A Luncheon

"And I had Betsy's plate in one hand and mine in the other, and her plate actually started to BEND in HALF," Jane says. A paper plate, a scoop of fettuccini, a line of other volunteers behind her, I picture her story. "And Lauren was behind me," she says, "and grabbed the plate before it spilled all over."

"Oh, yeah," I say. "I seem to recall you telling me about this a minute ago, but I didn't hear the end."

"Yeah," she says. "How come that person came up and just started talking over me?"

"Oh," I say. "Is that what happened? I guess she didn't realize."

"'Cause if I did that I would get scolded," Jane says.

"Yeah. That's true," I say. "Do you know what you do in a situation like that?"

"What?"

"Be gracious. Just be gracious."

"Oh," she says.

"You know, Jane, it's really good you are noticing stuff like this," Craig adds,"because the things you learn while you are young are the things that stick with you your whole life."

"Huh," she says.

"Yup," I say. Your whole life. Small habits are actually a destination.

Conversation moves on, a story about the flu shot, Jane a repository of facts and figures and pearls of mirth. I watch how she traces the moves of conversation, interjects herself yet pauses to acknowledge other players. The choreography, it's like learning to jump double dutch and just as mesmerizing.

I make a mental note: Pay attention. Be present. Notice when people interrupt.

Gratitude:

6214. "I feel like I am going to explode with tiredness and emotion," Jane says before bed. "I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I'm just BOTH," she says.

6215. Betsy strokes George's face. "Don't pick his nose, ok?" I say.

6216. Myra offers to make Joe toast. "Wellll, just don't burn it, ok?" he says.

6217. Spiced pecans.

6218. Craig finds a documentary on the harpy eagle and plans a family night around it. "Well," Jane says, "crocodiles are my favorite animal, but now harpy eagles are my second favorite."

6219. I finally give Jack and Joe haircuts. It's like shearing sheep.

6220. The children organize the literature books for our next two units.

6221. Craig plans a field trip to go eagle watching.

6222. We begin to learn the limits of what we can plan in a day and realistically get completed.

6223. Raspberry leaf tea.

6224. I find a houndstooth button-down shirt for Jack. "It's just the right thickness, Mom," he says.

6225. We get into a routine of hard boiling eggs. Perfect timing, perfect yolks.

6226. The writings of John Newton. All I knew of him was Amazing Grace. So. Much. More.

6227. I continue to search for what God is doing each day that I might join in.

6228. I find joy and strength as unexpected results. Illusive when I pursue them directly, they reside happily in my peripheral. I suppose they were never meant to be the point of my life.

6229. The children another week older, I feel like this is all going so fast. I still the moments to memorize as many as I can.

Family Brekfast

"But Mom, it's like dripping in butter," Jane says. One toast in hand, the other leaned against her plate, she frowns. Family breakfast. Every Saturday Jack and Lucy cook eggs and toast for the family. All the rest of us have to do is roust our tired selves from bed.

"How much butter did you use, Jack?" Craig turns to the end of the table, Jack and Joe seated together on an antique toy box.

"Like one and a half sticks," he says.

"Oh," I say, "so 12 tablespoons, 14 pieces of toast, that's less than a tablespoon per piece. That's less than I use."

"Than YOU use?" Craig says.

"Yeah, at restaurants even they give you a tablespoon per piece," I say.

"A tablespoon?!" Craig raises both eyebrows, perfect arcs reaching all the way to the middle of his forehead.

"Yeah," I say.

"'Cause of all the times you've had toast at restaurants," he says. Something ticklish flits across his face.

"Yeah," I say, "you know that one that's shaped like a train, they used to do that. Oh no, they used that paintbrush to put the butter on and THAT was drench." I laugh. "That WAS a long time ago."

"A paintbrush?!" Jack says.

Conversation orbits. I notice Jane poised, toast still in hand.

"Yes, you still have to eat it," I say. She frowns with her shoulders. "You need to show appreciation for the time and the money that went into this."

"Oh," she says. With quiet deliberation she smothers the butter in jelly and slides the egg on top.

"That's actually pretty good," I say. "Jelly and egg on toast, yum."

"Yeah." She forces her manners to take the shape of quiet obedience. She nibbles the crust off, and in gradual turns eats toward the middle. We talk for longer than you'd think possible about that paintbrush in the butter at Frank's Diner. Something akin to resignations gradually ripens and becomes laughter around the table.

"Yeah," she says later, "it wasn't as bad as I though. I just sort of had a bad idea about it." The toast. Breaking fast together, the food is just a prop.

Gratitude:

5826. Our family suburban breaks down. Craig ferries us home in shifts in the little black pick-up. My dad has the car towed with AAA. And in defiance of our panicked emotions, the repair is less than $200. God is so gracious.

5827. Someone blesses us with a special dinner in the middle of the chaos. It's like manna from heaven.

5827. Craig and I make a date of retrieving the car from the mechanic.

5828. We have our garden topsoil tested. The results show almost no nutrient value. We strategize on how to correct it.

5829. Browned butter shortbread cookies in the shape of tin shoulders.

5830. Apple cider vinegar, turns out it can even cure diaper rash.

5831. Lucy gets approval for more eye therapy.

5832. Red bell peppers, black bean noodles.

5833. Lemon soap.

5834. Daniel, Craig, and the cousins tear out two jumbo shrubs at Daniel's house.

5835. Peter takes the big Professional Engineer Exam.

5836. We have a couple for dinner and completely rearrange the dining room in preparation.

5837. We continue to plant and tend seedlings.

5838. Everyone rallies to lift each other up. Immediate and extended family, we feel their loving hands reached toward us.

5839. In the face of true riches all else fades.

Errands

"Momma, can I whisper something in your ear?" The hustle and bustle of Winn Co. Foods whirls at our elbows. Jane tugs on the shopping cart.

"Sure." I lean down, her warm breath in my ear.

"Those girls back there," she motions to a pair of junior high girls, one in red and black flannel pajama bottoms. The black haired one pokes her friend's hips and comments that they stick out more than hers. "Those girls have some very bad manners," Jane whispers.

"Yup," I nod. "I noticed that too."

I nudge the cart forward, and she continues in talk-whisper, "I would feel bad if I did that." She wrinkles her brow, "I think they need some attitude training."

Our evening errands spinning back to speed, I smile. She sees it, attitude. "Yup. I think so too," I say.

Gratitude:

1276. Lucy's announcement that her baby's name is Glory-To-God-In-The-Highest, and that actually both babies are named Glory-To-God-In-The-Highest.

1277. Jack's prayer, "Jesus please help New Baby grow just strong and mighty and whole. Strong. Mighty. Whole. Amen.

1278. Gallons of peaches sis-in-law and I can together.

1279. Lucy's announcement, "I dropped a cherry pit through there," as she points to a whole in the wall where the doorknob hits.

1280. Jack's conclusion that he's pretty sure it's gonna be a hundred years until he's my age.

1281. Jane's gratitude, "Thank-you for making this possible," to Craig. And how he sends both of us off for a girls' date out.

1282. Her observation, "Momma, Jack and Lucy have had such a little tiny bite of life. Like if there was a whole banana, it would just be a teeny tiny seed of it."

1283. Three new shirts.

1284. Egg salad sandwiches and a feast of salads and desert and company.

1285. How the children crowd on the couch around Grandad. How they cross their legs and fold their arms, lean in, copy him, watch for every detail.

1286. How Lucy is the spitting image of my gramma.

1287. How my momma and I spoon brown sugar peaches into glass saucers, top with whip cream, a puff of cinnamon, and conversation.

1288. My grampa with a clean bill of health. And how he beelines it to his cabin tucked in the Bitterroot Mountains. The wake of family that follows.

1289. How when Craig stops by to see his brother, he's out playing with his kids and the neighbors and their kids. How his brother takes the underdog's side.

1290. Great-Grammie home from the hospital. And how while she was there in the hospital she pressed the CALL NURSE button when visitors came so she could introduce the fine nurses to her granddaughter-in-law and great-granddaughter.

1291. Four gallons of apple sauce and how they are a whole afternoon of boiling and straining and visiting over apples with Craig's mom.

1292. How we picked them straight from the tree up in her orchard, a bustle of kids gathering bucketfuls.

1293. Craig leaned against a corner in the kitchen reading while I can the applesauce.

1294. How his mom makes whatever I add to a meal seem like the perfect thing.

1295. Corn on the cob. Butter. Salt.

1296. The flood of sadness when I realize the couple parked next to us at church is snorting cocaine in the parking lot before they go into church.

1297. How suddenly the freedom in knowing Christ is so deep and wide and full in comparison.

1298. Janie's full heart as she divides rainbow colored Gummy Sprees between siblings and cousins. How she hides Jack's and Lulie's on their pillows for them to find.

1299. How Jack gallops on one foot to wash his hands after he captures a moth in the house.

1300. The chatter of children's voices all evening long.

1301. How they trot in and don rain boots at the slightest hint of chill.

1302. A Sunday nap in a pool of sun. And how I linger long enough to stretch and doze and breathe slow and long.

1303. How when I want to shoo away the chaos and clatter of children I draw them close. And how each breath stacked on another teaches me that I do love this after all and once again endurance sets in, joy.

1304. Worth it -- the theme of my life. And how in the end every single sacrifice Christ asks me to make is so completely worth it.