Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Cried in the Shower Today

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Have you ever cried so hard it hurts? I’m talking about that deep burn in your throat that reaches all the way to your heart and back, only finding escape from the flames via hot, molten tears. That was me, sitting in my shower, somehow enjoying the emotion, yet begging it to simmer down before I hyperventilated. The last thing I needed was my husband to run into the bathroom, following an echoing thump, and find me slumped naked in the billowing steam. So, I tried to qualm my cries, yet the overflow of emotion erupted again, a fresh cascade of tears across my already wet face.

We had recently gone to a child’s birthday party, and I guess that’s where the story of tears started. My daughters were excited to see an old friend, and even opted to miss dance and voice lessons for the occasion. We had shopped excitedly for a present, each child contributing to the basket before making a final selection. They had chosen the outfits they would wear, and had asked me each and every day leading up to the event, “how much longer until the party?”

So, what happened?!

We had arrived to the gathering a little after its commencement, and already swarms of girls and boys bolted along the sandy beachfront. The birthday girl came running towards my oldest, screeching her name with excitement, enveloping her in a hug.

And my girl stood there awkwardly stiff, having trouble accepting the embrace. I heard Stephanie Tanner in my head proclaim, “how rude!”

Our awkward entrance continued. I looked around at my girls standing on the periphery of the group, looking shy, uncertain, and uncomfortable.

I encouraged them to “go and play.”

Yet, they kept coming back, and sitting on the outskirts, as if unsure of exactly how to go play. It didn’t make sense. These were their friends, and sure there were lots of other children they didn’t know, but my childhood wallflower self silently screamed, “go, be a part of the group!”

Yep, I had been that awkward kid in school, unsure how to act in social settings, sitting on the outside looking in. I had always done better one on one, a single bestie, and that trend had followed me my whole life.

“It’s Covid,” I thought.

Over a year of telling your children to stay away from other kids had surely stunted their social growth I hypothesized, and while I’m sure that’s true, it didn’t explain the fact that my tween had refused to bring her swimsuit, refused to wear shorts, and I had to buy her a baseball cap just to keep her from wearing a winter boggin pulled down over her head. Was that just a phase? Y’all, parenting is hard.

She had headphones in her ears, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the voices of others, and sunglasses because the sun hurt her vampire eyes. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being holed up in her dark room most of the time (insert tired mommy sigh).

I texted my spouse, “our kids have no idea how to act in a large group.”

I was questioning my own parenting skills, imagining all the ways I was messing up my kiddos, and trying not to worry I might be creating an ax murderer. Just kidding. Kinda.

My husband quickly replied, “uhhh, neither do their parents.”

Oh Lord, my husband and I were closet introverts. We loved people, and even flourished in one on one relationships, but put us in a group setting, and our left eye started to twitch. We hated crowds and avoided going places on weekends like the plague. We were happy to sit at home, and neither of us had the desire to go out with friends to blow off steam. We liked the bed, dinner and a movie, quiet time, and no expectations. His words made sense.

But still, I worried about my babies.

And that’s what I talked to God about in the shower. I handed Him my worries and my babies, listening to the counsel of the Holy Spirit. At some point in our conversation He brought me a vision of a flower in a field. Like the sunflowers we had grown last year, this flower tilted its head towards the light, and the light shown on its face, giving it new life.

The sun set and darkness surrounded the solitary plant. From above came a thermal blanket, like the kind a gardener would use to protect his prize winning roses from a spring frost. I knew at that moment, that was how God covered me and my family.

Each flower in His garden was unique, each created and cultivated to be its own creation, for His glory and kingdom purposes. His light illuminated and fed each one as it turned its face to Him, and He protected them from dark and cold places.

I felt the Lord speak to me, “nothing is by accident. I created each of your children according to my giftings. Nothing can take away from that. Nor does it need to be.”

I recognized that perhaps my children were different than the average child. Each one had nuances, sensitivities, or gifts that made them unique. I had grown up feeling like a square peg, longing to fit into a world I couldn’t seem to become comfortable being a part of. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized God created me square, with a square hole in mind for me. After all, squares make the best block for building God’s Kingdom. I wanted my girls to feel alive and beautiful in their uniqueness, and I realized that started with me not expecting them to fit into standard social norms. They were created for more than that. I didn’t need to worry so much as trust. And while there was nothing wrong with noticing peculiarities, or even learning more about those particular social styles, making a diagnosis or treatment plan if necessary, the bottom line was they were beautiful flowers in God’s garden, perfect in their specific design. Even if that made group events a little cringe worthy.

So, why did I cry? Gratitude, I suppose. What the world calls wounded, God calls blessed. What society would view as imperfect, He sets apart. And best of all, His light and love never fail. His covering persists, through every season, even the ones of drought and doubt. I’m still growing. My girls are too. I suppose, sometimes it’s the tears of gratefulness and joy that water the soil best.

The Offense of Being Offended as a Christian

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Have you ever been forced to be around someone you don’t like? If you’re a responsible adult, in a work setting, then the answer is probably yes. You can break off an abusive, long term relationship, ignore your in-laws, or cut ties with a toxic friend, but leaving a great job because of an annoying coworker isn’t always economically feasible, and I’ve found myself in this situation lately.

Have you ever been so irked by an itchy personality that you imagine yourself throttling that person? I know, not very Christ-like, but let’s be honest; we’ve all been there once or twice. Some people can just be so different from us, and it’s like they know all the wrong buttons to push! This was what happened to me.

This lady was so prideful. I remember Southern ladies describing it as, “she thinks her sh*t don’t stink.” And that seemed like a pretty good description of this situation. The woman I’m referring to thought she was always right, everyone else was always wrong, and her way of doing things was the only way. It doesn’t make for a conducive workspace.

One morning, I had just sat down booting up my computer with another scheduled, early-arriving coworker, when she walked in. She wasn’t supposed to arrive for another hour! I thought I had time to drink my coffee and get my heart and mind in the right place for her abrasive personality, yet there she was.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked, even as my mind wondered if she was just checking to make sure we came to work on time in an environment without a time clock to keep us honest.

And so it began. She started droning on about the changes she was instituting for the workplace (as the most senior person in our office), and about all the things we were all doing wrong that she could improve upon.

Y’all, it flew all over me. I had spent the past couple of days she’d been off cleaning up her messes and mistakes! My work-plate had been overflowing thanks to her missed steps, and it made my blood want to boil at her audacity to suggest anyone else was the problem!

The thing was, I wasn’t the only one! Everyone in the office felt the same as me. They were fed up with her constant slacking of job duties, but even more so with her attitude that suggested otherwise. Grrr. It made us all crazy. In fact, when she wasn’t around we talked about how insane she made us all feel. We laughed at her expense, and made jokes about her holier-than-though attitude. It somehow made me feel better, you know?

After a full day of hard work, also filled with plenty of gossip about my troublesome coworker, I drove home and started feeling conviction. I knew it wasn’t right. Not any of it. Not my anger, not my judgement. I shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense, ridiculing her behavior with others, or gossiping period. I confessed of my behavior and asked the Lord to change my heart. Man, it is so easy to fall into sin, and fall away from the heart of God! I asked Him to give me His heart towards this problematic coworker, to help me see her with His eyes. That’s a tough sale, guys, cause when you do that, you no longer want to dislike a person for their erroneous behavior; you want to embrace them in their brokenness. Have you ever realized we’re all the same in that we’re not yet whole?

The next time I worked with this person, it was great! I told my husband it had to be the Holy Spirit. I usually grew angry at her pride and easily offended when her comments suggested I was less of a good worker than she. Because really, isn’t that what these situations really come down to most of the time? Personal offense? But on this day, I took no offense, and we got along swimmingly. I left the office lighter, in a better mood, because instead of feeling angry, I felt peace.

Have you ever noticed how off your behavior is when you’re angry? It’s the opposite of the fruits of the spirit. Instead of peace, we feel unease. Instead of joy, we feel rage. Instead of patience, we feel frustration. Instead of kindness, we feel vengeance. And most importantly, instead of love, we feel the opposite! If God is love, what is the opposite of love? Well, I can tell you, it’s not of God.

The thing is, many times when we feel offended, it’s selfishness. Instead of service, like Jesus modeled, we have placed ourselves to be served. By assuming our desires, opinions, or even our life, are more important than a brother/sister, we are elevating ourselves, which never pans out well in the Kingdom of God. In the Kingdom way, we are asked by Jesus to lay down our lives, to take up His cross, and to put on His yoke. Cause, you see, any other yoke is one of slavery. Slavery to anger, pride, selfish action, and again, the opposite of God’s essence, love. It turns out, His yoke, His way, is easy. That’s why after being a slave to offense, we feel terrible, but after being a slave (servant) to love, we feel amazing. I don’t think we always realize why we’re feeling so bad. We think it’s because of other people’s actions, but I would suggest, perhaps it’s our own hearts causing us harm.

When that person passes you in traffic haphazardly or cuts you in line! Arghh!

Remember justice is His. He will lift you up. Ask yourself these heart questions. What makes our time more valuable than that of another? What ranking does this particular offense hold in light of eternity? Does our response negatively affect our heart, and does it display the light of the One we claim to love? Are we reflecting Jesus to a lost and hurting world? This is something I desire more than anything.

When someone disagrees with something that is very important to us, it’s hard. When someone maliciously hurts us, it’s even harder. It’s crazy hard to lay down the desire to be right, the desire to be vindicated, and the desire to be esteemed, but as a Christian, that is what we are called to. We are asked to humble ourselves, to lay down our swords, and to serve in love. I still find myself in this crazy world, getting offended, but I try to not let that offense rule me, define me, or steer my actions. I’ve found that the true offense to being offended isn’t against the one I perceive as the offender, but rather it ends up being an offense to my own heart and the spirit God has given me. And who wants that!

The # 1 Thing We’re Missing in America

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I guess you noticed I haven’t been sharing as much lately on the blog. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed. Not just overwhelmed with my work as a bedside, critical care nurse on the frontline of COVID-19, but also with my emotions. I have had all the feelings over the past couple of months, and many of them are ones I don’t enjoy having. It’s been kinda heavy, and I’ve spent much of my time not saying anything rather than saying something I regret. Too bad more people don’t practice that restraint.

I’ve felt sadness for the many, sick patients I’ve seen battling this pandemic, and my heart has broken for their families. I realize that I have firsthand experience with a disease process that many others do not. It’s unknown and scary, and perhaps that’s why it’s easier for so many people to have the luxury to be flippant or apathetic about the virus. After all, it is more comfortable to claim it all a hoax or government-inflated theatrics, than to admit the frailty of human life.

I’ve oscillated between frustration and red, hot anger, melancholy and disappointment at the selfishness of my fellow man. I have seen some of the most ignorant comments, and I’ve witnessed some pretty heinous statements on social media. Why does the ability to type an opinion trump the decency of treatment of others, or why do we put on blinders to the plight of another, in favor of our own inconvenience? In other words, why are we such a selfish lot?

Do you know what we’re missing in this unprecedented pandemic? Compassion.

We’ve replaced it with selfish ambition. We’ve allowed our perspective to become quite narrow, seeing no further than our own front door.

We see how uncomfortable wearing a mask can be, how difficult it is to breathe. We become angry at someone mandating we wear something to protect ourselves or others. It’s all about “my comfort and my right to refuse.” I suppose we’re refusing the right to protect the elderly and immune compromised from the virus we could be carrying. The fact that it makes you hot should definitely precede expert opinion that it prevents the spread of germs.

Why do healthcare professionals wear them, based on hundreds of years of tested research, if they don’t really work? Perhaps we should tell doctors, nurses, and anesthesiologists it’s not necessary to wear them anymore in the operating room. While we’re at it, let’s get rid of all those pesky seatbelt and car seat laws. My body, my right to fly through the windshield!

Our perspectives have become so skewed, whereas we only see how a situation affects us personally. We forget that things could be worse, and even that they definitely are for other people.

We see that we can’t work for weeks at a time. We never consider the families who have lost their primary breadwinner forever, to death by COVID.

And I know that financial stress and income loss is serious! But fifty days in the Intensive Care Unit, waking up to a hole in your neck, and muscles so wasted you cannot move, well, that’s pretty darn serious too. We don’t think about that, though. It hasn’t happened to anyone we know personally, so the news is probably making it up. I’ll go tell that to my patient’s family. They haven’t even seen their husband/father in over a month, since he was admitted.

We are such a spoiled society in the United States. We get mad at slow internet and red lights, so naturally we’re up in arms over having to stay at home. We have to stay within the four walls of our sturdy, comfortably thermostat-adjusted dwelling. We’re protected from the elements, stuffing our bellies with an abundance of stock-piled food, and all we can say is, “I miss going into a restaurant to eat!”

All over this world mothers are crying because their children are starving. Fathers feel helpless that they cannot put a roof over their families’ heads. Families are running barefoot, with a pack of meager belongings slung over their backs, and they’re running to escape real bullets of persecution. Not the figurative bullets we think we are enduring from being forced to stay safe at home. Our inconvenience is the stuff some people dream of having, but we will never consider that.

We miss going to the mall, never thinking to thank God we have such things normally. We get angry over our children missing school activities, or our seniors not walking on stage at graduation. Do we ever consider the families who have lost children to this virus? They will never see them walk across any stage. The number of deaths by Coronavirus under age 18 seem low, until it’s your child.

Pictured above is Skylar Herbert who passed away in Detroit from COVID-19. Her father was a first responder.

Do you know I’ve even seen comments that COVID-19 only strikes “nasty” people with bad hygiene? Hmmm. I don’t even know where to begin. I could say this virus is no respecter of persons, hitting all races and socioeconomic levels, but instead I’ll ask a question. Since when is it acceptable to say one type of person is more understandable and acceptable to die? Like, it’s their fault where or what they were born into, and therefore they are less. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Gosh, we’re not much different than Hitler if we’re judging whose life matters more.

This pandemic has been really hard for me. I’ve dealt with the stress of caring for patients with the virus who nine times out of ten don’t get better, but I have tried to never let it escape me how well I have it. When my face hurt from the mask and I couldn’t breathe, or when I got tired and frustrated with the hectic environment, I would remind myself that I wasn’t scared, alone, and/or dying in a hospital bed.

Do you know the saying about trying to walk in another’s shoes? Maybe we should all lay in another’s hospital bed. It’s easy to dismiss the statistics if they’re far from your town/city, or if you tell yourself that they’re exaggerated. It’s not so easy for my Chaplain who lost his father, my friend who currently has four family members fighting the virus, or the nurses like myself who have seen more patients die with it than they can ever forget. It’s the same as the flu for someone who sits safely behind their smart phone screen on social media, sharing YouTube videos of conspiracy theories. But for the fifty year old man struggling to breathe in my hospital bed, being told to turn upside down and lay on his stomach to try and breathe better, well, this man knows it’s not like the flu at all.

It’s easy to blame the government or even Bill Gates for everything that’s going on when you’re sitting in front of your computer, but do you know who doesn’t have time for such extracurriculars? The weeping wife, pleading to God to save her husband, as she prays into his ear through the hospital room phone, hoping he can hear her, even though he won’t open his eyes. Yeah, that was hard for me to witness, but I simply joined her in prayer.

Perhaps that’s what we should be doing. Instead of complaining, let’s try sympathizing. Let’s join people in prayer, let’s offer them hope. Heck, at least offer them your hoarded toilet paper. But don’t lessen their grief and horrible situation by petty, selfish complaints. Instead of coming up with theories of why the numbers aren’t as bad as predicted, let’s thank God for His mercy, for answered prayers, and that flattening the curve and social distancing were successful. Let’s be grateful for life, not grumbling that it’s not as perfect as we believe it should be. Let’s take a moment and recognize that all the stuff we get frustrated about in this situation (like lack of toilet paper and bored children) are way better than an unexpected funeral that you can’t attend.

Taking Time to Be Thankful

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For those of you who don’t know… my husband is a pizza man. Running your own pizza place is no joke, and he’s one of the hardest workers I know. What I didn’t know before marrying him was that the day before Thanksgiving is the busiest pizza day of the year. The day after Thanksgiving is a close second. I guess folks don’t like leftovers as much as you’d think. Well, because of the nature of the business my husband takes off Thanksgiving Day, but that’s it. And as most of you know, one day will go by quickly. 

When the weeks before Turkey Day drew near and we still had no solid plans or family get-together invites I threw my hubby the suggestion of making our very own Thanksgiving dinner as a family. Y’all, I’m forty years old and have never made a turkey! I’ve just never had to do so. I’ve always gone somewhere and eaten someone else’s turkey. Undaunted, though, I actually grew excited at the thought of preparing my own bird. And my husband too grew eager for the opportunity to mash potatoes with our girls. 

For us, the day centered around being thankful, and what better way to celebrate that than by enjoying the ones who made you feel that way. The day started slowly over savored coffee, my husband’s arms hugging me from behind, and whispering into my ear, “enjoy today. Don’t feel stressed.” 

It’s easy to feel that way most days, and sadly you can also feel that way on a day that reminds us to bask in gratitude. Well, no stress was had today!! No hustle, no bustle, no rushing about. No timetable, schedule, or stringent to-do list encumbered me. It was simply a great day preparing a wonderful meal with the people I hold dear. 

Having never made a turkey I decided to cook it in a way I enjoyed. The crockpot!


Baking a cake. Who doesn’t love licking the batter?!


My seven year old had a recipe from her homeschool group cooking class that she wanted to try.


The finished product. Pinwheels!


Sneaking corn from the can before mixing the corn casserole.


Mashing their taters!


My first turkey. So moist and delicious.


The spread!

This is probably the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had. Today we took the time to be thankful, surrounding ourselves with the things we are most thankful for. Each other. 

How Praying While I Mopped Changed Everything

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My life hasn’t been the same since my first daughter arrived in 2010. She opened those puffy, slate gray eyes, and as I gazed into them I began to see the world in a different light. With each daughter I added to my brood I became more enlightened to the simple joys you can experience in life. Watching tiny faces explode with excitement on Christmas morning, or the way it felt when a squeaky voice first uttered, “I wuv you, mama.” But aside from the obvious perks of the gig, I also experienced the frustrations. It seemed like as my family grew, my capacity to love grew. But my patience waxed and waned. 

Nowhere did I experience more desperation than in the daily grind. It seemed as if the simple tasks I had once taken for granted suddenly became epic elevations to overcome, like getting the laundry done was akin to scaling Mt. Everest. Every action I performed was easily undone, and though it took great effort on my part to have the time to clean up the living room, it took my children very little time to mess it up. It typically seemed as if every job I performed was immediately wrecked by the people that I loved most, and since housework resembled the Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day, I found myself gritting my teeth over picking up the same items from the floor day after day, after day. 

Sweeping the floor was the worst. Basically if you wanted to sweep just once you’d have to leave the house. Every action performed seemed to almost be an act of futility, and it sometimes made you wonder if the little people you created were secretly plotting to drive you insane. 

I hate to admit it, but I’ve always had the tendency to be a grumbler. I’m the woman running around picking up stray socks and abandoned cups muttering under my breath about how I’m the only one who knows how to do anything around here. Anything. What happens is the more I pick up, the more I grumble, and the more put upon and discontent I become. 

But the other day I was mopping when I came across a few spatters of dried milk. As I ran the steam mop repeatedly over the stubborn stains I smiled at the thought of my precocious toddler tipping her sippee cup upside down. I smiled and I said, “thank you, Lord.” I ran the mop in the other direction over a second milk drop.

“Thank you for that baby.”

I began to broaden my surface area tackling bits of stuck on dirt, and I prayed, “thank you for my children.”

I watched the dingy floor turn a slick, shiny clean, and with each pass of the mop I thanked the Lord again.

“Thank you for my family.”

“Thank you for my home.”

I just kept on thanking Him, and with each movement of the mop my heart grew lighter, my spirit more elevated, and my mood more appropriate for a woman so supremely blessed as myself. I was actually enjoying the opportunity to scrub up dried food bits, and I figured if I could grin at that then I could do anything. I decided that this was the way to clean after all, and certainly not my typical complaining manner. 

Then I thought of something that had happened the day before with my six year old. I had asked her to go retrieve something for her sister. In a typical big sister fashion she had sighed in exasperation and stalked off sulkily. Being the mom I am I referenced scripture, hoping to teach a lesson to my little one. 

Colossians 3:23

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters,
I had told my daughter she needed to serve her sister in love, and as I stood there mopping the floor for the billionth time I was reminded that I too needed to serve my family in love as if serving the Lord. And even though it was the billionth time I had mopped milk marks and dried dirt clumps off the kitchen floor, when I prayed in a spirit of Thanksgiving it didn’t seem to be all that bad. It was even enjoyable. 

Why Do You Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth?

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My grandma used to say that a lot. 

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

You know what that means? It means you don’t complain about something that is given to you as a gift. Somehow we’ve lost this. 

In today’s society many of us feel entitled. Indeed, you feel as if you are owed certain things. If someone else has a nice car, well why can’t you? It’s gone beyond coveting your neighbor’s possession. It’s grown into a feeling that you deserve their car. That it’s your right to own that car!

Too often I see complaints lodged against charitable organizations. Facilities and groups that utilize volunteers and receive no monetary compensation for their services. These charities are complained about. 

You say your kids need clothes. Clothes are given. Why then would you complain about the brand?

All these clothes are from Fred’s! I’ll bet their kids’ clothes are Abercrombie and Polo!

You have no insurance and seek the care of a nonprofit clinic that offers its services for FREE. At no cost to you. Why then would you complain about the limited scope of services available? 

They don’t even have a doctor to see me! It’s just some Nurse Practitioner. 

Would you prefer a large bill in the mail?

You say you are hungry, that your children need food. Should you be picky?

Uhhhh, I don’t eat wheat bread. Ain’t you got some white bread?

You say you need help with your bills, but complain that the amount donated to you only covers rent and utilities. It doesn’t cover your cable and phone bill. 

Why? Why is this? Why are we so certain that we deserve handouts?

Look, I’m not speaking about people in need, folks down on their luck. I can personally recall being the child of a single parent when I was younger, and I remember being broke. I remember having one package of macaroni in the cabinet and the bank account was overdrawn. Rent was late, the gas tank would have been empty if we had a car, and the power was about to be cut off. Generous folks reached out to us and gifted my mother with cash to get back on her feet. 

Do you know what she did?

She cried, she said “thank you,” and once we were back on our feet she went to college and got her degree. Then she gave back. 

She certainly didn’t complain. She certainly didn’t spend the money and expect it to be given a second time. I’m sure they would have given it, but she found another way. She worked with her minimal resources at hand, and above all she practiced gratitude. 

Matthew 25:21

“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’

How can God bless us with more when we are not thankful to Him for little?

How can we gripe and complain over volunteer services having minimal resources, or about charitable organizations not giving enough?!

How can we open our arms to receive, but do so with a closed, bitter heart?

How can we expect that we deserve the fruits of another’s labor without even a simple thank you? And it’s not that you’re expected to grovel at the givers’ feet, but God teaches us that gratitude in all things leads to blessings to overflow in our life.  

How can we look a gift horse in the mouth?! 

This should not be so. 

Thank You for Hot Showers and Hair Conditioner

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Beep, beep, beep. 

The sound of my alarm jolted me awake in such a way that I immediately could feel the pounding lub-dub of my heart beating through my chest, and my hand flew blindly to silence the cruel shrieking. 

I had slept like a rock, a really good, sound sleep, and in the face of pregnancy insomnia I was almost as ecstatic for my deep slumber as I was disappointed that it was time to drag myself out of the comfy and alluring indentation my body had made overnight in my aging mattress. 

I was not a morning person, not at all, and for me the only way to pull myself out of the early hour fog was to hop in a steamy shower allowing the water to pelt me awake. I didn’t look forward to going to work anymore than I had celebrated climbing out of bed. And I wasn’t sure if it was pregnancy fatigue, the exhaustion of being a mom to littles, or simply awakening before the cock crowed that made it hard, but my motivational level was lacking big time. Huge. 

But as I stood there rubbing top-line hair products through my frazzled mane I found myself smiling despite my weary, sore body. My slick hands slipped through my softened hair, and the heat of warm water cascaded over my aching back. 

Thank you for hot showers and hair conditioner. 

My smile broadened. Something about the act of appreciation, it changed everything. A reminder of the little things, the perfect, tiny gifts that splashed brilliantly throughout my day. 

I was tired, but I had slept well. 

I was sore and achy, but it was temporary. A temporary pain to gain my prize. 

I had to work, but I could work. I was able to work, and able to work a part-time schedule. 

My house was dirty, but it was mine. It was tiny, but only because it was crowded with so much love. 

Pregnancy was sapping the nutrients straight out of my hair, but good conditioner was easy to find. 

And that hot shower. It felt so good. 

How many times did I miss out by focusing on the wrong thing? How often did I grumble over waking, and forget to be grateful for sleep? How many times did I complain over my circumstances, and miss the opportunities, the pleasures, and the sweet kisses of grace on my life?

I wondered how often I missed the blessings because I was too busy cursing?

It’s so easy to complain, to fret, to feel like life is lacking. But I suppose what’s easy isn’t always what’s best. Sometimes it’s harder to pluck the beauty from a heap of trash, but something about holding that gem cannot be compared. Finding something lovely in the midst of muck is most rewarding indeed. 

It’s a hot shower on a blurry-eyed morning, and the knowledge that all the tiny gifts of life are just waiting for me to find. Waiting for me to take notice, and hold them tight. 

There’s something refreshing and invigorating to the soul about discovering good news, and something rewarding about enjoying the mundane. For in the middle of busy schedules and lost sleep there’s a world of little nuggets waiting to be claimed. Waiting for us all to just say thank you. 

So thank you for the little things, the big things, and all the things in between. Thank you for the things I see, and especially for those I do not. Thank you for the good, and thank you for the bad. Thank you that they all work together for my good. But for this morning, thank you in particular for hot showers and hair conditioner.