Writing a Thanksgiving day post used to be a sort of
tradition I had on my old blog, but it has been a while since I’ve written a post at all, as you can see. I started a few back when Marie was little, but never finished them.
I had some delusions this summer about starting to write
regularly. I had visions of relaxing on my porch chair, watching my daughter
entertaining herself in the grass in the front yard, laptop on my lap, the sun
shining down on us.
Apparently that isn’t a likely scenario for a pregnant mama
recently moved into a bit of a fixer-upper house with a busy toddler.
But I found some spare time with my husband gone, Marie in
bed and the baby quiet to write my first post since Marie was a few months old.
And that brings me to the topic of my Thanksgiving post. In
small group recently, I was struck by how God had given me the desires of my
heart. In the midst of taking two kids to Aldi (so that the bread is regularly
flattened in a crowded cart), re-shelving books every night (or having them
scattered across the living room), getting up at 5 to make breakfast and pack
lunch for my husband (and going back to bed after), I focus on what’s next and
sometimes forget to ponder.
And I realized I had forgotten. This is what I wanted.
Husband. Kids. Close together. I had wanted them, intensely. And when I had
them, I accepted it and continued on. Forgetting that at one point, I didn’t
know if they would happen. Or when. Or how. Or what it would be like.
As I have learned, momentous things rarely feel that way.
Yet, I love this life, and in a cliched phrase, wouldn't trade it for anything.
I am thankful for the two delightful, adorable eternal beings entrusted to us. I am thankful for that "us," that nothing I do is really on my own, that I forever have my husband's wisdom and strength behind and beside me.
(And I'm thankful for the busy life that keeps me from writing or finishing writing very much as I post this weeks after I actually wrote it.)
