Even if you are completely ovewhelmed by your own life- your issues, your dramas, your_______ (fill in the blank), one of the best gifts you can give yourself is giving to someone else. I know this for certain because today, after spending every moment from 6am until dinnertime engaged in some activity or another, and with my children in varying states of misbehavior, and my own spirit a little damp, I made a meal for a friend whose life is a bit topsy-turvey. And I thought about how my evening would have been like any other if it weren't for the fact that we, as a family, had just helped another family have a better day. We've been the recipients of this simple but extraordinary gesture, and I'd like to think that those who made meals for us were somehow as touched as I was tonight.

'Tis better to give? Oh, yeah- totally. (though the receiving ain't half bad either!)

I made my bed tonight- with crisp, newly laundered sheets...nothing makes me feel so cozy. Stacked up beside me are a bevvy of reading materials- I am so ADD people. We've got some decorating porn, which I just cannot get rid of, I'm afraid (tonight it is an old issue of Southern Living and "100 ideas Makeover Style"). There's also my heart's joy "Three Cups of Tea" which I am reading with fervor, though slowly (no, I never did finish The Friday Night Knitting Club and I may not get back to it....sigh). Then, the final straw folks, are you picturing me hiding shamefully behind my brown and silvery blue brocade pillow sham?.... "The Fat Flush Plan" which I am simply gazing at for motivation through osmosis. I don't actually believe that my fat will be flushed anywhere except down the drain at the surgeon's office whom I am going to hire for the ol' NIP/Tuck after Tom wins the lottery (I, myself, don't actually play those silly games so the chances of me winning would be zero, about a percentage point less than Tom's chance).

I love coming to the end of my day with a clean bed and the chance to read for a spell. It brings me such peace, like a meditation on my spirit's longing to grow and seek nutrients found only in the words of others. I am learning to honor this time, to enforce it really. Advocating for the needs of my soul- to be quiet and to ponder.

My minutes are here so I'm shutting the gates around me. Night Night Friends..

Life here is good. Well...It is what it is- every minute an education of sorts- where I throw caution to the wind and decide not to make my bed in order to spend a few minutes extra making fresh chocolate chip pancakes before the kids head off to school; where nobody wants the chocolate chip pancakes and I breathe deeply and try not to take it personally; where I trod the path to the local elementary school and get kisses from the boys that make me feel like a good mommy; where my boys take off running and duck to avoid my kisses and head into the building without looking back; where my kids remember our anniversary with hugs and whispered plans of surprises for another day; where Tom and I brush off our anniversary and shuttle kids to and from school and games and appointments- then fall asleep in mid-air before our weary noggins hit the pillows which I should have laundered a week ago; where romance is a second thought; where friendships are forged and well attended to; where friendships are neglected and growing weeds; where faith ebbs and flows, sometimes with certainty, often with increasing doubt; where sports become a thorn in the side of family time but leave me proud and cheering for my kids; where the kids I love disappoint me by lying, or sassing, or ignoring; where the kids I love behave like kids and I discipline and hold with soft kisses and whispers of acceptance; where the kids I love seem to bloom and unfold with surprising abundance and joy; where I learn that the minutes of life are to be experienced- both in exhilaration and dread-equally, but form a map of my days most perfectly soldered together by God.

Tonight Lily and Liam purchased with their own money and fixed, from start to finish, a most incredible dinner, in honor of their parent's twelfth anniversary. Tom and I were formally called to dinner in our dining room, with candle-light, champagne, and a four-course meal. The romance a mere pilot-light, with three of my four children joining us at varying times during the meal. Benjamin, after an afternoon of rampant misbehavior, was screaming from the confines of his bedroom, as the musical interlude for the evening. But I found that what I heard most was my own gratitude for the collective memories of this night- for the beauty of my two oldest children's intentions and generosity, their selfless pouring out of love for us, their maturity and skill and boundless excitement for the gift they were giving and had planned out over many days this week; for our follow-through with our most challenging son, whom we love feverishly but with great frustration and bewilderment-nothing could have prepared us for the challenges of parenting him, just as nothing could have prepared me for how unconditionally I love him and how I recommit myself to parenting him every second that I'm with him- never giving up on the hope that one day we will see clearly how most appropriately to parent him and meet his needs; for my two year-old's attachment to us and need to be as he is- young and vulnerable and needing of our constant love and attention.

Twelve years has passed since I vowed to love my husband for all of my earthly days, and then some. Our wedding, both jubilant and imperfect, was a foreshadowing of sorts, for the journey that lay ahead. Many moments of that day, on the 14th of September, on the beach, in 1997, were not as I had meticulously planned- the mishaps with the music, the quirky minister (she didn't seem to appreciate the frivolity with which we repeated our vows, a manner typical of our relationship then and now, none of which I would change), the delayed reception, the starving guests and luke-warm breakfast foods. That's all pretty much the way it has played out since- kind of funny, and frustrating, and giggly, somber then silly, angry then simmering then boiling over with love and mercy and contentment.

I wouldn't write the script this way. I'd make it more sappy and sweet, lacking of pain or bumps in the road. But I am not the architect of these days- and I'm becoming more at peace with this life that I'm living and its ups and downs. Because the ups are worth all the downs, any way you carve them.

Its 6:30- my husband is with my six year-old at football practice and I'm struggling, on the couch in my living-room, to figure out how to reteach my daughter the math she needs to know for homework (which I bearly understand myself), review and correct my eight year-old's math and reading homework (which is poorly written and well below where he needs to be learning, frankly), and cope with the constant antics of my two year-old, who is pulling my hair, tearing at his sister's paper, and screaming about the deer who were in our backyard today. I am trying hard not to snap, but my head is spinning and I feel nothing but completely overwhelmed.

You who speak volumes of reassuring words to my soul- vocalizing melodies of softness to my spirit which has been hardened by seasons of stark rejection and indifference. A piece of me, born of the Universe, rooted in the infinite timelessness of our existence, has known You- has wandered in Your presence, has wept in Your arms and collected Your tears on the tenderest pads of my fingertips. I was there when You could bear it no more. I know this as truth, in this moment, for my innermost being recognizes Your pain as a friend on my own path. I see joy in Your breath, in the very manner that You speak only what You feel at Your core, with all the intensity of every cell that inhabits Your spirit. I am honored to reside in the circle where You open Your heart- where You share weaknesses which are actually Your greatest strengths.

Dear You- I am grateful for You today. I soar in Your company, with every inch of my brokeness trailing behind me, catapulting my life into the realm of hope and possibility, once again.

thank You.