thanksgiving.

"Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."
Lamentations 3:23

In my last post I mentioned a woman named Nadiya, who had sweet and perfect words for Kenzie. Nadiya is Kenzie’s “teacher.” At day care. Where we take her and her brother five days a week.

This morning, I dropped Caleb off in his classroom after giving him a big squeeze and a kiss, and handed him to Miss Patty, one of his favorites. After dropping Kenzie off in her class, I had to walk past Caleb’s class again. I always like to peek in, without him seeing me, just to see how he's doing. Usually I see him greeting his friends or washing his hands or sitting down to eat breakfast with the other kids. Today I saw him wrapped up in Miss Patty’s arms, his head resting on her shoulder as she swung him around, side to side, singing  “I love you, Caleb," over and over again.

This sight was so good for my heart for so many reasons.

Lately I've been feeling all kinds of mommy guilt. I find myself questioning if we are doing the right things and giving them the best. Is working the best? Is day care the best? I can feel the guilt on all sides. It might not be tear-jerking, heart palpitating guilt, like when I dropped Caleb off for the first time, but it’s tangible. The moments I glance from my computer at the photos of Caleb and Kenz on my desk and wonder what they are doing. I wonder if they miss me. I don't want them to miss me, but then again, if they didn't that's no good either. Ugh. I wonder if they had a particularly hard morning, I wonder if they are grumpy or behaving or eating all of their lunch or napping well.

I hear stories of what other moms are doing with their kids during the days. Things they are doing together. And I wonder if my kids are missing out on that, if they are somehow at a disadvantage. Ouch. Even typing that sentence hurts.

Recently, someone challenged me to do a simple exercise. She told me to name on a daily basis, outloud, the good and important things my children have, and the good and important things that I have. Because often this guilt comes from comparing my life to someone else's, or to an ideal. And when I do this, I forget what I am grateful for and focus on what I am lacking.

That sounded simple enough. But actually applying it? Wow.

I knew I could fill a prayer with a great laundry list of wishes and wants, but I didn’t know I could have an even longer list of “thank yous.” And I mean those thank yous. When I actually pause to see and soak in my blessings, it changes my perspective. It is cause for less complaining and more thanksgving.

Life is full of provision. It’s FULL of provision. My sparkly flats, the full tank of gas, the eight ounces of water I FORCE myself to drink, the heater that turns on every night without fail, the hot water from the shower that pours over my head each night, the constant, steady breaths that inflate and deflate in my chest without any effort.

The teacher that wraps my child in her loving arms and tells him that he’s loved. The “friends” that Caleb talks about every single night ("It was CJ’s birthday yesterday and I got a cupcake and Kennedy and Fia got one, too.”) The stories of playing on the playground and going down the slide. The songs he sings, the pictures he paints, the stories he’s heard, the things he’s learned that we never taught him. My fickle girl who jumps into Galina’s arms every morning with her legs kicking in excitment and a huge smile on her face. Miss Nadiya, who will tell me every detail about Kenzie’s day, which I love hearing about, but I love even more that Nadiya pays attention to these details. She is caring for Kenzie well. I trust her. I appreciate her. She knows just how beautiful and generous Kenzie is because she KNOWS her. And I love that she brings Caleb into her class at the end of the day, even though he’s older and in the big kid class now, because she KNOWS and LOVES him, too.

PROVISION. it is all around me.

When I write press releases at work, I always have to remind myself not to bury my lead - meaning,  get the main point out at the beginning - don't wait until the third or forth paragraph to say the most important thing.

So many times in my life, I bury my lead. I start with: "My house isn't big enough," "My decor isn't nice enough," "If only I had (fill in the blank on any given day).

But that isn't my lead. My lead is "Thank you, God, for this house you provided to us. Thank you that it is warm and cozy and that its walls have sheltered us as we grew from two to four. And it has been more than enough."

My lead is thank you, God for two healthly kids who are thriving and happy and adaptable and sweet. Thank you that we've found the perfect day care, if day care is the place they have to be for right now.

My lead is always THANK YOU, GOD. What we have is a lot, and it will get buried if we don't start by awknowleding it.

Yes, there is stuff. Diasppointments, hurts, frustrations and complaints. Those are real things, true things and things we can bring before a compassionate and loving Father.

But those things aren't my lead. They belong in the third or forth paragraph. There is too much provision in my life to start with that.

So thank you, God. For reminding me that you provide. You do the work. You equip. You LOVE.

Thank you for your gift this morning – for that glimpse of Caleb and Miss Patty together – a reminder that flooded my heart with thankfulness for all the little and big provisions in life.

Your compassions never fail. They are new every morning.

Great is your faithfulness.