I came to consciousness slowly, with a civility that’s absent on alarm clock mornings.
It feels so wonderful to lie here, I thought. The sheets so soft; the blanket just right; his warm hand resting, peaceful, on mine. Don’t move, I whispered, sensing him beginning to stir. Let’s just lie here, like this, a moment longer.
There were a thousand blessings to count. An October Sunday was dawning just outside the windows—the birds were chirping with joy. My sweet Eliza, home for Fall Break, was tucked safely in her bed upstairs; in her kennel in the corner of our bedroom, an eager-for-breakfast Little Bit; and Tiger, our 13-year-old cat, hanging on the side porch, (no doubt) anxious for a sign of life in the house.
It had been a good Saturday. I’d spent a large portion of the day dragging Halloween decor and cold weather clothes from the attic—both activities I much preferred over the Marine Corps Mud Run (the way my husband and daughter chose to spend their Saturday). The fact that I’d successfully avoided any role in that Muddy Mess was reason enough to rejoice. But there was also the thrilling win (and undefeated status) of my Clemson Tigers, as well as the perfect record of the Lexington High School Wildcats. This was a good world to wake up to.
Really? you may be thinking. Halloween decorations and football wins on her list of deep-heart blessings?
For me, an unequivocal yes. Because the older I get, the more I realize it is the daily bits of joy that add up to a happy life: a pillow perfectly positioned, a blanket that’s just the right weight, the knowing that my husband’s hand found mine, there in the darkness, before either of us knew another day had dawned.
30 Days of Grace