Burrowed deep under its blanket of dark, the sun set hours ago. Countless ideas have flitted through my head over the course of the day-some I thought I might like to put to words and share in this place. But now, following hours of home keeping and home educating, parenting, chicken chasing (yup, they got out of their yard today), and various other diversions I'm mostly tired and fresh out of ways to capture the meaningful things that seemed so clear earlier.
But, not really. Was I not made exactly for this? To worship through work, love through labor, and to end my days tired-fresh out of ideas is exactly where I belong.
When I'm out of ideas I'm more reflective on what has been-not what I'd like to see become. Tired puts me at the foot of the cross, completely aware of how limited I am, and how the only way to truly live is to expend all my energy living confessionally and weary so that His strength is made perfect in me.
Moving over the keys, I discover that today was good. Monday's are by far my most difficult day of the week, and when afternoon closes in thick and I am thin, I begin to wish the day away. Oh, each stroke of that sentence makes me cringe. God has told us to number our days not wish them away.
So, once again, I'm moved to practice purposeful gratitude and my vision clears. I can number this day, chronicle the gifts, and like the sun sunk beneath the western sky, fall into the unreached depths of God's goodness.
As I number, I rediscover the things that make me tired generate the richest gratitude:
Hands of sons and daughters that have been trained to serve, build, restore.
Pink gloves protect hands that assist her daddy as #1 electrician assistant. It is these hands that completely finished the job of rewiring the hay loft-20 feet in the air!
A time to celebrate, when it 's your birthday you choose the meal, and it was a delight to prepare:
A November gift of sunshine generates one of our high kilowatt production days:
Woke up to fragrant coffee warm in the pot, and clanging and banging of dishes-weekend farmer husband delays his work day for me so I could begin my tasks with clear counters and a clean sink.
Same weekend farmer husband sneaks upstairs before my eyes are fully open, makes our bed, opens our curtains, and put away our folded laundry. Beautiful gifts of service.
A physical therapist who helps heal broken bones.
More hay and fresh bedding for cows, grown furry in their winter coats.
First born son still home...soon, so soon, we will bless him as he travels far away to learn, prepare, and engage in building a future.
Falling off our chairs laughter after dinner, telling tales of the day.
Music banged out on the piano keys by four year old hands, she only hears beauty and harmony, and sings the same mixed up words to a favorite hymn.
And, this, the chasing, numbering, seeing it all-another day to count as a deposit of contentment.