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

There You Have It

Apparently today was National Grammar Day. This day followed other memorable holidays that were celebrated this week, such as National Pancake Day and National Dr. Seuss Day. It was quite a week, folks.

In honor of this special day, I shall pass on to you a little grammar trick. I have a child who struggles with the usage of three notorious words: there, their and they're. To assist this child, I devised a fun memory tool. Here goes.

When the word "there" is appropriate, imagine this scenario: You see a person in need of immediate medical assistance. You gingerly approach. "Um . . er . . . um . . . er . . . you seem to be bleeding all over the place. Maybe you should go over there . . . to the ER." You may notice the subtle triple usage of "er" -- the two letters that appear in the middle of "there." We are reminded to go to the emergency room over there. If it's somewhere you can go, then the word "there" should be used.

Next we have "their." For this word we get to envision dear Old MacDonald and his farm. You know, the E-I-E-I-O fellow. Imagine that you are introducing Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald's animals to someone. "This is their goat," you say. And, because it's the MacDonalds' farm, you must include a little yodel. "E-I-E-I-O!" You continue. "This is their cow. E-I-E-I-O! And this is their pig. E-I-E-I-O!" Again, take note of the "ei" placement in the middle of the word "their" (hence the charming yodel). If it can belong to someone, the way a pig belongs to the MacDonalds, then it is their pig.

That leaves us with "they're," which is not as convoluted (or as entertaining) to explain. It looks like two words chopped and hooked together. That's because it is two words chopped and hooked together: "they are" becomes "they're."

Well, there you have it. That's how we think about words over here in the Lawson home. Emergency rooms, cows, pigs and chopping. I hope I haven't terribly confused anyone. And I really hope this post is free of grammatical errors. Either way, happy National Grammar Day.

Happy Bread Crumbs

I appreciate clever writing. Of course it's normal to find witty words in books and articles and poems. But lately I've been keying in to another fun source: food. Have you read your food lately? Take, for instance, bread crumbs. It never occurred to me to read a bread crumb label because, well, with bread crumbs you pretty much know what you're getting.

Well, one afternoon I found that my supply was depleted. So I figured I'd try and make my own. Which lead me to read my bread crumbs to determine just what made them "Italian Style." Turns out the Whole Foods bread crumb people are not lacking in the creativity department:

Bread crumbs are very useful -- just ask Hansel and Gretel. Our Italian style bread crumbs are made from scratch and are perfectly seasoned with parsley, onion and garlic to create a light, flavorful breading. A true pantry staple, you can roll almost anything in them from chicken and fish to tofu and asparagus. And you know what to do if you ever get lost.

Now, I don't see myself rolling tofu anytime soon, but this description made me smile. Who would've thought that bread crumbs could be so fun?

Fluffy

Before her head hit the pillow last night, she was very clear: "Put my present under my pillow right when I go to sleep. And not a Polly Pocket. Or a Calico Critter." Big happy smile.

She woke up. She was five . . . and a half. It took her a whole six months to get there (which, as you may recall, is a very long time when you're a kid). We're still not quite sure exactly when her half birthday should be. If there was a February 30th, that would be it. There was much debate among the family members, and we finally decided on March 2nd.

At first she didn't see it. I'm not sure how one misses a seven-foot sparkly pink feather boa next to one's pillow, but it took her a minute. And it was love at first -- er -- eventual sight.

Naturally, I assumed she'd add it to her dress-up collection. I was wrong. She promptly named it "Fluffy" and proceeded to drag it around all day like it was some sort of pet.

She insisted that Fluffy should do everything that she did, which included taking a bath. (Thankfully I caught that one in time. Fluffy took a "dry" shower while draped over the curtain rod.) Fluffy also got a bandaid for some feathery wound. (Oh -- and sorry about the feather trail we undoubtedly left during piano lessons, Mom.)



I'll probably be vacuuming up stray feathers for quite some time. But I don't really mind. I know she'll outgrow it long before I'm ready. In a flash, she'll stop naming her feathers and stomping around in cowgirl boots and carrying a rainbow umbrella and demanding peanut butter smeared rice cakes . . . . I don't even want to think about it. No, we'll just stick with our five-and-a-half years for as long as we can. Well, for about six months.

Bombarded

I can't get away from it. It's like the green Volkswagen van that our friends used to drive: once you've seen one, you suddenly start seeing them all over the place.

But it's no longer green Volkswagens that pursue me. It's grace. Moment by moment grace.

Two years ago I was first intrigued by Ann Voskamp's blog -- and now her book -- through which she explores the idea of looking for God's gift in absolutely everything we encounter, from the beauty of a delicately falling snowflake or the scent of freshly baked bread right down to the hard "gifts," like pain and suffering.



I started chronicling these gifts. I'm over 800 now. But only because my mind is still limited --  still thinking small -- and my hand simply cannot pen the grace fast enough. The gifts are everywhere. Even now, I feel the sun's light shifting on my face as I sit at my desk and type away. A bird trills from a branch just ten feet away, and my girls are giggling upstairs in their dress-up clothes. Gifts. All of them, gifts.



When my mind drifts away from seeing each moment as a gift, I'm soon reminded to look closely and try again. Recently, I couldn't get away from the reminders. God clearly had a message for me.

I opened my Spurgeon devotionals and read, "Beloved Christian reader, in matters of grace you need a daily supply. You have no store of strength . . . . It is a very sweet assurance that a daily portion is provided for you. . . . Enjoy your continual allowance." Yes -- a daily portion to enjoy. Even an hourly portion. Dare I suggest a moment by moment portion? If my 800-and-counting list is any indication, then I would answer a hearty, "Yes!"



And then again the reminder came on a Sunday morning: I am called to be faithful in the moment. Each moment, I submit in faith. And what better way to submit in faith than to praise the Giver of gifts for every blessing that has been crammed into that moment?

The service concluded with a song that left me in hallelujah tears:

What can I do but thank You,
What can I do but give my life to You
Hallelujah, hallelujah
What can I do but praise You,
Everyday make everything I do a hallelujah 

A hallelujah, hallelujah.

Again, what better way to make everything I do a hallelujah, than to praise the Giver of these moment by moment gifts?



As if that wasn't enough, a friend sent me a message in response to a recent post. She could relate to the frustration of raising a . . . spirited child. Her words echoed the message that I'd been hearing again and again over the last few days: "I'm trying very hard to not just look with hope to the future, but to also see the the daily gifts of now . . . ."

The daily gifts of now. Now. Each moment. Given as a gift, given that I may choose to accept . . . and praise.



I dare you. Stop for just a minute and take a look around. Do you see it? The gifts are everywhere. The sights -- yes, even the pile of laundry! (Father, thank you for clothing!). The sounds -- yes, even the commotion! (Father, thank you for children's voices!) The smells -- yes, even the diapers! (Father, thank you for . . . um . . . functioning babies!) All of them opportunities to accept the gift and offer praise. Before you know it, those green vans are going to bombard you from all directions. You'll never be able to get away.

"What Can I Do" by Paul Baloche