Morning rose rouged- pink and clear with a frigid sunrise today,

restfully, blessedly,

wrapped so warmly,

hesitantly,

slapping the snooze singing joy- comes- in- the- morning hymns

waking up 38 minutes later than usual after a long day before,

and a week before that

of fevers too high

and less sleeping

and the grace of being home here with my little one

to quietly

{and not so quietly}

try to make all the tattered ends of twine meet and tie the ribbons I have left hanging into my pretty bows

~ because pretty bows are what is best, right? No matter what? Getting it all done and wrapping things up in sparkles and bows?

And I have felt tired and right- weary this two- month past,

Death came calling and breaking us open with grief spilled staining us for a good long time

Two days til Thanksgiving

raising our hands in blessed gratefulness

for all we could see through the tears of this life

and we chose joy in the pain,

because He calls us to that,

and we must choose His joy

when our flesh tells us to break,

disjointed and suffering and everything upside down and overturned,

and I have not forgotten it even yet,

when sadness slips slowly its gripping fingers around my heart and I remember him,

and I remember him

with smiling eyes and over-told stupid jokes that made

me shake my head and go-jelly with belly-holding laughing

when he picked me up and took me to lunch when life was confusing

and I was rigid

and sometimes

we just sat and watched cartoons while he told me silly stories

and made me better

And I wish I kept his voicemails.

And when he told me, the last time,

You are doing the right thing. This choice you guys made.You stay with those babies. There’s nothing like it. You don’t get it back. I’m so happy for you.

And I sobbed on my deck looking at the stars wondering about the suffering to my Lord,

Almighty

Sovereign,

and yet I asked Him,

Because He tells me I can,

and I thought it could be the last time he talked on and on and on to me about

all the good things in his life,

yes, the good.

and I listened to him, laughing

{did he know I was weeping with my smiling?}

And so it was.

The last time.

And I wish I kept his voicemails.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And November turns bleakly to December and the

Holiday-perfect-getting-it-all-right-quarrels

People-pleasing-not-Jesus-pleasing days

Adjusting-new-life-decisions

Little-sicknesses-slow-us-down-huffing-puffing

And I end up

World- weary

Tying my pretty bows all in a row, tattered at the very tips of living,

and I remember my thanks.

And I seek out the thankfulness breathing right through me,

Because I was made for Him

To please Him,

To glorify Him,

To thank Him,

even when life heaves hard,

Hard

How can I ignore it? The thanks that I must have for Him?

Give to Him?

He gave me life.

He gives me life.

Over and over and over again.

The grace that pours down on every moment I am here for Jesus-talking and Jesus-sharing,

And Jesus-shining,

When I think of Travis,

Suffering of ten years of cancer and chemo and shingles and experimental drugs and hospitals and quarantine

and three kids who lit up his twinkling eyes, despite it all,

And how I hear people

me

tied up and tied down and frozen up and bound tight by big- little things in the stuff of life

This world hands out irritations and distractions like no one’s downright business.

Throwing me off the narrow way

He with timber on His shoulders tread for me

Already.

Thank You.

breathing out thank You.

Little colds,

and not getting paid on time,

Gifts never received at Christmas,

and the Fiscal Cliff,

Rude waitresses,

and the traffic too thick,

Did you hear what she said?

and I-can’t-wait-for-summer-I-hate-this-snow

on and on and on.

And I think of Travis,

Labored breath, labored living

And searching, still, for Him, in the tiny things that make a life really lived:

To remember the taste of oreos,

To recall a walk on a Florida beach,

To feel his baby’s skin born into his cancer,

To be thankful he woke up,

forgiving the pain,

to walk one more day down the steps to kiss Laurie,

I will heave out those thanks when I am weary.

I will whisper it out weak in my weakness.

I pray I will ~ always.no.matter.what.

Thankfulness is what carries me through this shattered world and leads me straight to Him,

He who gives me strength when I rise up on a dawning, freezing,

frozen

morning

flesh-weary,

world-weary,

heart-weary,

When I cannot seem to tie another pretty bow all by myself and am tempted to let the edges lay torn and gray and ripped hanging,

When He shines perfectly, gloriously in my weakness.

He calls me to thankfulness anyway.

Anyway.

I will choose thankfulness.

God help me, I will choose thankfulness in all things.

I will praise the name of God with a song; I will magnify Him with thanksgiving.

Psalm 69:30