As the world spins faster and noisier with every passing year, I have found that the most potent antidote to stress, worry, and the general swirl of life is astonishingly simple. I have found that counting my blessings helps keep things in perspective. Not in a grand, philosophical way, although there is plenty of room for that. I am speaking in the small, everyday ways that remind me that life’s richest gifts are often hiding in plain sight.
Blessings do not always show up wrapped in fireworks or fanfare. More often, they look like a quiet morning when the house is still, and you can hear your own thoughts. They can look like that first sip of hot coffee, a crisp walk before the day unravels, or a soft blanket at the end of the evening. They look like the ordinary moments that take on extraordinary meaning when you slow down long enough to recognize them, which I need to do more often.
Time has a way of slipping through our fingers without asking permission. One season blends into the next, and before we know it, the calendar has indicated another year is nearly gone. In the middle of the rush, there is a grounding peace that comes from simply acknowledging what is good, what is stable, what is nourishing, and what we might otherwise take for granted.
Food on the table is one of those blessings that becomes more significant the older I get. Not just the meal itself, but the act of gathering around it. The way Tom fills our kitchen not just with the scents from whatever is cooking, but also with warmth and chatter. The way a shared plate can soften hard days and bring people closer. A simple dinner can be its own kind of celebration. It can serve as a reminder that nourishment is not only physical. It is emotional. It should be shared. It is sacred.
Good health, too, is a blessing that whispers rather than shouts. When we feel well, we hardly notice it. But let an ache settle in, let an illness knock us off our feet, and suddenly we are reminded how lucky we are on the days our bodies cooperate. Waking up able to move, breathe, stretch, and think clearly is a gift. These are everyday miracles that deserve our gratitude. As I age, I am trying to learn to thank my body for what it can do, not punish it for what it can’t do as easily as it once could.
Then there is family. A family that is messy, beautiful, loud, imperfect, and definitely irreplaceable. If gratitude is a practice, then family is the reason we practice. Life pulls everyone in different directions, tugging at schedules, scattering kids across states, and even into other time zones. However, nothing compares, N O T H I N G, to the feeling of having everyone home again for the holidays.
There is a joy that lives deep in this momma’s heart, one that stirs awake the moment the front door opens and the familiar sound of all my children bantering fills the house again. It does not even matter how old they are. It doesn’t matter how long it has been. When all of my kids are under my roof, even for a short time, something inside me exhales in a way nothing else can duplicate. I can sleep the most perfect sleep. All is right in my world.
It is the little things that get me every time. It has the shoes scattered by the door, the towels that somehow multiply on their own, the late-night kitchen conversations that lead to early morning finds in the sink, and the shared memories that resurface without warning. During the holidays, the house feels fuller and not just with people. It is filled with history, with warmth, with love that has roots stretching back decades. Those moments are the ones I tuck away like treasures.
As I stand in the middle of the bustle, someone laughing in one room, music drifting from another, the smell of something good baking in the oven, I find myself whispering silently to myself. This. This is a blessing, and it is. It’s a priceless one.
Counting blessings does not erase the challenges of everyday life. It won’t fix every problem or smooth every rough edge. But it shifts your posture. It realigns your heart. It reminds you that even in a world that feels heavy more days than we would like, there is beauty worth noticing, savoring, and celebrating.
So as the holidays approach, and as another year begins to wind down, join me in taking deliberate time to count my blessings. Pay attention to time with family. Be present. Quiet mornings. Embrace the peace. Food on the table. Savor the flavors. Health that is so easily taken for granted, until it is not. The laughter of my children echoes in the home that shaped them. These are not small things. They are everything.
The more I count them, the more I begin to realize that life is fuller than I sometimes remember. The blessings are there. They have always been there. Sometimes we need to pause long enough to see them. Happy Thanksgiving.
