There was far too much to get done as I plugged away at all the Thanksgiving Day meal prep but how could I say no as I looked into the eyes of my child as she asked "will you please come to church with us"?
Cliche as my next statement may be, it is ever so true. It was exactly where I needed to be and exactly the words I needed to hear, precisely what my eyes needed to see, and my heart needed to soak up.
I love painting word pictures for willing eyes to read but last night I sat and relished the work of an artist silently using only his hands to tell a story playing out in front of my eyes. All while a wise white haired man in a white robe used words to reveal a story of deep gratitude and impart his wisdom into hearts and minds.
Children were invited to come forward to hear their very own story and then share their hearts, their thankfulness was valued.  Josie stepped up to the microphone, her small voice speaking bravely her thankfulness for family and mommy. Tears welled but I did a good job holding them back until my husband holding our new son spoke. He spoke the words our son cannot while his eyes confirmed them to be true. Let the waterworks begin, yes I couldn't hold the tears back and they simply fell.
That white haired man clothed in a white robe speaking words of wisdom that I trust to speak into my life challenged me (really everyone) to show gratitude in the simplest and oldest way possible, thank you cards.
Now due to my being behind on getting my thank you cards out by about twenty nine years I will paint for you. Sadly I know that many will never hear or read my personal gratitude as our paths crossed but only for a moment. It still matters.
This painting if you will, will be long and portioned out in to digestible sections. My life is far too blessed to have this be short and to the point.

So it begins......
I was young and small and they adored and spoiled me. I still remember vividly the smell of Grandpa and Grandma Gold's house and can still taste the diet Sprite she would always give me. The parents of my mothers boyfriend, my brothers grandparents, my solace. They loved me well.

She pinched me so hard and so many times and we would fight some days on that recess playground until we were out of energy. She was my best friend. She saw me completely unguarded and vulnerable and still loved me. She knew me and I knew her. We fought what life threw our way like a two woman army and I think we won. She protected me all the way through high school in her crazy dysfunctional way. My gift from above, my friend, my sister, my maid of honor, my Nicky. Forever indebted and grateful.

He joined the air breathing world when I was only ten years old and he changed my life with his own first breath. He beat the odds of being born of an addict healthy and strong and even chubby. He was loud and perfect. He was my brother. He had it rough, much harder than I, but he not only made it, he barreled through barriers. I am so thankful to be his sister.

Jello was not my favorite because it tasted good but because of her silliness. My stepmom would put jello in the front pocket of my overalls and then make absolutely ridiculous noises while trying to distract me. Then... bam! She would smash my jello filled pocket spraying my face and the room with jello. The laughter we shared neared the point of needing oxygen. My father chose well, better than well, perfect. I adore my parents!