countdown

It hardly seems like a day of marked significance. The end of an entire year counts down with the tick of my kitchen clock while I sit at the living room window enrobed in a fleecy jacket. It is a cold afternoon, though the pale sunlight highlights the beauty of the season. I am glad to see its face today.

Andy is working. He was up and out early and in his absence a little girl with tousled hair and a pink unicorn crawled up in bed beside me to finish her sleeping. "I saw the kitchen light on so I knew dad was up," she mumbled as she snuggled under the covers. I relish these sweet moments, yet I was awake and could hardly let the morning hours waste away. They are my favorite.

Evie chose this morning to dream long and took a great deal of coaxing to be awakened. I snapped a picture of her sweet sleep before I leaned over to whisper in her ear. She did not stir, this for the girl who normally wakens at the drop of a sock. There is something about  a morning with a scheduled appointment that invites children to sleep more deeply. We celebrate sleep around here.

It feels much like a normal day. Much like the 364 that preceded this one. Yet, in the normalcy of the days there was much that marks this year as a quite significant. God did great and mighty and miraculous things right before our very eyes. We made changes. We saw changes. Life was good. Life was hard.

We made it.

In some sense, the triumph comes not only in the highlights of joy but also for the victory of making it through the darkness. Life is a celebration. Even if only to raise your hand to acknowledge that you haven't been swallowed up...celebrate that.

God is blessed by our joy.

The tick of the clock and the fading of the sun behind the bare armed trees remind me of things yet undone.There is dinner to be made and my little artist begs to paint in swirls of vibrant hues across the kitchen table. I must bid my haven of words au revoir.

There are memories to be made before the year is over.