Rainbow cloud.

Driving on the parkway yesterday, my son and I saw something we had never seen before. Even when we showed my dad the pictures, he said he had never seen anything like it either.

Not really sure what it was, we dubbed it “rainbow cloud.” Have you ever seen something like this?

Goob excitedly grabbed the iPad mini to snap some photos and was thrilled that he managed to capture it before we left it behind. He looked at his photos proudly. He was, after all, the one who noticed this special cloud and drew my attention to it. Now he had a tangible memory forever.

Mommy, that’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Children will make you abundantly aware of the beauty that surrounds you. So, listen to them.

We drove another block.

Mom, why does God do that? Why does he give us those kind of things? Is it to remind us he is there?

And with those questions, this momma’s heart swelled. Because he’s thinking about God. He’s identifying His work and drawing conclusions on His own that everything–everything–is a gift from the One who created it all.

We dialogued. I told him how grateful I was that he pointed out rainbow cloud to me.

It’s moments like this I will cherish when one day he’s finding even more spectacular things than rainbow clouds in a world I hope he’ll get to explore.

As long as he promises to send me photos of them.

Reflections.

Reflections as a daughter:

I remember one time I was painfully sick.  I do not remember the exact age; it was somewhere in my teens.  I went to bed and was awoken in the wee hours of the night by my mother crying into the phone to a friend that she’d give anything for her to be sick instead of me.  I know she does not know I overheard that.  But I’ve carried that love she had for me in that moment since.  Even through the hellish years that followed, I always clung to that moment that I knew the depths of a mother’s love for her child.

Reflections as a mother:

I am unable to describe the emotions that swept over me when my barely 8-week-old son had a 103.5 fever.  They said it was better for me to wait outside and not witness the tests they had to put him through.  Unable to fight under the weariness, I stepped outside but looked on through the slits of the blinds on the door as my baby screamed and internally I did as well while tears poured down pale cheeks.  The moment I went back to him I told him I’d never do that again–never leave him.  It didn’t matter what was best for me.  He needed me there to comfort him.  In that moment, I knew the pains my mother felt so many years before.  I would have given anything in that moment to trade places with him.

***

I wrote under an Instagram photo last night that daily I am humbled at the honor and privilege it is to be called a mommy.  It truly is a gift and, to me, a calling.

I’ve often wondered why I’ve never felt a passion for anything.  Through college, I just wafted not really knowing who or what I wanted to be.  Even post-college, I somewhat aimlessly went from job to job never feeling a sense of…completion.

And I think I finally know why.

It’s because the only thing that feels right, that feels natural…is being mommy.

I think so often in my life a sense of un-fulfillment happens when I’m asked about returning to school or some other career-type question.  There is this natural sense in today’s world to work for more and to want it.  We want parents, especially moms, to be involved but then we make them feel guilty if “all they want” is to be at home with their babes.

I have the best of both worlds with a part-time job that gives back to the community and honors kingdom work, but the truth is the best part of my weeks are when I’m taking care of my home and getting afternoons to be with my boy.

Now don’t read too much into this and think, “She’s just perfect!”  As much as I write about the calling of motherhood, you’ll notice I don’t say much about being a wife or even how the calling translates into tangible evidence of such.

Because it’s hard.  Because I downright complain about it more often than not.  Because Lord knows this momma loves to just lay on the couch.

Too many dishes.  Never-ending loads of laundry.  I need more milk.  Where is my baseball uniform.

The chores are endless.  The questions are endless.  And third-grade homework and book reports may be what God uses to call me home.

And yet, it’s in those places, in those moments, in those tasks where I feel most at home.

At least that’s what came out of my mouth yesterday.  I had told myself I would do absolutely no work on Mother’s Day.  No dishes to be washed; no beds to be made.  Yeah, that lasted about two hours.

My happy place is in clean sinks and rooms that are fixed up.  So I did those things.  I reorganized two closets.  I dusted our study.

And when just this past week I lamented about the plight of having to do dishes, when my husband asked me yesterday, “Why are you washing dishes on Mother’s Day?” without hesitation I answered, “Because I like to.”

There’s the truth.

Because the lies are easy to come out when you’re tired and overwhelmed.  When you’ve had a bad day and standing at the sink scrubbing yet another pot makes you feel under appreciated.

It may not be fancy.  It doesn’t pay (at least financially).  But it’s the most beautiful job there is to care and nurture a home that when people come in they can just breathe.

I so admire my many family and friends who are doing great things with their education and careers.  And I love that about mommyhood–we make the choices that are best for our families.

But for me to understand that being content with where I am and what I have in this moment without feeling pressure or guilt is monumental.  And I hope that I can keep this momentum in coming weeks that turn into months that turn into years when inevitably it will get hard again and doubt will creep in about what I am supposed to do and who I am supposed to be.

***

I had a wonderful Mother’s Day yesterday.  The boys left early to church and I awoke to a card.  Inside was such a special surprise and I’ll share about that next week!  What I can say about the gift is that it showed me how much my husband listens to me.  And that’s why I burst into tears as I saw the gift and read beautiful words.

I remained weepy all morning.  We live in a time where it is so hard to just throw out a blanket “Happy Mother’s Day!” out.  There are so many levels and emotions mixed up into the day.  So much hurt and you want to acknowledge that and be sensitive to it while also celebrate those who have been greatest the gift in the world.

With that, I thanked God throughout the day for the gift.  I want to be intentional about remaining grateful for it, even on the hard days.  I can be rough but I trust that when I ask God to change me, He will.

For any mommies reading, I hope you had a wonderful day.  But I also hope you celebrate every day the wonderful job you’ve been given.

It’s not for the faint of heart.

But it is always, always worth it.

On a side note, we ended the night with baby boy having an asthma flare up and waking up this morning even worse.  He’s home with me now.  You’ll remember the last time this happened was on my birthday.

Ah, at least he’s consistent in stealing mommy’s thunder.

Celebrating the one who gave me life and the one who gave me reason to live it well.
Mother’s Day 2013

I’m linking up with::

One date can pack a whole lotta punch.

May 1.

It’s a loaded date around these parts.

And by “these parts,” I mean mainly in my head.  And my heart.

As much as I share on social media (and I’m refraining a lot nowadays, trust me), I’m not the type to lament a “bad morning” or the like.  Truth is, I recognize how blessed I am and how even my minor “trials” pale in comparison to the sadness so many other people wake up to in this world daily.  No, I try not to complain.

Except when I post about neighbors who like to do the deed at 1:30 in the morning.  Or 4:30.  You know, it’s cool.

But I think by posting that kind of stuff got people praying, ’cause it’s been awhile since their passions have awoken me.  Hallelu.

But I digress.

It was a rough morning.  It was a rough night last night.  I could feel all my roughness come out of my poor son.  He felt the rough.  I couldn’t place my finger on my out-of-control emotions last night that had been so well contained for many months now.  It clicked this morning.

Roughness that caused my son to enter his school and come running out screaming, Mom! Mom! as I drove away and turned the corner at which point another mother grabbed him to stop him from running into the street.

Are you kidding me!?

He had left a project in my car.  He knew what he had done was very wrong (running out of the school without telling anyone once he had entered the premises).  And he collapsed under the weight of a lot of pressure he felt from the roughness of long nights and busy days ahead.

But still.  Running down the block!?  What was he thinking?

But I digress again.

***

May 1 was the day hubby and I started dating.  For the most part, it’s a good thing.  What makes it hard is being where we are now, it’s hard to look back on those days fondly.  Our relationship was so sinful; being heathens isn’t even a strong enough word to describe how we were and the things we did.  And something I try to shield myself from admitting is part of that truth–I was still dating another person when hubbyand I made it official.  In my heart it was over with that guy.  But that argument wouldn’t hold up in court, I’m sure.

See?  So wicked.  Not caring about anyone but myself.

I love seeing how far we’ve come.  God took something that was “bad” and turned into something beautiful.  Not perfect, a lot of times not even good as we fall and bend and make mistakes.  But beautiful.  We love and serve the Lord together.  We are raising a child to love the Lord we love.  It’s hard, but always beautiful.

April 7, 2001.  The moment we met.  How many couples can say they have documentation of that?  Pretty cool.

***

Four years ago, May 1 was the day I miscarried.  Or had an ectopic pregnancy.  Adding to the hurt was that it wasn’t clear which it was, which for some reason made me all the more upset.  Like I did not have a clear answer as to what went wrong.  All I know is I was left broken over a life I only got to “feel” for a couple of weeks.

It technically began to happen on April 30.  But we were in the hospital until the early dawn of May 1 and being a significant date in our history, it’s the one I’ve attached to this event.  May 1 used to hold more value in my eyes than even our marriage date (for personal reasons, for now).  I knew that was never how it should have been, but it was and when this happened it felt like any happiness I could possibly feel with hubby was taken away.  All the important “dates” were marred and I grew bitter.

It’s hard to grieve a miscarriage (It’s just easier to refer to it as such even though it’s not certain that’s what I had.) because I know women have gone through so much worse.  I also know that I have a happy and healthy child and so many women could only wish to have that one.  But I still need to acknowledge the date for my own healing.  As an advocate for pro-life choices, my beliefs are life begins at conception.  Therefore, even though that life never saw this side of heaven, it’s a life still to be celebrated and cherished.  I think often a the three-year-old I “should” have had by now.  I imagine how life would have changed and envision what it would like like now and would feel like for Goob to have a little brother or sister.  Once upon a time, I dwelled on these things to a point where I grew resentful and became angry with God.  Now, they are fleeting thoughts and I am grateful that through this trial, God allowed me to only grow closer to Him.  With the exception of this date and perhaps the baby’s due date, I can look back at the year with only fond memories.  It’s the year we decided to buy our own home.  It’s the year I got to take my husband and son to meet my family in a country I adore.  For those things, I am forever grateful for 2009.  It all happened exactly as it was supposed to.  I couldn’t see that then.  I cherish that notion now.

February 17, 2009. Special memories for special reasons.

***

On, May 1, 2011, one of Christofer’s main teachers passed away unexpectedly.  I’ll never forget that day.

Hubby and I have always tried to “recognize” May 1 regardless of the circumstances surrounding our beginning.  It was the day that started what we are now, and it’s okay to tip our hats to it once a year in acknowledgement.  For that special “ten year dating anniversary,” honey went all out.  We went to see Catch Me If You Can on Broadway and were supposed to follow that up with an amazing dinner at a Cuban restaurant on the same block.

Except on the way there, I began getting text after text about Mrs. Edwards being rushed to the  hospital and being in poor shape.  The texts flew and as the hours passed, the prognosis looked grim.

Oh, the irony of sitting in a comedic show trying to enjoy something your poor husband spent a lot of money on while checking your phone every two minutes.  By the time the show ended, I asked hubby if he would mind skipping the meal.  I knew I would not enjoy it and would feel horrible if I did not get to the hospital to see her.

I never made it.  Just a few stops short of our home on the LIRR I received the dreaded text that Mrs. Edwards passed away.

I wailed.

I cried for her children now without an earthly mother.  I cried for her husband.  I cried for her students who would face Monday and the rest of the year without her.  I cried because I would not have my talking buddy in the morning.

It was the first time as a Christian that I lost a Christian friend and felt the weight of it.

I don’t count this as a positive at all, for I’d give anything for Mrs. Edwards to still be with us today, but because of her the blog title “A Life Well Done” was born.  One consistent theme you heard woven in the stories people spoke of her was when she went to heaven God most certainly would have said to her, Well done good and faith servant. Mrs. Edwards had a servant’s heart.  She was kind and a motherly figure to her students.  You could feel her loving you through her words and warm embraces.  She was a mama bear for sure, but more importantly she was a Godly woman I aspire to be and I wanted to live the life she did.  One that was well done.

I miss her still.

***

It was last year or the year before, I can’t remember, that I poured my heart out into a couple of blog posts that detailed some of these experiences.  They got deleted, ugh.  The emotion was raw and even though I was very upset, they served their purpose.  Once I released those emotions into the open, I could move on.

So here I am, trying on another May 1 to release.  To share.  To let you know that whatever dates you have that don’t conjure those nice warm fuzzy feeling we WANT To feel–

You will heal.

We have a Heavenly Father who sees our hurts and a Savior who can very well sympathize.  When I call out to Him, it doesn’t mean those emotions go away all at once.  But I begin to heal.  I begin to look past my circumstances and open my eyes to what I DO have.  I learn to be grateful.  I look to the cross.  I remain grateful and humbled of the gospel and what it means in my life.

And if God took EVERYTHING away, that would be okay.  Because I would have Him.

I don’t need “dates.”  I don’t need a baby.  I don’t need Mrs. Edwards.

I like those things.  I love those things.

But I need HIM.

And while May 1 may always be rough, I’m learning to see the beauty in the day.

I look ahead.

Knowing that the time is fast approaching when only good days will come.

When I’m worshiping my King.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

~Psalm 23:4 ESV

For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust,
O Lord, from my youth.
~Psalm 71:5 ESV

Let your steadfast love comfort me according
to your promise to your servant.
~Psalm 119:76 ESV

³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
~2 Corinthians 1:3-4

And so many more.

Be comforted today, friends.

Be brave.  Share your stories.

Let’s help one another get through these days, shall we?

With lots of love,
Lis.

The balance.

I am doing something this summer that I never thought I would do since moving to our quaint little neighborhood.

I am giving up our pool membership.

{I know, first world problems, right?}

Seriously, it was a big decision to come to.  I’m a water baby.  Since infancy, time in the pool has equated to immense happiness.  I longed for summer and vacations and hotels where hours would be spent in the chlorinated goodness until I was forced to get out.  And when we were looking for our new home and a pool club existed just one block away, the choice to join was easy.

I had a lot of fun the first few summers.  We spent long days sitting by the pool and playing games in it.  We got to know people and enjoyed treats from the snack bar.

Last summer was the first one I ever had to work (in the past I either was a stay-at-home-mom or worked in a school), and even though it was only three days a week for a few hours until early afternoon, I still found myself forced to go just to justify the money we spent on it.  If Goob came to work with me, after he’d want to just stay at home to play because he hadn’t been home all day.  If he was at my mom’s house, I wouldn’t want to leave right away just to go swim.  And then the days I did have off, I felt like we never hung out with anyone or said yes to anything because I wanted to spend the day at the pool.  Then factor in weather and vacation away and it became more of a pressure to get there then fun.  Like, we’d be freezing and we’d still get in if it was the one day we could go that week.

But honestly, it’s more than just feeling it was more of an obligation to go.  I’ve been doing a lot of reading this past year, and with that comes a lot of reflecting.  And I thought, “Man, we spend all this money on this ONE thing.  And we go to this ONE thing all the time.  And there’s so much more of this world to see.”

And thus an idea was birthed in my heart–I may live in New York, but in no way am I a “New Yorker.”  I don’t know the great places to eat or the sights to see and I look at my little boy and I want him to know what is is to walk around and discover the city you live in.

So I dubbed this summer “The Summer of Fun: Exploring NYC One Neighborhood at a Time”.  Uptown, Downtown, I want to have adventures that cost little but can impact much.  I think Goob can learn so much more from this than the triviality of lounging by a pool all day.

Now, don’t get me wrong–I’m going to swallow all my feelings about germs and make use of the free pools our great city has to offer.  And take advantage to utilize the ones friends of ours are blessed with!  But I want my boy to look back at a summer filled with more important memories.

***

But then things like yesterday happen. And I think to myself as I’m preparing dinner, What am I thinking?  Why WOULDN’T I want to just stay safe and comfy in a pool club that’s a mere block away.  Nothing will happen.

I get nervous.  I get anxious.  And I’m scared while I prepare for the day that such incidents will be more normal.  I worry about being on a subway underground and the very worst happening.  I worry that I will have put my precious boy in that position.

I want to stay safe.  I want to stay close to home.  I want to avoid the what-ifs.

But I pray and I remember that that is no way to live.  First, something could happen even in a pool club.  In walking down the street to that pool club.  In my own home, where I’m naive enough to think everything is safe and okay.

But also–I can’t NOT experience life and all it has to offer because I’m scared of the what-ifs.  Do I never take a subway because I’m afraid?  Do I miss out on “The Summer of Fun” because I’ll feel anxiety boarding a train or walking through a tourist spot.  Do I not take my boy to the top of a building or visit a landmark because of the “what-if?”  No.  No, that’s no way to live.  It’s not living.

***

When the shootings at Newtown happened, I wanted to run to this blog to process the overwhelming feelings that were swirling in me.  I never did because it didn’t feel right to.  I was not affected in the way those families were.  And it didn’t feel right to inject myself into a story that wasn’t about me.

But that’s the balance and beauty of blogging.  Not letting it be about me while I explore the feelings that these events make me feel.  The sadness, the anger–that we have to live in a world of “what-ifs”.  I trust completely in the sovereignty of God and that ALL things are for His glory in a purpose we may not understand on this side of heaven, and it’s STILL hard.  I can’t imagine those who don’t have that faith.  But I digress.  The events of yesterday at the marathon are a reminder of the frailty of life–and that’s why it must be lived.  Lived to its fullest.  No regrets.

Now, there is nothing wrong if I wanted another summer by the pool.  But how many summers in a row can we live in such a bubble?  I want to move past the comfortable, past the what-I-already-know, past the easy.

I want this to be a year of exploring God in a way I’ve never before.  I want to devour more books than I ever have in my life.  I want to meet friends for dinner and not worry if I have the money to.  I want to show my boy all this world has to offer, so that one day he himself will not be content with the comfortable.  And that’s a lesson I can take away from yesterday.  We never know when our time will end.  I want to know I used that time wisely, to the fullest, and to the best of my ability.

***

Man, what a mix of thoughts in this post.  Was it about a pool?  Was it about a tragic event that makes my heart so sad?  I don’t know.  I just know it’s just me putting fingers to a keyboard because in moments like this, it’s a gift that makes sense.

Finding the balance in using this blog to connect to the hearts of others.

Here’s to not being afraid.  To living life.  To using time wisely.

And for me personally, honoring and loving God above all.

I’ll never forget this photo.  Our first summer at the pool.  All summer, Goob just could not bring himself to jump in.  And then finally, on the last day, he did it.  It was such a reminder of many things.  And today, as I look at this photo, I’m reminded that we have no choice but to jump in feet first into the day ahead of us–not really sure what’s going to happen but trusting the cool blue waters will catch us and buoy us back up.

On being in this together.

I’m typing this as I sit in one of our local McDonald’s.

I used to joke that a place like this is the greatest form of birth control.

The screaming. The running. The children who sneeze and wipe their snot on their hands.

Or as in the case I saw today–on the back of their mom’s jacket without her even noticing.

Beautiful.

I sit here and observe the other moms, some dads; maybe grandparents. But mostly moms.

I laugh as the mom sitting in the infant-sized play area table next to mine jokes that putting together the Happy Meal toy is equivalent to trying to piece together a science experiment.

Does she notice that our table is free from a meal toy? Yeah, we don’t do those.

See, years ago it’d have been easy for me to turn my nose up at anyone who “wasted” money on such things.

Until I started seeing things differently. Like maybe how that mother could turn up her nose on the fact that my child is chowing down on fries while hers relish the apple slices she’s given them.

That’s the thing I don’t get about parenting and motherhood in particular. We can be very quick to cut another mother down for their choices. We can be a judgmental species. And for what?

The beauty of motherhood is in the common strand we share–we are all trying to do the best we can with our precious treasures.

I see the mom across the way who cranes her neck attentively to follow her child’s every move.

And the ones in a group more engrossed in their own conversations and trusting their children will be okay.

And then there’s me and “science experiment” mom fiddling around on our iPads. You know why? Because for more than 30 second stretches, we can actually breathe and linger in our own thoughts without the constant interruption, beautiful but interruptions none the less, of children who need constant attention when there isn’t a gigantic slide to satisfy their whims.

I see many children running around like it’s the last time they will ever experience such joy again. Some more behaved than others. There’s the older boy throwing a mega-tantrum in the corner. The adventurous child climbing on the structure in all the ways the posted rules clearly tell you not to do.

Their parents are no better than me. Their no choices no less valid. We’ve made good decisions; we’ve made questionable ones. We will continue to make ones that people do not understand.

Guess what? The people don’t have to agree. If I am certain that I am faithfully doing what my heart {and as a Christian, I have to throw in, the word of God} is telling me is the right choice for my child–whether in that moment, that day, that year–I will trust that God knows my intentions. To never harm my child. To give him a life that was lived fully in the best way his momma knew how to provide it.

So, rock on mamas. Feed your kids the genetically modified nuggets {in SEVERE moderation} even though you’d never allow such a thing in your home.  Or don’t ever set foot in a place like McD’s.  That’s okay too.

Don’t yell at them when they jump off the slide.

Ahem.

Enjoy the moments and encourage the mamas you encounter.

They are trying to make it through, just like you.

May us mamas band together to fulfill the common goal of loving our children fully.

Just like High School Musical taught us,

we’re all in this together.

***

This post was originally written on Tuesday, April 2–little man’s last day of Spring Break–but published today to link up with:

Five Minute Friday: After.

There’s a scared little girl standing outside the double doors.  She’s standing in a dress that cost but twenty-seven dollars to sew together.  She’s not so little at 23, but in that moment she feels small.

At the end of the aisle is the man who waits for her.  The doors open and she hesitates.  It feels surreal.  Not like it is supposed to be and yet, there is no turning back.  Almost a decade later, she’s glad she did not have a reason to.  She never has.

Romance novels and movies want to talk about the happily ever after.  The scripted endings, with their perfectly tied bows, that hem all the broken parts together.  And the ones that don’t have those make us angry.

It’s not supposed to be that way.

Same for marriage.  The petty arguments, the long days of not speaking to one another; the nights spent falling asleep on the couch when you should have fallen asleep together.

Sometimes, it’s doesn’t feel like living so happily ever after.

And yet, through the tears, you fight your way back to one another.  Sometimes it’s because you remember why you came together in the first place.  And sometimes, simply because you know it’s the right thing to do.

No, it’s not always happy.  But it’s always worth it.

The after can be beautiful.

***

Link up with Lisa-Jo  here.

On receiving gifts.

I spent a better part of my 33 years wanting.

I am an only child, so growing up I was doted on–both emotionally and with material items.

I did not grow up spoiled by no means, at least in terms of how I acted.  My parents would not have had that.  But I was used to getting the best of everything.  Receiving came naturally.

And don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it.  But you know how sometimes God begins working in you long before he saves you?  Somewhere around age 7, I became keenly aware of how much I had and how little some children did.  I can remember one Christmas in tears that I had a bag full of gifts to open and there were people in the world who would have nothing.

I am glad for that heart of compassion that has grown and is being molded since the Lord chose to save me.  It hasn’t always been there even though I had that pivotal moment in 1987.  The teenage years grabbed the worst parts of me and brought them to life.  I had my moments of kindness and putting others before myself, but they were fleeting.  I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it.  When I was on my own and no longer had parents who purchased it all for me, I purchased those things for myself even when I did not have the means at all to do so.  I’m not the kind of girl who gets her hair done or likes name-band handbags (well, actually I like them I just wouldn’t spend crazy money for them!), but I love gadgets and drool over every Apple product that comes on the market and sometimes it’s just wanting to buy a new bedspread for our room or even the desire to want more money to be able to bless others more!  It’s not that these things are bad in and of themselves.  It’s when those desires consume you or when you become bitter about not having those things that it becomes a problem.  It’s sin.  So I’ve had to come a long way to not feel the need to always be in a constant state of want.

But I have come to a place in my life where I never want it to be about me.  I dread receiving gifts because I already have so.much.stuff.  I can feel very guilty to the point of being overwhelmed that I have so many things and there are those who can only dream of having even a roof over their heads.

I try hard to dissuade people from giving me gifts and try to divert the blessing to a more worthwhile cause.  Still, people will often want to bless you personally.  This past birthday I celebrated was no different.

But I realized something this past week that really put a new spin onto receiving a gift and how even something that is just for me can be turned into something even greater.

Every time I use something that someone gave me as a gift, it reminds me of that person.  I’m sure this happens to you.  You may smile and move on.  But to me it’s a reminder to pray for that person.  Seriously, my prayer life has been revolutionized because of this!

That beautiful notebook that “D” gave me where I writing the current spiritual journey I am on?  It reminds me to pray for health and for marriage to remain strong and for children who are serving in our military to remain safe from harm.

The adorable mug (and Trader Joe’s Spicy Chai Tea Latte!) “H” gifted me?  It reminds me to pray for a young mother dealing with not ideal circumstances.  It brings me to my knees to pray for healing and help and for husbands who are in leadership and carry a great deal of weight on their shoulders.

The long-admired duvet cover I was able to purchase?  I think of four sweet girls who chipped in to bless me with a gift card where I was able to treat myself to shopping at a store and buy some things for my home I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise.

And the list goes on.

I do not want to feel guilt when I receive gifts–whether it’s a present, a meal, or a helping hand.  I know the Lord allows us to receive blessings and that’s okay.

I am so glad He brought it to my mind to use these items as a means to remember friends and family that are dearly loved.  This practice has become so routine already that I can look at many things at my home and know instantly who to pray for in that moment.  I no longer have to wander aimlessly in my home seeking things or people to pray about.  It’s all there, right in front of me.

Try this practice and I guarantee you will be blessed.

If you’d like to share in the comments, name a gift you received and how you can pray for the person who gave it to you.

Love and blessings,

Lis.