For humor on hot days in the humidity of Houston.
For happy colors at the mexican market and the sound of the accordion, and children speaking spanish with helado dripping off the chin.
For fresh open coconuts with a straw in the center.
For watermelon to feed an army (and getting to finish it off myself).
For life and death and dying to self and finality and resurrection and death again.
For Lazarus.
For weeping for Lazarus.
For deep sorrow that breaks and shapes and changes and holds us.
For babies that breath and beat and live.
For babies that live in eternity, emptying us of our very souls so that we can be consumed and filled and rise again.
For catching my tears and saving them.
For promising to wipe them all away one day.
For roses that bloom and remind us of life.
For markings that never go away.
For mothers and mothers in law.
For extended family and awkward moments, and grace and anger and histories and new beginnings.
For communion and community.
For breaking of bread and drinking of wine and remembering the breaking of body and spilling of blood.
For washing over me.
For faith as a gift that I can not force upon myself.
For plum jelly on a hot summer day.
For theater productions in the open air of the park.
For bright moons and Saturn’s rings.
For daring to hope again.
For continuing to complete a work that you’ve begun.
For sunlight and shadows, long dark winters, silences long and fearsome.
For things that we don’t understand, mysteries and secrets.
For redemption and holiness.
For learning obedience.
For promises.
For reminding me that I am your child.
For freedom that Christ has set us free.
For fruit.
