Thomas S. Monson, the Prophet

I remember a long time ago that my parents took us all to a big meeting at some sort of sports arena. There, far away on a little stand, stood an aging man whom we had come to hear speak. He may have been a single person among thousands and so far away I could barely make out his face, but I could feel the spirit that he carried with him. I knew that he loved me, even though he didn't know me. I knew that he was a messenger of the Lord, called by God Himself to minister to us. I knew that Thomas S. Monson was a prophet.
Each time a President of the church has died we have been counseled to pray to know if he is called of God as a Prophet. I have had the Holy Ghost affirm that calling to me again and again. Well, I have known for so long, so strongly that President Monson is a prophet I didn't need to pray for that confirmation. I had that on that long ago day in Reno.
Ever since, when I hear him speak, I pay closer attention. When I read things written by him, it is not my voice speaking in my mind, it is his, I know his voice, his cadence that well, for I relish every word I hear him speak.

Thank you Lord, for President Thomas S. Monson, the Prophet.

Bedtime

In God's great wisdom he made it so kids require more hours of sleep in a night than adults do. So every night we send them to bed and then stare blankly at a wall or tv for a while trying to process the hours of little voices contending for our attention.
Then on the way to our own beds we do one last check, turning off lights, covering a little body laying cutely contorted, half on, half off the bed or with feet on the pillow. Though we are tired from a long day, though we have relished that adult time when we could be something besides keeper of the backpacks, we still reach out to touch a cheek. Our hearts swell with love.
Ah the magic of a sleeping baby, no matter how old they are, there is something about that helpless state that brings back all the warm moments and reminds us why we love them.

Thank you, Lord, for bedtime.

Now, to get mine down for the night before I turn into a pumpkin.

The Atonement

(Here's a link to the definition, if anyone happens upon this who isn't a member of my faith.)

Words will never express the depth of my gratitude for the Atonement and what it has meant in my life, but I will say this, I am nothing without it, and through it I have potential that spans the eternities. My relationship with my Savior is the most important thing in my life, and I have such peace because of this.

Thank you, Lord, for your incomparable work on my behalf.

Sewing

I love my sewing machines. I mean where would this stitch-witch be without them? Dad and Joe went in together on my standard machine right after I got married, and then later Joe bought me my serger. I've been using them both today making Christmas presents and I'm so thankful to have them.

I am also thankful that my mother took the time to teach me to sew at an early age. I very much remember making that little yellow sweatsuit for Joe-Joe. It couldn't have been an easy process teaching me, but she found the time and the patience to do it.

Thank you Lord, for Sewing.

Kitchen gadgets

As I type this I have been shuffled out of the kitchen by a husband who thinks the flip waffle maker is fun to use.

Thank you Lord for kitchen gadgets.

Harm avoided

I am thankful that when I turned on the wrong burner and managed to explode a pyrex pie plate that the only victims were two beautiful apple pies, a pot of corn, and a pot of green beans.

Thank you Lord for protecting us from my folly.

Falling leaves

Having been raised in the desert, I never really understood the draw of trees. In fact forest roads used to make me feel claustrophobic. I still love the big open sky of the west, but trees have definitely grown on me over the last several years. I fell in love with the quiet sentries of nature on vacation a few years back, and when I saw the forest that surrounded this house I just had to live here. Now every day I stop for a moment or two and gaze on the beauty of my trees.
Yesterday the wind was blowing gently, and I had some harp music playing on my iPod. For just a few moments the leaves fell perfectly in time with the chords from the strings, like they were the agile fingers that brought the music to life. It was a moment of pure beauty, and in moments like that I can't help but know that God loves me.

Thank you Lord, for falling leaves, the orange, yellow, and red valentines that you send drifting down to me.