dinner
• Cereal boxes were read, top to bottom
• Lectures were given
• Ideas were shared
• Crafts were made
• Homework was completed and books and papers were strewn about
• Fabric was cut out according to patterns laid out smooth
• Games were played with much laughter, or much concentration
• The tradition of the autographed tablecloth began
• Playdough and fingerpaints were allowed to be messy
• Mom’s china was displayed for her invited guests on special occasions
• Card tables were added to the ends along with any and every chair available when company arrived for the meal, because we all sat together, even if it meant having a table leg in between your knees, or sitting at the empty space/crack between tables right at your place setting

We were taught how to set a table. We were taught how to actually have conversation with others. We were taught to answer in sentences longer than one word. We were taught to pray and value this time together as a family. We were expected to help clean up afterwards. And when Daddy had to work late, occasionally I was allowed to stay up late and sit at the table with him while we both ate macaroni and cheese in the quiet of the evening.

I am grateful for these memories, although I am also sad that they are just memories.

I am grateful for pretty little salt and pepper shakers that sat in the middle of the table.

I’m not so grateful for leftovers.

I am grateful for a napkin holder that sat on the table that also held the little devotional and a tiny ceramic container of toothpicks.

I am grateful for relish plates, for cheese trays, for bread baskets, for deviled egg plates, for cake stands, for divided dishes so that the black olives didn’t touch the green olives.

I am grateful for plastic placemats and pastel Tupperware cups and melamine plates and mismatched silverware and serving straight from the pots and pans.

I am grateful for tablecloths that Mom insisted on having for each table when guests were coming to join us for a meal. It was her way of making the table pretty and special.

I am grateful for late nights around the table playing Monopoly or Rook or Risk or Yahtzee or Dominoes.

I am grateful for more recent times around the table – when I was at my lowest point and sat at the table with my parents, spilling my anguish and pain while receiving their love, attention and support.

I am grateful for tears shed, for the giggles and laughter, for prayers prayed, for deep discussion, all around the table.

And finally, I am grateful that of all of the hours spent at the table with Mom and Dad, and my brothers and sister, the world’s problems were not solved, but we became closer as a family, we learned to speak and we learned to listen, and we (mostly) learned to love and respect each other and the various opinions and passions that made us unique and similar.