The coyotes are singing up a storm this morning, and as I step out onto the front steps to wave a goodbye to my husband I watch that hawk the kids were telling me about winging low and stealthy over the yard, sending the ladies high-tailing it for the chicken coop. They fight each other for entrance through the gate and mill about inside the fence, anxious and fussing.


The sun is doing her best and the forecast is fine, and while I’m aware at the edges of my brain that there is danger and duty and plain old difficulty out there at practically every turn, it’s a sweet day on earth. Even the army of fruit flies that has invaded my kitchen can’t raise my blood pressure.

Sometimes, an ordinary day in the midst of it all, in the mess of it all, is the best gift.

Even with the chicken hawk threatening and the coyotes prowling. Even with a mountain of laundry to climb, and children to wake and solve-for-x with, and even with no idea of what supper will be… Even with a thousand things to remember and a brain that struggles with remembering two, and who knows what that name on the calendar was all about, and oops, we might be out of milk, again.

Sometimes an ordinary day in the midst of it all, in the mess of it all, reminds me of how incredibly, amazingly, completely blessed I am.

Because sometimes, the chickens escape and the coyotes vanish and the laundry gets finished and the children find x and forgotten leftovers are discovered in the fridge and the friend calls to remind.

And the boy wakes up with a smile and a hug, and the husband texts love, and the kitten opens her eyes for the first time, and it’s like sugar on strawberries. Sweet on sweet and praise God, he’s in his heaven and all is right with the world.

And even if it doesn’t all work out – and to tell the truth, I’m pretty sure it won’t – he’s still there, and it’s still right, and I’m still blessed.