a snapshot of thanks

I'm not much for words this morning. I'm not sure if it's that I'm completely overwhelmed with thankfulness or that I stayed out until midnightish on a work night (when did I become 100?). I literally just let the doorbell of our office ring 6 times without moving. Our poor volunteer stood in the cold until someone came from the back and said "why is no one answering the door?!" Oops. I'm slow at the whole being alert thing today.

In lieu of loaded words that would fail miserably to justify my gratitude, please enjoy this little picture book of thanks. Excuse the funky sizing and layout issues. I'm perfectly pathetic when it comes to anything technical.

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Thankful for friends, old and new. The ones who know the worst of me but still believe the best.

 

 

 

 Thankful for encouraging,  life-giving words that come in all forms at always the right time.

 

Thankful for friends that don't use any words and that get my weird sense of humor.

Thankful for my church. And the people I get to serve and lead and lead with.

 

 

I'm thankful that those people ^ have great character and are the same people on stage as they are off. That they serve people behind closed doors- without need for recognition.

I'm thankful for my cute little house that keeps me warm and safe and has space to enjoy the company of friends.

I'm thankful for my mom. I won't write more because I'll cry. Nobody warned me  that at 27 you turn into a total sap. I say 'mom' and my eyes well up. I adore her.

I'm thankful for friends who live in fun places and let me crash on their couch when I want to get away.

I'm thankful for my puppy dog who nestles into my chest when it's cold and who kisses me even when I've gone 2 days without showering.

I'm thankful for my brother. I'm thankful that he is an overcomer. That he will make up songs with me about kitchen spatulas and sing it over and over with full gusto just to get on mom's nerves.  I'm thankful that he found someone he loves and wants to share a life with... and that she is beautiful on the inside and out.

I'm even more thankful for him for giving me the best birthday present in the history of the world. I've never known a joy like you, Collins, and I'm really the luckiest Auntie in the world.

 

 

I'm thankful for my family. For my dad. And my granddad and my sweet grandmother. I'm thankful for my aunts and uncles. I'm thankful for my cousins, like Hannah and Carter, who I would choose to love even if I didn't have to.

 

I'm thankful for my job. I'm thankful that it shifts my perspective and keeps me focused on the beauty and brevity of life. Helping people die helps me to live.

I'm thankful for a car with a back up camera. Without it, I would have hit at least 3 mailboxes, 6 passing cars, and 2 small children by now.

I'm thankful for insurance.

I'm thankful for my health. I'm thankful that I have legs and arms that do what I say and organs that do their job and for doctors who jump in if they dont.

I'm thankful for my sweet little town that has - despite my resistance - made itself feel like home again.

This is but a teeny glimpse of my gratitude. There are so many faces and spaces and things that didn't make it on this post.  Mostly because I just quickly pulled pictures from my phone. I used about every one I had in there.. except for my documentation of the ladybug takeover that is currently taking place on my dining room ceiling. I'm not thankful for that.

Above all, more than anything.. greater than I could EVER say? I'm thankful for grace.. for mercies that are new every morning.

He has done great things...

for days when you need a whisper

It's 8:15am and there are 6 people in my office. SIX. One is sweet Marlene, our office cleaning lady, who is tidying up my atrociously dirty bookshelf. I'm always mortified when my working and her cleaning overlap. For starters, I feel like a pretentious brat sitting here tapping on my keyboard while she's on her hands and knees straightening my files. And then there is the fact that you could doodle your name in all the dust. I can only imagine the things she is saying about me in her little British head.

The others are gathered with smiles, just wanting to chat about the good deal they nabbed and the house renovations they completed over the weekend. I'm not into it. I can see all of their mouths moving but I'm not absorbing anything.   I offer a half hearted smile every once in a while to acknowledge their presence, but my foot is nervously shaking under my desk as I try to muster every bit of magical power I have to make them disappear. I am casting full on Hocus Pocus spells in my mind.

It's not working. They're still talking. I can hear laughs across the office and I'm wondering why everyone is so happy today. Did everyone forget that it's Monday? Everybody knows that Monday's are for frowning and being tired and complaining. Duh!

I feel guilty, really, for being so uninterested. "Be present with them," I tell myself, "give them your full attention". I'm not great at that. But sometimes I just can't be fully there. I just need a minute to regroup, ya know? A little time to remind my pea size noggin what it's supposed to be doing.

(My mind is still stuck at Saturday night's farm party and my sluggish body remains at the thanksgiving feast I shared with friends yesterday. A combination of these weekend events is surely to blame for why I'm walking with a limp.  And yes I devoured that ham on the right. And the corn casserole. And a piece two pieces of pecan pie. I figured I burned enough calories Saturday night shaking what my mama gave me)

 

 

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I've always been the kind of person who thrives on social interaction. It usually doesn't bother me when coworkers want to stop and chat. I love the ins and outs. My dream is to be that mom with that house that all the neighborhood kids bust in and out of. The one with all the sodas and sweets and breakable stuff that the other moms boycott. I like the busyness of it all. I like to cram lots of stuff in a day. Let's go here and there for this and that and then of course I can have lunch with you and sure i can fit in another counseling session before 2 and oh you need me to pick up your kid from school no problem and I need to go to the grocery and make that pie and I'm sure I have time to drive to Birmingham to pick up that chair I saw on craigslist and then be back in time for that baby shower before I have to get to my dentist appointment.

I enjoy the go, go, go.. but I can only take so much. If I've learned anything about myself it's that I require a healthy dose of downtime. I'm a better me when I can steal some time for recharging.

As a grief counselor, I walk with people through some of life's darkest and heaviest moments. It's an honor, really, but somedays its hard. They leave and I cry. I sometimes wonder how in the world I'm supposed to help them. They look to me for strength and I look at them as strength. What in the world do I have to offer them? I slide down the back of my office door in between clients and I beg for 10 minutes of silence. That brief moment of stillness before the next client comes in is like a big ole bear hug to me. I have to have it.

Sometimes, like today, it means locking myself in the supply closet and counting to 100. As I exit, explaining to the questioning eyes that I was "uhh.. just looking for some staples", I feel new and refreshed and light.

Because when days are long and schedules are full and life is loud, sometimes all you need is a space just quiet enough to hear a whisper.

A whisper that reminds you that you can't do it all. You don't have to do it all. That your mind was only meant to know and absorb so much. That you don't have to carry the weight of the day. That you aren't a horrible friend when you don't listen to every detail of her weekend adventure. That the world won't end because you forgot to tell your best friend Happy Anniversary. That the dry cleaner won't sue you if you forget to pick up your clothes before five. That you don't have to fix everyones problems.. or anyones for that matter.

A whisper that reminds you that you're beautiful. That you are enough. That you don't have to feel guilty for needing space to breathe.

When things get crazy and loud, when mouths are moving but you can't hear a word, when you want to dropkick the next person who comes in your office? I hope you'll find a bathroom or a closet or a quiet car and listen for the whisper:

Slow down. It's ok. You weren't made to do it all.

As you prepare your home for the gathering of family and load your car to travel to see those for which you are thankful, I hope you'll find freedom in that quiet voice.

Some of you are going to be alone or away from the ones you love. Maybe there will be an empty chair at your table representing loss or failure. Or maybe family time means frustrated chaos and complicated emotions. If that's you, I pray you'll find freedom and rest in knowing the world will go on when you can't.