Thursday, November 3, 2011
I am consoling myself with candy corn that arrived this morning in box number I-can’t-even-keep-track-anymore from my parents. It seems that my move to Sweden will result in a financial bailout of the US Postal Service singlehandedly financed by my parents. Usually receiving a package from home is the highlight of my month, but today I find myself feeling melancholy even after tearing into the box like the birthday girl who’s had too much cake.
My mom is such a thoughtful person. Everything about receiving a box from home reminds me of her. Her careful print addressing the box in bold black marker, the maternity pants that she washed before sending so I wouldn’t have more laundry to do, the cheery card with a happy puppy on the front, pumpkin spice candles because she knows how much I love them. She knows me. And I miss her. As I try not to cry into my laptop, my ever-sensitive daughter is wiping at my tears and hugging her delicate arms around my neck.
I have so much to be thankful for, starting with my compassionate little girl, my caring parents, a husband who is dedicated to his family and diligent at work. I have a sturdy roof over my head, clothing to keep me warm, and food in the pantry. I have the freedom in my relationship with the God who is above all things and assurance that he will hear and answer my prayers. As the days become shorter I resolve to focus on these things; they bring light into my dark days.