As parents, most of us love to document the victories and milestones of our children's lives. We take picture after picture and shoot endless footage of brain numbing video because we simply want to remember.

We want to remember their first steps, their first birthdays, even the mundane moments between the happy holiday highlights of November and December.

With this in mind, are there milestones in us that God the Father celebrates and remembers?

What if heaven rejoices when we choose to believe even when our hearts are wrenched with grief?

Does God notice when we worship Him when all around feels oppressive and dark?

I bet it melts His heart when we declare before the forces of darkness that He Is Good No Matter What.  (It is a high honor to have the privilege of walking by faith.)

Being created in His image, we mirror Him in ways we don’t understand; if we celebrate the first steps of our children, surely He celebrates ours.

I look forward to seeing from His Perspective, but for the time being, I imagine My Father's Smile, and it spurs me on.

Yesterday's Ride

The “Old Tyler Highway” stretched endlessly ahead as my horse and I started our four hour ride at The Mineola Preserve. 

The wet mush under Traveler's hooves gradually became thick mud, and I started to feel a little lonely as the ground got lower and more difficult to travel.  Then four angels appeared - on horses of course.  Angels in the form of people,  all of whom were about 15 years older than myself.  It isn’t often that I come across  geriatric riders - one with pure white hair - sitting astride their saddles as if the thought of arthritis  had never entered their minds!   I joined their entourage as we made our way out of the mud, back up to  where I started. Enjoying their banter, I silently smiled, thanking the Lord for riding companions.  Their kindness to include me touched my heart.

We rode along paths on high ground that I hadn’t seen for years, and the views were serene and beautiful.  It was so much fun.  

At one point, we had to slog through some marshy water and Traveler did something he has only gotten away with one other time. I thought he was dropping his head to sneak a sip to drink, but HE LAID DOWN in the ice cold water.  The last time that happened, I was riding with strangers, too, but it was a very hot day.  SO FUNNY.  He will not be getting away with this again for a long time!  (Though I took it all in stride, I was happy to get my wet socks off when I got home.)

How grateful I am for the blessing of a long ride on a beautiful day with new friends.  In my community, my role is usually that of mentor.   It was nice to be in the company of those who have lived longer than me. They have probably dealt with some of the battles that press upon me and they have lived through them all.  This comforts my heart.

We will all get through whatever it is that is bogging us down.  We will get where He is taking us and He will not forsake us there.  He will lead us by the hand, and though we may look back and wonder how, it will all be okay in the end.

It was a great ride.

Tears

Yesterday, I was broadsided with the pain of an already grieved loss. It unapologetically imposed itself upon me and demanded the release of unquenchable tears. The sight of a person associated with the death of my mom triggered something seemingly dormant, but was evidently alive and well within. Why would I be surprised? It would have been so easy to just walk in the other direction, but the innocent act of speaking and acknowledging my mom's former nurse opened the door to the hidden torrent within.

I almost always enjoy the cathartic event of crying, but when the need to sob materializes while trying to check out at Sam's, causing me to forget my PIN and flustering the cashier, the joy of release threatens to be lost! How many times have tears gotten stuck behind my eyes, taunting me with the pressure, but refusing to be released? Their secret joy must be in taking me by surprise, reducing me to a sniveling little old lady whose fragility seems to elicit a hug from the pubescent girl behind the counter.

Not that I was ashamed to cry, everybody needs to cry, being that tears are a gift. When a good howl is needed, it's just better to be safely hidden away with ones cats, horses, dogs, or people, whomever has the power to comfort most. Who knows how many tears live inside? Maybe they are hiding in there, just waiting to yell, "Surprise! You thought you were fine! Ha ha, we gotchya!"

Maybe tears are a sign of life, kind of like an emotional pulse. To let them flow, embracing one's humanness in the middle of consumer land is probably not so bad, so I lifted my head and I cried. No longer was I just one more person hurrying through the line, but a girl grieving for her mother. These tears were a gift. I spoke through them, smiled through them, and let them flow as the young girl counted my items at the door and highlighted my receipt. They refreshed my face as I walked through the dark parking lot, and reminded  me that I am grateful for the arms of God, a wonderful husband and sisters to call. And call them I did, and then I cried some more.

Life is good, even with its pain; I am happy to be alive, grateful to have had parents to miss.  Thankful for the years I was able to take care of them. Humbled that I was present as they were ushered into eternity. 

Starting another day, will tears once again present themselves? I'll let you know.

My Grandma's Cup

I am a sentimental soul. 

One of the ways this presents itself is through the enjoyment I receive when I use the old earthenware and china bequeathed to me from my mom, my grandmas, and my mother in law. They are no longer on this earth, but somehow, the act of pouring coffee into a cup that they once treasured brings them close to my heart. 

I say it once again: It's the little things that bless me so.

This cup belonged to my dad's mom, Isabel Averill Gramling.

My Boys

Although I have made it my goal to reduce the four legged population on our homestead, (It was really out of hand, people!) I still have a dog, a cat, and two horses. I'm so glad they're still here, because they do my heart good.

Yesterday, Burt came along with me to Mercy Ships. I loaded both horses in the trailer and we drove the two minutes from our home to the back of the property where I have spent many hours riding my horses. My sweet husband swung into the saddle and became part of my world for a while. Although he has some sore bones in hidden places, he can see why I love it so and he might even do it again. 

Traveler was a perfect gentleman for my gentle man. Yes, I am blessed by all of these boys, four legged and two.

Rain

In our family, a rainy day has always been a cause for celebration.

We would usually stop whatever we were doing, and with my husband, Burt,  leading the charge, all five of us would pile out onto the front porch, reveling in the wonder of water falling from the sky.

When the girls were tiny, I remember teaching them to look closely at the dancing drops, and we would laugh at the tiny explosions as they hit the ground. Sometimes we could not all manage to make it outside when the rain started, but Burt would almost always have at least one girl on his lap, silently soaking in the comforting sound.

It's no wonder I looked outside one day and saw Abby lying in the front yard, waiting for the blessing, and when it came, she soaked it up.

Her daddy taught her well.

Eyes To See & A Heart To Be Grateful

Sometimes life seems to be one major thing right after the other, with easily unsung beauty in between. 

Savoring the little things: a cool breeze on my face, a perfectly formed flower blooming in a hidden crevice, the rumbling rattle of my cat's purr, the perfect cup of coffee, the delight of my granddaughter's giggle, the sound of dry grass crunching under my horses hooves....

These easily missed, absolutely free treasures, give me strength to face the big things.

Lord, give me eyes to see You all around me, and a grateful heart that invites your grace. Truly you are good, and there is always something to celebrate. Always.