Waking to Gratitude

I forced myself out of bed this morning after sewing way too late. That's what tends to happen on birthday eves. But I knew the cinnamon rolls had to be in the oven so we could share birthday breakfast together before Jamie left for work.

I washed my face, shuffled out of the room . . . and I was greeted by gratitude. A white sheet of paper lay on the floor outside our bedroom door. My dear Aidan's scrawl proclaimed, "Thank you!!!" Folded on the inside was the succinct sweetness,

Dear Mommy,
Thank you for the pteridactal!
It's sooo cute!!
Aidan

He had found his pillow present. He was thrilled with the little stuffed dinosaur. And his first response was gratitude. Written gratitude.

As I prayed with my eight-year-old tonight, I thanked God for a son who began his day saying thank you. A son who smiled all day, a son who attacked me with hugs all day, a son who jumped for joy when I said we would do science for his birthday school work, a son who has brought us eight years of sheer delight.



Like Aidan, I can't help but write the gratitude. And this boy has reminded me of the beauty and holiness of a day that begins with thanksgiving.

From the #800s . . . .

*A fresh blanket of snow
*cancellations
*smiles first thing in the morning
*daddy on guitar
*son at the keyboard
*laundry away!
*re-organized school room
*just enough eggs
*finding the perfect gift
*son putting away the groceries
*country roads
*snow on distant hills
*Winnie-the-Pooh with Avery
*little girls in pink leotards
*tiniest buds on the trees
*the first crocuses
*an eight-year-old boy