Friday night is date night, reserved for A. After dinner, we hop in the truck and go in search of conversation and dessert--ice cream, frozen yogurt or a treat from Honeymoon Bakery. I wouldn't trade that time with my girl for the world.
On a recent dessert night, A talked about college and her plans for the future. She loves art, but thinks practically. Right now, she's leaning toward teaching, but in her heart-of-hearts, she'd like to illustrate books. That discussion led to a conversation about my own career path.
I grew up poor--not the kind of poor that middle class people think is poor. I mean poor: eating government cheese that came in a plain brown box, drinking re-hydrated powdered milk and never, ever eating food from a restaurant, not even a McDonald's, until I was in middle school.
Probably because I grew up in uncertainty, I made safe decisions that would get me to my dream. I wanted to work as writer, live in a house that I owned, marry well--not too young, and have at least two kids, where the older child could be the protector of the younger. That seemed to me to be a life worth living.
I told A that, while I had been accepted to the University of Georgia, I chose a more practical, more certain route toward my goals, attending junior college, then transferring to the University of West Georgia. And, while I have to admit to a tinge of regret of not having the Red and Black on my degree, I can see now, how my life was divinely orchestrated.
I finished college on time, landed a job at a newspaper, bought a house at 23 and married a blonde with a talent for art the week after I turned 30. God blessed us with two kids: A musically talented boy who is a protector, friend, confidant and mentor of his beautiful and gifted younger sister.
"I guess you could say that I'm living my dream," I told her.
Wow.
How many people can say that?
A wave of gratitude flooded over me as those words hung in the darkness of the truck cab.
"Awwwww, how cool!" A said as I finished my story.
It is cool, I thought. God is so gracious.
I Love My Family
A few days later, I found a drawing on the table beside my bed. It's a caricature of me, drawn by A. Beside my likeness is a word bubble.
"This is Bill at public relations, how may I help you? Good goobbedy goo. I like coffee and solitaire. I love my family."
While I'm not sure how I feel about coffee and solitaire rising to the top, I love that she portrayed my go-to swear words. Good goobbedy goo is about as profane as it gets at our house. I love that she paid homage to my work, and--this is where I get choked up--it blesses me exponentially that she ended her characterization of me with, "I love my family."
It's wonderful that she wrote those words, but it's truly edifying to see that she knows that I love her, her brother and my wife. She is confident enough of my love for our family, to put it in writing. And, there it was, another wave of gratitude.
It's All in the Word Cloud
A new interaction on Facebook debuted recently, an exercise that creates a word cloud from your posts that shows the words you use most often. There couldn't be a better draw for a writer who is active in social media. My word cloud featured the word "God" in bold letters, front and center, larger than any other word in the mix, followed by "Lord" and "faith."
Again, how cool. There's a lot of drama, profanity, gossip, negativity and opinion on Facebook. To see that I write most often of God, my faith and my Lord is humbling. My life verse is Matthew 6:33. "Seek first the kingdom of heaven and His righteousness, and all these other things will be added to you."
There is no greater wisdom, no truer life application than those 19 words. I sincerely do try to put Him first, and this seemingly silly little exercise showed it to be true. And, there it was: YAet another wave of gratitude.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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