“Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have.” Philippians 4:11

I have always dreamed of having a home with a wood burning fireplace. I didn’t want a wood stove or a gas fireplace. I wanted the whole experience: a stack of wood with a stone fireplace and raw edged wood mantel. I dreamed of waking up in the morning and warming myself to the sound and smell of crackling wood. I imagined curling up in the winter under a throw, reading books with the fireplace creating a cozy ambience.

I finally modified my dream and bought an electric fireplace. No, I don’t smell the wood burning or hear it crackling, unless I ask Alexa to play that sound. But this tiny white fireplace brings me so much joy in my new home. It helps create a Hygge atmosphere in the fall and winter. The glow of the fireplace in the morning makes coffee and devotions feel a bit sweeter. Wrapping up in a blanket while reading a book by the glow of the fireplace is exactly what I imagined.

This fireplace represents more than warmth and ambience. It means learning to be content. I am thankful for a God who allows me to dream but has also helped me develop the art of contentment. Practicing contentment helps me to choose daily gratefulness over envy, strife, and disappointment. And it makes the fireplace all the sweeter.

“The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. The world and all its people belong to him.” Psalms 24:1

The mountains call to some people, others hear the ocean calling, but for me, it will always be Lake Michigan calling me home. The Great Lakes are appropriately named, and you really have to see them to grasp the size. These are not your ordinary lakes, and I happen to believe that Lake Michigan is the greatest. The waves crash onto the beaches and rocks just like they do at the ocean. On sunny days, the water is a deep glittering blue as the sun flits across it. The red Sheboygan lighthouse was always the background icon of my childhood 4th of July celebrations, and I carried on that tradition with my own children. The day before we were married, Terry and I took a walk along the beach, eating a light lunch, dreaming of our future together. Later, we packed up our own children and continued walking along the beach. Sometimes, we would just enjoy the scenery.  Other times, we built sandcastles on the beach and dipped our toes in the cold lake water.

Anytime I get back to Wisconsin, no matter if it is summer or winter, I drive by the lake. Its waves, even if it is thrashing with the November winds or calm during the languid summer, remind me of God’s faithfulness. It embodies so many memories in my life-a place where I dreamed, grew, and celebrated. It symbolizes home to me.

“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord.” Psalms 127:3

I had the privilege to raise two extraordinary children. My son’s and daughter’s births transformed my life. I instantly felt the weight of how my parenting would shape these unique individuals into adults. At the same time, my heart was completely captured by everything they did, from the little hiccups to the simple act of breathing. Eighteen years flew by: we read, explored, learned, cried, laughed, grew, and most importantly, prayed together. Sometimes, I shed tears of frustration because I wasn’t getting it right. Sometimes it was tears of pride when I saw them take independent steps. Sometimes, it was laughter at their precociousness, and other times, it was prayers asking God for guidance. Soon, these two individuals entered adulthood, making important decisions where, sometimes, they still needed me.

It has been eight and nine years since they both became adults. In very early adulthood, one met his future spouse, and the other fell in love with a best friend who had been by her side for several years. Quickly, my heart swelled open again to welcome these two people into my family. We continue to read, explore, learn, cry, laugh, grow, and pray for one another. Sometimes, I read the cards they send me, laugh hard when we are playing Canasta, explore new cities and parks, and continue to pray for wisdom and guidance as I navigate my new role.

I can’t imagine my life without these four adults by my side. I am also indebted to the little ones and the promise of more little ones in the future that they add to my life.

“But he who is of a merry heart has a continual feast.” Proverbs 15:15

As a child, I was laughed at by someone who called himself my father. I was laughed at by my peers for my size and lack of grace. All of this curbed my sense of humor. But I am thankful I have learned to laugh again. I still don’t always get jokes, but when I do, my laughter sounds like a cheerful, melodic song to my ears. I will continue to develop this trait, not at the expense of anyone else, but to reap the benefits of one of the most healing gifts from God: laughter.

“They brought sleeping mats, cooking pots, serving bowls, wheat and barley, flour and roasted grain, beans, lentils, honey, butter, sheep, goats, and cheese for David and those who were with him.” 2 Samuel 17:28-29

My daughter sent me a screen shot of the answer to a question on the internet. They asked if cheese contains opioid properties. The answer according to AI was “no” with a caveat. When broken down the casein protein in cheese creates casomorphins, which bind to the opioid receptors in the brain and cause the feel-good feelings.

This explains a lot about my life. It explains why every sort of celebration should have some form of cheese, including, but not limited to, fondue, queso, cheese and sausage plates, and cheesecake. It explains why cheddar is better, Parmigiano Reggiano elevates ordinary pasta dishes, and why Fontina transforms macaroni and cheese. It explains why I squeal with delight when salty Paneer and briny Feta are added to Indian and Greek dishes respectively. I simply love cheese, and I feel good eating it.

I have no idea who thought to heat up milk, add salt and bacteria with rennet, and make cheese. But I am truly thankful. Whether it is from a cow, goat, water buffalo, or a sheep, I am thankful for this animal’s contribution to my diet. I am thankful I was born in Wisconsin where being a cheesehead is an honor and we know where to find the squeakiest cheese curds. And I am especially grateful I am not lactose intolerant.

“Grandchildren are the crowning glory of the aged;” Proverbs 17:6

“God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.” Genesis 1:31

I am thankful that God designed the world with color. He could have made it black and white, the sun rising in varying rays of gray. He could have made all flowers with neutral tones; poppies would fill fields with beige, and blue bonnets wouldn’t exist. He could have made the world monochromatic yellow, where the sky was the shade of lemon and the ocean looked like waves of school bus yellow hitting the butter sand. And we would probably have been satisfied with it, because this was the only world we knew.

Instead, God, the master designer, created the oceans to have depths of blue and green that painters like Winslow Homer and Ivan Aivazovsky couldn’t replicate. He designed peacocks with iridescent, color-drenched feathers. He crafted leaves in different shades of green that give forests depth. He painted the sunrise with yellow, orange, pink, and purple streaks, reminding us that His mercies are new every day.

I know some love their neutrals, and I respect that this design grounds people and provides tranquility. I know some like creating rooms with monochromatic themes, and I can appreciate the drama it creates. For me, I know that I need pops of color to energize, motivate, and remind me of the goodness of God.

“Wise words are like deep waters; wisdom flows from the wise like a bubbling brook.” Proverbs 18:4