Thanksgiving

Our church has a tradition for the closest Sunday to New Year's: the sermon time is open for anyone to step up to the altar microphone who would to share what they're thankful for from the year before. As I sat and listened to stories of beauty from ashes, people who have suffered immense grief and all the same time the healing presence of God . . . I was humbled to the core, thinking of the things I get wound up about and realizing there is so much more going on around me than I realize. To see people's hearts that were broken but are finding restoration through the feet and hands of Christ in the community of believers was a beautiful inspiration to expand our perspective and open our eyes to what surrounds us. I read a quote this morning that I thought was fitting:

"Believe me, every man has his secret sorrows, which the world knows not; and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad" - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (who, by the way, wrote the Christmas carol "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day". Some trivia for your new year). .

Two stories yesterday I hope will remain with me through the year:

1. Trevor stood up and shared his thanks to God for the restored relationship he (and we) have been experiencing with one of his brothers . . . the past is the past and is too much and too tender to publicly blog about - but let it be said, this is an amazing report and an answer to prayer.

2. A father stood up and gave the most touching talk through a story. He talked about parenting, about how he heard once that parents are a reflection of the Heavenly Father, how our children will see Christ through our actions. Then he spoke about how a couple weeks ago he was feeling down about his parenting, thinking he was a poor example, that he was failing to be the father he wished he could be. He was driving his 9 year old daughter somewhere during this time of regret, and out of the blue she said, "Dad, you're a great dad." To which he humbly replied something to the effect of, "Sweetheart, sometimes dad isn't really a very good dad." His daughter gently, sincerely assured him, "No dad, you're a great dad all the time." This dad's voice broke with tears as he talked about receiving God's grace through his daughter, who gave him a reflection of Divine Love that forgives all, endures all, lasts forever. That his daughter sees the good in him, no matter what his actions. That her love is unconditional. He ended by simply saying, "I thank God for my daughter".

I don't have words for how this hit my heart. I feel like this dad put into words what I would think many crave (it was sure something I needed to hear) . . . that we don't have to be perfect, that we will make countless mistakes, suffer regrets, offer apologies, beg for forgiveness from God and our families. And God's grace covers all, and so many times children are living vessels of the gift of absolute, unconditional love.

Grace. 

The stories from Karis hilarious are hard to keep up with - this picture was taken many months ago when she discovered a pair of sunglasses laying around.

Some of the random things in Karis's life this week are:
- Her nails. Cousin Siennah painted them Christmas day and she loves to show people: "Hey daddy! Nails!"
- Singing along to our Pandora Sufjan Stevens Holiday station while holding a "songbook" (that happens to be a spiral bound cookbook)
- Wearing socks on her hands as gloves
- Wearing her boots around the house (in her pajamas, of course)
- "Lips!" Karis-speak for chapstick, she loves to apply it any chance she gets
- Talking about herself in the third person:  "I help you!" means "you help me!". "Your cookie" means "my cookie". I don't have the heart to correct this yet, the misplaced pronouns are pretty precious.
- Calling anything small and chocolate covered (raisins, peanut butter, truffles) "meatballs". ??? Not sure where that one originated, but I love it.
- Elongating bedtime in any way possible: "One more kiss! "One more Jesus Loves Me"! Mommy sit! New diaper, please! Light on!"
- Vegging out on the couch during the recently rare mornings we have at home . . .