Right now, the sun is that gold that only autumn gets to wear. That’s the first thing I’m grateful for.
I’m grateful for my husband.
I asked the other day, “Thomas, do you love me?”
“Of course. Very much,” he answered.
“But maybe you just love me like you love shortbread cookies.”
“Lindsay,” he said reverently, “there’s nothing small about my love for shortbread cookies.”
On Wednesday, he told me, “You need to drink a big glass of water and say the Jesus prayer. You’ll feel better.”
I did. And yeah, I did feel better.
My son got angry with me on Friday—I picked him up earlier than usual from after-school care, and he didn’t get to go to free centers…he was angry, but he didn’t fuss. I asked if he wanted to be carried, and he said yes. So I got to pick him up and carry him out, his legs hanging nearly to my feet. He’s so tall now…
I turned on a Newsboys song the other day. A song from 1996–I first heard it in third grade. Two lead singers ago, another era of Christian music, where you could get away with lyrics like “Mom and Dad I’m fair, how’s life?/Lent the money you sent me to the clown with the knife.”
The song I listened to was called “Breathe”, in case you’re curious, and I hadn’t heard the words in 25 years, but I listened, and I loved it. My dad always sang along with “Breathe”, but as a kid I didn’t care. Now it felt like God had kept it in a drawer for me all these years, and I was old enough for it.
I’m thankful that high-waisted pants are back in. Now, at long last, I can look a little like my mom did when she was my age. She was very beautiful, you guys (still is). And now I can wear shoulder pads, cuz those are back, too. The dress-up clothes of 1991 are the outfits you find at Zara. And the pants don’t dig into your hip bones. That’s nice.
Speaking of my mom, the other day I said, “Mom, you’re a good mom.”
“You’re a good daughter,” she replied. Why don’t I say that more often, I thought, like a character in Our Town?
My niece said hi to me on the phone. She’s not 2 yet, but I heard her in the background while I was on the phone with my sister. “Let me talk to Liz,” I said as a joke. But they handed her the phone.
“Hi!” She said. Her bubbly voice answered without hesitation.
“Hi, Liz! How are you doing?” I cried out.
She answered by singing “Let it Go.”
I’m so grateful she exists…my little niece who looks like my sister and her husband, and also a fraction of me and my son and my mom…
Someone prayed for me the other day. They said I was God’s beloved daughter. I don’t remember anything else…but those words hung in my mind like incense,
I AM God’s beloved daughter, I thought, sitting outside and looking up at the sky.
I am, and I was…when I first heard those Newsboys lyrics in third grade, in that other world before so much had happened. I was when I first met Thom—when God brought us together in a science class. Before my son was born…when I despaired of ever having a child.
The sun is that particular kind of bright, hanging on to summer’s glare. I haven’t written in a while. My father-in-law says I should write more about him. In due time, sir. But anyway, it’s been too long, guys. And let’s start with the good. So much is good.