He’d had a great day.

I’d watched him from the upstairs window. His tall older brothers and their friend in the lead, trekking across the back pasture, through the snowy stubble, and he a few steps behind, working hard to keep up. I could see the effort it took, lifting knees high to clear the snow.

He was hard at the trying. Working at being older so he could be a part of it. And when they trooped in, frosty eyelashes and cold hands, he was quick to offer to be the hot chocolate maker for them all.

It’s hard work sometimes, fitting in.

He was all peace-maker and compliance when it came to choosing a movie to watch, and I was both proud and a little sad at the watching of it. At the trying hard.

I fixed the supper, baked spaghetti, and when the oven dinged the ready of it, he offered to be the one to take it out of the oven.

I’ll get it, I’ll get it.

So I smiled and said, Sure, just put it on top of the stove.

And in just a few seconds there was a crash and an oh no and a rush to see him, standing shame-faced in the middle of the mess.

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The hot came through the mitts, he said. And I said, Don’t worry, it’s fine. We’ll clean it up. It’s fine.

And my eyes on my older children warned, Don’t you even think of laughing.

As I cleaned the mess, I didn’t think much about the fact that the broken dish had been a wedding gift from cherished friends. I didn’t worry about the lost supper, or the faint orange stain left to mark the tragedy. These things came briefly to mind and quickly left.

Instead, the thought that took up residence in my mind was this.

If this is the worst thing that has happened today, then I am blessed.

And I went to bed that night, thankful.

May your worst be your blessing today, Friend.

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