Gratitude list for today:
Category: Gratitude Lists
Dimples {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #9
Gratitude for today:
81. anticipation over seeing the Nutcracker in a few weeks
Here and Now {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #8
Happy American Thanksgiving!
71. continually learning to live in the now, instead of always thinking of another season
Thanksgiving Eve {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #7
Gratitude spilling over for these today:
61. playing ‘peek a boo” with 5 yo and “Tom” who is thawing in frig, “Gobble, gobble!” (our celebration with my side is on Saturday)
Sky-Full of Stars {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #6
Full of gratitude today for:
51. staring out my bedroom window in the dark, on our bellies, my 5 yo and I, looking at a sky-full of stars, endless and amazing
Gladsome Time {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #5
I am grateful for…
41. potato peels on counter in interesting patterns, beauty is everywhere, even in the refuse of the day
42. Psalm 141
43. Formation of Character by Charlotte Mason discussion with mom friends, we laughed and had such a “gladsome” time
Sundogs {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #4
I’m grateful for…
31. Rereading old, silly Ogden Nash poems with my younger kids, my older kids chiming in with “Isabel, Isabel,” my husband telling of how he said this poem as a child, also
Hush {Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #3
I’m thankful for…
21. baby’s eyelashes resting on his cheek while he nurses
Fresh and Crisp {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #2
Gratitude for…
11. Hanging out with my oldest, chuckles over the ridiculous Princess Diaries movies
12. my littlest hands while he’s nursing, he strokes or pats me, cooing and gulping
Happy November! {One Hundred Bits of Gratitude by Thanksgiving 2019} #1
{This is my 3rd annual blog gratitude list. I try to cultivate gratitude in my daily life by paying close attention, but this is a purposeful practice I engage in via a friend through email each year. I extended it out into my blog and I invite you to join me through your own blog, or personally, in your journal, in the comments on this post, or even just in your hearts. You can peruse my past years here if you are interested. I highly recommend this practice year round, but also find it a perfect November activity to get my heart in a proper place for the holiday season.}
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What are you thankful for today?
Saturday Song
I took to the meadows today. Cloud shadows hover over a section of far-flung woods. Clouds that are low-lying, pancake-like, stretching on to eternity. Green-gold topped with clear blue are the hues of the moment, a bit of scarlet thrown in for extra flourish. A gentle hum and a soft rustle are my background music, the distant shrillness of machinery cutting rudely in. A small getaway, pens and journals in hand, a small step for the restoration of this mother-kind.
It was a week of relationship work, of gathering together with people. The hard-heart- softening work. Charlotte Mason shares that character is the purpose of education and surely she must mean mostly the mother’s character. Encircling little cousins that visited, comforting aches and pains, you know the stuff life is made of. A birthday party, sunflower-y cake celebrating another niece. A grandpa visiting at dinner time a few nights, homemade pizza, and eking out the last few garden watermelons ripe with late summer. Homeschool friends gathering around the craft and drawing table, turning ears, lifting voices, searching the depths of Van Gogh’s “The Potato Eaters.” Chocolate chip zucchini muffins shared and lovely conversations with other mothers. Francis Bacon and Jane Austen’s Persuasion discussed and quotes swapped. The long van rides, parking next to the riot of purple morning glories, heart leaves twining around my own fleshly heart. The long minutes spent talking, listening, soothing. The loudness of it all becoming magnified by low sleep. My comfy bedside chair became a revolving door for hurts, concerns, laughs, plans, book chats, and dreams. Heavy chair.
The spent, shriveled Queen Anne’s lace nods it’s weary head next to mine. The long expanse and deep view of it all overwhelms me. The wind whips my page over, a glorious, grassy, earthy, clover-y smell dives deep into my nostrils, winging through my lungs, truly refreshing. Beyond the ridge, up and out of a valley of trees, a golden soybean (or is it wheat?) field lies as a bright beacon drawing my thirsty eyes. It reminds me of the hymn I’ve been reading with the children called “Come to Jesus” by Fredrick Faber and how I read it this week accompanied with music. There’s certainly a wideness in God’s mercy, a wideness of the sea or even these vast fields. A small spider crawls up a large weed stalk next to my chair. Oh, my soul sings.
The exhaustion, countless meals, and the schedule threatening to drown unless I stop to see. To admire the three leaves with pale mimicking triangles on the clover, the grasshoppers, and yes, again with those clouds. The beauty of another week becomes my Saturday song. Sure, there were discordant moments, a screech here, and a blast there, but I see. In the midst of reading Mark in the Holy Scriptures together at the hot oatmeal breakfast table, rolling out dough, wiping noses, giving neutralizer treatments. During the washing and drying of towels till they’re soft, fragrant, and fluffy, I see just that small bit of glory. I see a little of the “peace that just begins when ambition ends.”* I’m reminded that I’m on a journey, I don’t need to rush, worry. I can just watch the bumblebee on the goldenrod, wash a dish fresh, open a soybean and a milkweed pod with my 7 yo, walk through grass and white clover, with the dew dampening my toes, steam rising from my coffee. I get to read piles of board books to my 5 yo and 5 month old, catch the edges of fog that lies in the ditches, around corners, and under trees, walk out after late night nursing sessions to gaze at the stars. I get to read about the Knit Your Bit campaign during the World Wars to the intrigue and delight of the children, light the black taper candles as the night draws to a close, and I am always amazed at the little tune of gratitude just hovering inches away ready for me to snatch if I will just listen, if I will just see.
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*The Cloud of Witness, p. 362
The Gift of This Moment
Haunting flute music drifts through the air mixed with my lemon essential oil mist. Feasts for nose and ears. I’ve been slowly floating up and out of post-partum exhaustion and haze, resurfacing, so to speak. Not quite back in the land of the living yet, but one moment at a time, finding my way, taking deep breaths at the surface. Our summer has been a mixture of scrambling, snuggling, and sliding around in the big, red van. We’ve been bumping our way over country roads to family parties and a week at the cabin, surrounded by the memory of pine-drenched air there still fresh in my nose mind. The year has flown, new baby’s have a way of slowing time down and speeding it up at the same time. We’ve enjoyed reading poetry together, trying to finish stories and songs that fell to the wayside during my last months of pregnancy. Summer is time for long book series, my oldest especially embracing the extra reading time, but also she has been found out in the hay meadow on her horse, our new family dog trotting alongside. Ahh. Summer. A welcome friend, I’m soaking her in, recalling the Polar Vortex that swept the northern midwest just a few months ago. I saw somewhere online that there was like a 100 degree difference in some parts of the midwest when compared to the deep “winter that never seemed to be Christmas” that we went through. In hindsight, that was a lot harder for me than I thought. So, I’m determined not to complain of the slow, sultry, still days we are having now. I closed my eyes and let the sweat drip down my back, trying to soak in warmth, bone-deep. Yes, I don’t love nursing a hot, wiggling, darling in this weather, but I’m grateful for it and it’s erasing effects of that cold that is written deep in my skin. Technology has been a boon to me the past few days, as a dear heart, Elisabeth, has been voxering me about my history study plan for the autumn. Summer is off from the scheduled books, but mothering and teaching really never rest. We plan, we dream, we hope, and pray. My black hollyhocks stir slightly in the breeze, a hopeful bit for me, as I fight feelings of being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of needs. Needs for myself, of health, feeling good again in my stretched skin, sleep, and peace. Needs for my husband, encouragement and restful place to come home to, and the needs of a whole bouquet of beautiful children I’ve been given to water. We walk by faith, not by sight, and sigh, isn’t that a good thing? If I looked outwardly only, I’d faint, but I fix my gaze by faith on the One who walks along with me, in fact, carries me. Flute, water trickles, and a gentle murmur of sweet voices are surrounding me now. A gift in the moment. And I’m thankful for it.
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