Thirty Thanks at the Table
November always invites me to look again: at the ordinary, the tender, the hard, the holy. Gratitude isn’t denial; it’s attention. It’s holding what’s aching and what’s amazing in the same pair of hands and whispering, “Thank You.” This year, I wrote thirty ‘sparks’ of gratitude. I posted them in rounds of 10 on social media for the month. They are not tidy or symmetrical; they’re the real texture of my life right now: family love and complicated healing, ministry joys and middle-aged eye masks, grief and reconciliation, and a God who keeps the porch light on. Here they are, gathered by theme, offered with an open hand.
Family, Home, and Holy Proximity
Living close to our daughter-in-law and grandson
I don’t take “around the corner” for granted. It means spur-of-the-moment hugs, quick drop-offs, and ordinary Tuesdays that turn into holy memories. Proximity is a quiet kind of miracle: a neighbor’s porch light that says, “Come by. We’re here.”Still making memories while we can still go places
I’m grateful we can still chase footballs, wander museums, and say yes to the fun without needing a nap first (okay… maybe a small one). These are the days for hard questions, saying ‘yes,’ and endless teasing. May our legs keep up and our hearts stay young.·My dad’s willingness to let me advocate and care for him
What an honor it is to become the one who sits in the waiting room, asks the questions, and takes the notes. The roles shift, but dignity remains. Dad’s “thank you” undoes me every time. Advocacy is love with a clipboard.My husband: 33 years of gear‑shifting together
Marriage has felt like a stick shift on a steep hill: stalling, grinding, and then catching just in time. I’m grateful for a man who keeps showing up, who downshifts for the heavy climbs and laughs with me on the downhill. We’ve learned to drive this thing together.A home that is safe and loved
Our house is more than walls: it’s a refuge. Candles, soft blankets, stacks of books, the quiet hum of normal. I’m grateful to exhale here, to let the day be the day and the night be gentle.The call to hospitality
Setting the table is my favorite liturgy: chairs scooted close, extra napkins, space for stories. Hospitality is not performance; it’s presence. I’m grateful that serving others fills my cup instead of emptying it.Reconciliation with my daughter-in-law
I missed it in my grief when PJ died. God, in His mercy, didn’t miss us. He brought us back to one another: family again, friends again, neighbors again, laughing again, building something new. Redemption tastes like friendship on a Tuesday.Becoming a “Grantie”
What an honor to be invited into the daily magic of other people’s families: birthday parties, soccer games, bedtime stories. I’ll never get over the gift of sticky-fingered hugs and the sacredness of being “one more grown-up who loves you.”Enough to share
We can put food on the table, pay the bills, and keep a roof over our heads. That is no small thing. I’m grateful, and I pray to keep a loose grip, ready to lift others when we can.
Formation, Healing, and the Long Obedience
Best friends who see all of me
Cheerleaders, truth‑tellers, tear‑sharer: my circle is small and fierce. They clap for the wins, sit in the losses, and lovingly call me on my nonsense. Our group text may never win a Pulitzer, but it has rescued my heart more times than I can count.A counselor who calls me to action
We don’t just name the pain; we train the heart. Homework, habits, honest conversations: it’s not glamorous, but it is healing. I’m grateful for someone who doesn’t let me camp in the valley when God is leading me through it.An ADHD diagnosis, late but real
Knowing has been both a relief and an ache. I finally have language for the scattered edges and the sparks of creativity, too. I’m learning to bless how I’m wired and build scaffolding where I need support. Grace upon grace (not something I’m used to offering to myself).Grieving the lost time
I wish I had known about the ADHD sooner. I didn’t. So I grieve the missed ease and offer those years back to God, trusting that He wastes nothing: not confusion, not detours, not delay. Even regret can become compost for growth.Medication as mercy
It’s an adjustment, but I’m grateful for tools that help my mind find traction. A tiny pill, a big mercy. I’m learning to receive help without shame: just gratitude.Friends who sit with me in grief for my mom
Most of the time, I can’t find the tears, and when they do come, it is mixed with so many emotions. Either way, my people stay. They bring soup, silence, and soft questions. To be held in the ache is its own kind of healing.The holy space of prayer
God wants to be with me. He listens. He speaks. He steadies me in the now and not‑yet, and the unknown. I am undone by a Father who keeps the porch light on.
Here I am, Lord. I bring my hallelujah and my need. Meet me in both.
Vocation, Calling, and the Work of Peace
Working in a place where people love God
Not every Monday starts with prayer and ends with praise. Mine often does. I’m grateful that my “work meetings” are also kingdom moments: where spreadsheets and sanctification share a desk, and love for God isn’t the P.S., it’s the headline.Leading with four men who seek God
Iron has sharpened me in the most unexpected ways. I’m thankful for teammates who open Scripture, ask better questions, and push me toward Jesus, not just production. What a gift to be stretched by people who want God more than they want credit.Late‑in‑life seminary
Who knew I’d be color-coding commentaries and loving it? I feel both late and right on time at the same time. I’m grateful God didn’t put an age limit on learning. He keeps opening doors and handing me highlighters.A God‑given voice and conviction
Sometimes the table is full of men, and I am the only woman, but the Spirit still nudges: “Speak.” I’m grateful for a voice trained to love truth more than approval. Courage isn’t volume, it’s obedience.Walking with the grieving
It is holy ground to be trusted with someone’s sorrow. I don’t have answers, but I can bring presence. If you’re in the valley, I’ll walk with you; not as a fixer, but as a friend who believes light is coming.The gift (and stretching) of peacemaking
I rarely like the process; I always marvel at the fruit. God keeps inviting me into difficult situations and then surprises me with beautiful gardens. Lord, make me brave enough to enter and gentle enough to stay.Our Young Adult group
From twelve in a living room to a crowd that keeps multiplying; what a joy to watch roots sink deep and branches stretch wide. If they remember anything, let it be this: shared meals matter and community changes lives.CASA and a voice for the voiceless
Justice work is slow, sacred, and often unseen. I’m grateful for the chance to stand beside children in hard places and say, “You matter.” May my words build bridges and my presence bring peace.
Beauty, Wonder, and Small Mercies
Opportunities to travel
New places keep waking up my wonder. From desert trails to crowded city streets, I’m reminded that God’s world is big and my soul grows when I pay attention. A packed suitcase is my little amen to curiosity.No bitterness after losing taste and smell
Five years without flavor could have made me hard. It didn’t. God walked me through the anger and taught me to notice texture, temperature, and memory instead. Gratitude grew where grumbling wanted to live.The ability - and means - to travel
Provision is not a guarantee; it’s a grace. I’m thankful for the margin to go, to see, to invite others along. May every ticket be an offering and every trip widen my heart for the world God loves.Sunrises, sunsets, and the quiet between
I used to fill every silence with noise. Now I’m learning to let the sky speak.
little prayer, open hands…
day begins / day ends…
God, keep me soft.Heated, massaging eye masks
Breaking news: middle age has perks. I’m genuinely grateful for the tiny spa strapped to my face that makes dry eyes feel human again. Small comforts are still big gifts.A creative bent from God
He planted color in my heart and rhythm in my hands. I’m praying for more space in the coming year to paint, write, weave: to make beauty that tells the truth and points to Hope.
God of ordinary Tuesdays and aching Thursdays, of loud tables and quiet sunsets, thank You for being near in the in-between places. For every reader who has walked through November with both grief and gratitude in their pockets, would You meet them with mercy? Teach us to notice, to name, and to nourish what is good. Make us brave in the peacemaking, tender in the caregiving, generous at the table, and patient with our own becoming. Plant our roots deep and stretch our branches wide. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash
