thanks

isn't answered prayer always a little surprising?  there's always a little part of me that thinks my prayers are unimportant, or impotent.  and then, bam! 
my 7 year old has been struggling with a health condition since she was a baby - not a serious one, but a bothersome one, that has just been worsening as of late.  we've tried lots of remedies.  doctors all say the same thing to no avail.  then, one night last week after bookclub a friend says "maybe its a dairy intolerance".  now that friend is no longer just another human being walking near me on this earth, but a messenger of God's goodness, a conduit of His healing and care.  incredible! 
and so this thanksgiving finds me thankful for friendship, for miracles large and small, and for a loving God who cares enough to answer.  surprisingly. 
once again God proves to me that He is who He says He is.  which gives me hope for the prayers still waiting, the aches still burning and unfulfilled, those dark spaces i periodically glance at from the corning of my eye and shoot up a furtive prayer and ignore again. 
and hope for your darkness as well.

i'm currently in my living room with relaxing music playing (my daughter wants to listen to something more fun and i say "i need something relaxing!!" and she looks at me like "yes, you do").  i'm looking out the window at my linden tree that's turning yellow, the rain is pouring down today and i'm nostalgic for BC.  i planted crocus under that tree this week, already planning for early spring when i will need signs of hope and warmth and change. 
i love my home.
i'm feeling the fall spirit of hibernation coming upon me.  last night scott said "you need to get out of the house" and i thought "i do?".
the kids thermal undies and the mitten basket have ascended from the basement.  summer hats and popsical molds have descended.  and i've been knitting up a storm. 
you didn't know i knit?  yes, i do.  it arises from a constant need for creativity coupled with a constant state of tiredness.  once the kids are in bed it feels impossible to pick up the paint brush.  but the needles are another story. 

the two tones of grey are an expression of my incredible colour sense and style.  and i ran out of yarn.
my sons mitts are knit with a yarn colour called "comics".  isn't that perfect?  little superhero hands.

i'm reading 'the help' for bookclub right now.  at first i didn't want to, because it seems everyone else in north america is also reading this book, but, i've realized there's a reason everyone else in north america is reading this book - it's good! i tried to get the book club resource from the library and was told there was a waiting list of 345 requests.  i mean, really?!  who was number 273?
 "sorry, but there's 272 holds on the book, would you like me to add your name to the list?"
 "yes.  i guess my bookclub will read it in 2015."
one issue i'm having with this novel is that i'm waivering between disgust for these women who hire others to raise their children and keep their homes while they sit around and write letters and play bridge - and the desire to hire someone to clean my house and play with my kids so that i can read this book!

we've been invited out to a thanksgiving dinner on sunday, and will have our own full house of friends on monday.  by tuesday the word 'turkey' will probably make me swear, but i'm still excited.  i think i'm going to do the maple bacon wrapped turkey that i tried a few years ago.  YUM.  it's really the thought of dealing with the leftovers that feels overwhelming.  how incredibly spoiled i am!  snap out of it janet!!
my favourite part of this season is when we sit down at the swollen table and take a minute to speak out our thanksgiving.  i always try to hold myself together but to no avail.  i'm such a weeper.  there's just so much to say.  so much to be humbled by, so much to be honoured, so much undeserved.

may this thanksgiving find you with your heart in your throat and your words enlarged with tearful gratitude as you peek around at the blessings of your life.

happy thanksgiving.