contentment

Just last week, I was driving in my beat up old van, with cracks in the windshield, torn window tint (courtesy of little people fingers), brakes that while are safe, squeak each time I stop, and an awesome screeching sound made every time I start my car.  I was wearing a brand new $8.99 shirt bought from Ross, with an old re-purposed pair of shorts, and sandals that are still cute, but have rips in the soles. In the back seat sat my sweet three year old boy.  Earlier, while Sol was at preschool, I had volunteered in my older children's classrooms at school.  I had the day off work and had just finished a lunch out with my husband (and pre-schooler) for the first time in a very long time.  We used coupons for free sandwiches to Great Harvest that our insurance agent gave us for our birthdays.

I have had similar days as this before.  So often on days like this, I dwell on the things I do not have.  I only see the imperfectness of my situation.  Sometimes it is hard to see the good in the moment.

But, on this day, as I was driving, I had an amazing sense of joy.  At that moment, no new car or expensive lunch or designer clothes could have made me any happier.  I felt completely content.

I am grateful for the Spirit impressing on my heart that day of the goodness of my life.  Reminding me that happiness is not derived from things or possessions, but on our ability to have gratitude in our hearts for all that God has given us and to love our family unfailingly.

near death

Today my mother told me about the day I was inches away from death.  My mom, her then boyfriend, Ron, my two older brothers and I were going swimming on a hot summer day 1986. I was seven years old. We had to park across a large highway from our swimming hole. We all hopped out of the van excited to swim.  I, being seven, was anxious to get there.  Without looking both ways before crossing the street, like my mother had always taught me, I stepped out into the highway.  My mother saw my action and also saw the oncoming semi truck.  As I stepped out into the oncoming traffic, she reached out and grabbed my pony-tailed hair.  While she pulled be back toward her and before I was even clear of the highway, the massive truck sped past us, missing me by mere inches.  I am sure that we continued on to the swimming hole.  I am certain I was oblivious to the real danger that I had narrowly missed.  I have no memory of this day or the events that occurred in it.  For many years after, this image of me stepping into harms way, haunted my mother's dreams.  A true mother's nightmare.

Seconds. Inches. These are the fragments of time and space that stood between me and death before the age of accountability.  Since Mother told me this story earlier today, I have had images flashing in my mind.  Not only images of grieving parents who have lost their only daughter, but images of things that would have never come to pass if that summer day had become fatal.  Two childhood best friends would never have become sisters.  A certain blind date would never have led to love.  Three beautiful spirits would have been born to someone else.

But seconds and inches are all that is needed to preserve life.  And because of the quick actions of a mother's instincts, I am here living a beautiful life.  Today I count my blessings a little more sincerely, because all it takes is seconds and inches to take them all away.