Mery and Those Mashed Potatoes I Always Blog About
It is like living in a reoccurring Ensign article. Every morning I wake up with the same hymn humming out of my lips. For the first bright hours of any given day I hang on to the tune until, around noon, I have cognizantly caught on to the words.
Oh, love effulgent, love divine!
What debt of gratitude is mine,
That in his off’ring I have part
And hold a place within his heart.
Because I have read enough Ensign articles in my lifetime I know that there is a message to be had in this daily ritual. Until all is revealed I have been focusing on the line debt of gratitude.
Here is my public decree of gratitude-ness:
- The turquoise carpet in my bedroom (and now! matching chandelier!)
- Lucy and Ric's new bee farm.
- Chup's new AMAZING! lazers that we bounce off of the town landmarks on clear nights from the foothills.
- The little wood birdies Cari dropped on my doorstep.
- A body that expands every time The Chief needs to s-t-r-e-t-c-h!
- Knowledge to be gained when personal questions materialize.
- My dad's mashed potatoes which I've found to cure almost anything. (Maybe I should start a pyramid scheme company???)
- Good, caring In-Laws who nurture my husband on Sunday night phone calls.
- Redman Clay masques, making my skin soft and flesh-colored.
- What Brother Green said today about comfort zones being spiritual death-traps. (I am still thinking . . .)
- My niece Mery who was bravely birthed in the front seat of her parent's SUV four years ago.
- Kacy's advice about impending birth and self-tanned legs. (My kind of advice.)
- Sharing a table with friends who I adore while honoring a friend who I love.
- My piano teacher of yore who taught me (and taught me) (and taught me) how to read music.
- When a kind reader makes an introduction to say "I read your blog." I always blush, melt, and feel honored.
- Gatorade, because it really is thirst aid, you know, for that deep down body thirst.
I've got to stop there. I am realizing that the more I list-make, the more my gratitude capacity fills and I become too gratefully overcome. This leads to tears, and inevitably me wanting to call everyone I know and sing their praises to the same tune of the hymn implanted in my heart. Which I could do, but I am as tired as a nine-month-pregnant female on the way to a Major Life Change. And my emotional uncomfortability is far surpassing my physically uncomfortability (which is saying a lot) therefore leaving me in serious, hopeless, gratitude debt.
What debt of gratitude is mine?
Someone call an accountant.