Epilogue

As I sit here mulling my last entry for 2013, I'm near tears. It's strange to realize how much this little project of mine --this simple little task I began back on January 1-- has meant to me. When I began actively looking for God, so to speak, I wasn't entirely sure what I'd find. I knew from my churched upbringing that He's supposed to be everywhere, but life hadn't exactly taught me to believe in that idea as an absolute truth. And I certainly wasn't sure that I'd be able to keep it going for an entire year without missing a single day. It felt much bigger than me; like so much more than I could accomplish.

Some days, it was hard to find Him at all. On others, He was so apparent and so everywhere that the experience nearly knocked my socks off and took my breath away at once. Of course, I pined for days like the latter. Although they came now and again --in yellow cars and pink balloons-- my days were more often marked by subtle reminders of His presence, like a smile or a kind gesture or a raindrop. But the key is that He always gave me something. It wasn't always what I wanted, but I got what I needed to keep this blog going.

It's cliche even to me, but I think I did learn to appreciate those little things a bit more during 2013. I learned to look for sunbeams hiding in the clouds and to recognize the humor inherent in watching kids soak themselves in a summer rainstorm. I looked more closely at intricately detailed flower petals and marveled over one seriously amazing tomato plant that craved life with a brand of tenacity I'd never before seen. I confirmed an opinion I once expressed in Logan's blog: despite the usual assertion to the contrary, God is indeed the One in the details. And although my humanity longs for obvious I'm here! proclamations, I think I've gotten better at recognizing the quiet whispers.

Now that I've finished my 365 day quest, I find myself standing at the proverbial crossroad, wondering how --or even if-- I should proceed. And I think I've decided that I'll keep it going into 2014. After all, the Bible says that if we seek, we will find. I'm looking forward to the adventure's continuation. I'm looking forward to seeing more beautiful, amazing, mundane and everyday things that will point back to God.

And I hope you'll decide to stick with me once again. Blessings to you and yours for a peaceful, joyful, wonderful new year, filled with God winks and improbable experiences of your own.

See ya in 2014.

December 31

I'm completely exhausted. We got up at 4:30 Eastern time this morning to catch our flight home, and I'm definitely feeling the effects of the journey. Despite my tiredness, however, it was a good day and I had several potential options for today's entry, my 365th wink. And I was all ready to make my pick. But then I went up to my room a few minutes ago and found something that changed my mind. It was this:

It is, of course, a Corvette. I'm sure I bought it at some point. It was probably in my room on a shelf. But I cannot explain how it came to be where I found it this evening.

I bought myself an American Girl doll a few weeks ago. (Yes, I'm a 35-year old 10-year old girl. I'm not ashamed.) I took her out of the outer shipping box and left it beside my bed. Then we left town for 10 days. Yet somehow, that car made its way into that shipping box. I was startled when I went to move it and saw that slick red Corvette sitting alone inside.

Adam doesn't know how it wound up inside that box, nor does Abby. And those particular cars are kept out of Isaac and Brady's collective reach. They are, of course, allowed to play with almost all of the cars we own; the Corvettes, however, well, there are different rules for some of those.

So yeah. I don't know how it got there. But it meant so much to me to see it. It's a reminder that although we're entering yet another year without Logan in our lives physically, he's still here with us. Although I don't understand how it all works --if it's Logan or God sending us signs-- it gives me comfort to know that He --and he-- is still there, doing itty bitty things like putting Corvettes in boxes (and armoires) so I can find them and be encouraged.

December 30

Tomorrow, we'll arise in the wee hours to begin our journey home. It's been a good 10 days in Maryland. Although we missed seeing several people, I feel like we did a good job of visiting with a decent number of my family members and old friends.

Still, good-byes are hard. Abby cried this evening after her cousins left, and quietly confessed that she'd wanted to cry this afternoon when we left my mom's house, but didn't because she wanted her sadness to be private.

Now to change gears for a brief moment.... As I was putting away the hair dryer I'd borrowed from my grandma, I saw this baseball cap that belonged to my grandpa resting in a basket:

He always (and I mean always) wore one like it; maybe not this exact one, but one with that same logo and design. He died back in 2009. Before Logan lost his ability to walk, I remarked to Adam more than once that he looked like a mini-Roscoe; the parallels were deliciously evident in how he shuffled his feet when he walked and how his Cars hat was always perched on his head. And in how he muttered to himself when he didn't know anyone could hear him.

So here's where I tie it all together and prove that I'm not merely rambling and waxing poetic. Like Abby, I'm sad to leave. But this hat reminds me that there are commonalities that hold families together, even when some of the members live far away -- even so far away as Heaven.

And I think that's a beautiful thing.

December 29

The church I went to while I was growing up features the most stunningly beautiful stained glass windows. After this morning's service --for which we arrived 15 minutes late, oops-- I wandered around in the empty, darkened sanctuary to look at each one. Abby came with me and identified the Bible story that each represented. A sort of calming silence enveloped my mind as we went from one to the next.

The sky outside was dark with rain clouds so the light that filtered through was especially faint and muted. But the images were still just as lovely as I remembered.

And a related winkish anecdote for you from the morning as well. Since we were so late and since the boys tend to get restless in church, we quietly made our way to the balcony in the very back of the building when we arrived. After a few minutes, I sensed that the natives were becoming restless, so I scanned the pews for the tiny pencils I recalled using as a kid during those seemingly never-ending Sunday morning sermons. And God knew I'd be looking, because I found exactly three of them: one for Abby, one for Isaac and one for Brady. (I figure Logan has an entire box of his own church pencils in Heaven.) I distributed them along with a few offering envelopes and the blank backside of a leaflet, and the result was a very peaceful morning at church. Amen for that.

December 28

When Abby found out we'd be heading back to Maryland for part of Christmas break, she asked --repeatedly-- if she could visit her grandpa and step grandma's house and sit on a horse. Her eyes lit up over the idea of sitting up high on a saddle and enjoying the clippity-clop of a sweet little ride. So that's what we did late this afternoon:

Although she'd been on a pony before, today marked her first time up on a real, full-grown horse, a former racing standardbred named J. J. After she made a few rounds up and down the drive, Isaac put on his brave face and joined her. Inevitably, they both had such fun that neither of them wanted to get down, but of course, they did.

But I also know that they'll both carry fond memories of their first ride for quite some time to come. And I'll remember how it felt to see them having a good time, too, because I see a lot of God in those smiles.

December 27

Today was a busy one. We took a big family photo, had lunch with said family members, spent some tokens at Chuck E. Cheese, visited some great friends of mine for a good chat and run-around time, and had dinner at one of my favorite local joints.

It was also a big day for another reason: when the day dawned, Isaac officially outlived Logan. My sunshine passed on to the next life at 5 1/2 years plus 11 days, and today, Isaac turned 5 1/2 years plus 12 days.

There really aren't any words that can adequately explain how that feels. It's wonderful and horrible all at once; wonderful that we've been blessed by Isaac's inherent sweetness for 5 1/2 years plus 12 days. But devastating that Logan's journey with us --at least the physical part-- came to an end when it did. I'll always think of Logan as the oldest brother, even as the Little Boys grow up and surpass him in human years, because he is and I know we'll see him again some day. But the milestones like the one we hit today feel impossibly hard and doubly impossibly painful.

Since it's my custom to include a photo, here's one from dinner that fits the bill:

Obviously, it features the Little Boys; two of the three people on this earth who remind me of Logan the most. When we ate, we sat in a booth where we sat with Logan two years ago. He was in bad shape back then and the experience was a painful one, but it was a blessing to remember sitting with him, in the very same eatery I frequented as a kid, sharing a meal and just being. And for those memories, I'm grateful, even as the milestones deepen the cracks in my heart.

December 26

You know those surreal moments that pop up now and again? I had one of them tonight.

I was sitting with my grandma and my brother Charlie, just shooting the breeze and listening to her talk about our long-departed relatives, when out of nowhere she started sharing the story of how she came to faith --real faith-- in Christ. She talked about the stillness that came over her one day when she was about 50 years old and about being baptized in the Holy Land and how no matter what her circumstances, she feels at peace.

I could relate to a lot of her words, but they also made me realize how often I let the little annoyances of this life get under my skin. I'm good at enjoying the little things, but I'm also quite good at letting them annoy the snot out of me, too.

The experience made me want to do better; to try harder to be who I should be. And for that, I'm grateful. (And incidentally, I'm also grateful for the lovely shopping day I had with my mom and Abby, and for the pretty blue Corvette that I saw enter the crowded highway as we were driving back home. Sweet little things indeed.)

December 25

Special occasions --like Christmas Day-- are always bittersweet. But I try hard to taste beyond the less-than-delicious and really savor the sweet. And these, to be succinct, are the sticky-sweetest little "things" I know by far:

They are reflections of hope for tomorrow and the day after. On the anniversary of the day that Jesus came to us in physical form to give us the life that Logan now enjoys, I can't feel anything other than gratitude that I have them in my life, and that I have wonderful memories of my sunshine that I'll forever carry in my heart's biggest, deepest pocket.

Merry Christmas, my friends.

December 24

Christmas Eve. The day before one of the most important days of the year. After running a few errands and watching Brady experience a snow flurry in a Target parking lot, we headed back to my grandma's house to do a little last minute decorating. Grandma hadn't put up a tree for a number of years, so I borrowed a little artificial one from my mom. And it's not just anytree; it was mine when I was a kid. When I was very young, it made its home in my bedroom, and as I got older, it sat in a front window of my mom's house.

I set it up in the living room while Adam and the kiddos played in the back yard, and then we all convened to decorate. We did a nice job of adorning the miniature wire branches with little angels and cats and Santas and year-specific animals, and after we'd finished, I happened to catch Adam and the Little Boys admiring our handiwork:

Although we miss Logan more than I can communicate, this is the kind of stolen moment he would've loved joining in on: A brother dog pile, twinkling lights and the promise of good things to come.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good --and very blessed-- night.

December 23

The sunset this evening was just stunning, marked by long streaks of the most beautiful, calming shades of pink and orange and yellow:

This is a rather poor rendering of the scene, but my phone didn't want to snap a good shot, so I had to capture a picture of an image I took using my 'good' camera.

Anyway, this particular sunset came after a night and then a day filled with intermittent rain. I didn't love the wet weather; in fact, it was frustrating that it kept us from showing the kiddos DC's lovely monuments.

But this sunset that was born of frustration... well, let's just say that it had a familiar feel to me. Because though there are storms in this life, beautiful sunsets often follow. And we just may enjoy them if we drop the anger and disappointment and let ourselves stand in awe for a few moments.

December 22

One of the sad truths about moving far away from your childhood home is that you often lose --or maybe you simply forget-- a lot of the little nuances that make you who you are. That's part of why it's so nice to be here at my grandma's house, under the same roof that housed me for a few years during my childhood.

While Brady was napping and the others were out shopping this afternoon, I ventured into the basement for a look around. I found an old dollhouse of mine right where I left it years ago. As I fingered those tiny, delicate pieces of furniture, I remembered how it felt to enjoy them as a little girl; the delight that I took in opening each tiny drawer and stroking the cushion of the bright blue couch. How much I loved to arrange and rearrange the rooms.

Then I reached back a little further and pulled out a pretty white armoire. Something inside jiggled, so I carefully opened the tiny door. A cat's eye marble fell out along with this:

An original Galoob Micro Machine, circa 1986. And not just any Micro Machine, but a beautiful, bright red Corvette.

I wanted to cry but I laughed instead. How on earth did a red Corvette from 1986 wind up in my dollhouse armoire? I guess it's possible that I put it there myself many years ago, but that would've been well before Corvettes held the significance they hold now.

And honestly, it doesn't matter how it came to live in my dollhouse. It only matters that I found it, and that it reminded me that Logan is still with us in his own way.

And that, my friends, is a great blessing this Christmas season.

December 21

I heard Luke Bryan's "Drink a Beer" several times as I wound and morphed my way through today. For non-country music fans, it probably sounds like a pretty silly, nonsensical tune. But it's nothing of the sort: it's the song Bryan wrote in memory of his brother and sister who both passed away much earlier than our simple human wisdom and comprehension would've liked.

The words of that song were especially poignant today, as an integral member of a social circle that touches my own made her way Heavenward much sooner than her family and friends had hoped.

I don't feel fully qualified to write much about sweet Priscilla, an absolutely gorgeous mom of two who I never had the honor of meeting face to face. But hopefully I'll be able to do her an iota of justice anyway, because I feel that this song is leading me to honor her memory in what minimal way I can.

I 'met' her online after Logan was diagnosed with his beast; she was a friend of a friend who added me on Facebook so she could follow his journey. It was devastating --even to me, who knew her primarily from a collection of beautiful pictures and a few private messages-- when she too was diagnosed with cancer and began her own valiant battle.

What was striking to me all throughout her battle was her selflessness. Even as she looked down the barrel of a devastating diagnosis, she continued to ask how I was coping. It meant everything when she told me that Logan was an inspiration to her and that she thought of him when fear set in. Her honesty and vulnerability with me, a virtual stranger, connected our hearts in a very real way.

She told me over the summer that things weren't going well and although her doctors wouldn't give her a timeframe, she knew she didn't have much time left. I wanted to ask her to give Logan a hug and tell him how much we love and miss him when she got to the other side -- kind of like you ask Joe to tell Pam hi when you know Joe is going on vacation and will see Pam. But I never did. I just couldn't. It felt insensitive. And weird. And even a little creepy. But I thought it. And part of me thinks she heard me thinking it, and that she did find him and give him a hug when she got there this morning. And even if she didn't go looking for him, I know he found her anyway, because he was always drawn to wonderful spirits. And because he was one of her inspirations. And because both of them served as unwitting inspirations to me.

So here's to you, Priscilla. Thank you for being you and for making a positive mark on my life.

December 20

Today was a crazy one. Circumstances were such that I wound up driving our commuter car, the 16-year old Honda Civic that I bought as a college student, for some of my outings. I'm not behind her wheel often at all anymore, and was startled when I looked down at the odometer and saw this:

Sure, it's just a bunch of 7s and 1s (and an errant 8 that was a 7 just before I pulled over so I could take this pic). But it's more than that to me. You'll have to stay with me, because it's something of a confusing, tangled tale I'll spin.

See, I bought this car on July 31, 1997, nine years to the day before Logan was born. And Logan loved riding in what he termed "the little red car." There was something about it that really caught his fancy and made him happy on a very basic level. So that's part of what caught my eye -- the 7s (for July) and the 1s (for part of 31).

And beyond that, I've always been drawn to the number seven. I feel like it's silly to have a favorite number at 35 years of age, but I do. Further, I was born on 1/11 -- ones everywhere!

So in a convoluted sort of way that only I may fully grasp, in that single moment when I looked down and saw the display, I felt like Logan was waving at me from Heaven.

And that's always a God winky experience for me.

December 19

Brady and I ran a lot (lot) of errands this morning. He was, fortunately, very patient as we ran from here to there. When we got home, I got to work on a few projects while he played solo. I turned around a few minutes later and found this:

I absolutely love it when he lines up his Cars. It's exactly what Logan used to do. And seeing Brady do the same thing --even though he wasn't old enough to remember Logan at all, much less remember the things he used to do-- is incredibly special to me. I hold these sights close to my heart.

It's funny how those little things can mean so much.

December 18

I've been really tired this week. I feel like I blinked and bam, there's only a week until Christmas. What? How did that happen? Anyway, as I was reflecting on the fact that I didn't really outwardly sense God today, I looked down at my feet and remembered my new slippers:

I bought them last week at Costco after our recent cold snap left my hands and toes freezing much of the time. They work really well -- they're nice and warm and snuggy.

And, as odd as it sounds, they remind me of how God says He holds us close to Himself.

Even when I don't really feel God, it's nice to have those cozy slippers to generate warmth and by extension, remind me that He is indeed there.

December 17

Brady never misses the opportunity to scamper up this particular tree as we walk to pick up Abby from school each afternoon. And lately, he also doesn't miss the opportunity to ask me to take his picture among the branches:

There's something comforting about the predictability of his behavior. And there's something so sweet about watching the corners of his mouth turn upward to form a satisfied, proud little grin.

It's a small thing, but it's worth a lot to me. (And as an aside for the eagle-eyed: Yes, those are pajamas. It was PJ day at preschool, and he wore a fresh pair all day long!)

December 16

I went outside to get something out of my car this evening and saw this:

True, it's just the moon and some clouds in the night sky. But it was nice to look up and see such a lovely sight since my eyes have been so focused on all of the busy-ness that tends to overtake the Christmas season.

It was a blessing to look up and simply be mindful --if only for a few moments-- of the real reason for the season.

December 15

Today was a busy one, as Isaac officially hit 5 1/2 years of age and we celebrated Christmas with Adam's immediate family. It was, to be succinct, a pleasant day with lots of laughs.

Tonight, we closed out the weekend by loading the kids up in the car, swinging through the McDonalds' drive through, and taking a drive to check out some of our town's more impressive Christmas light displays. It's a tradition of ours --the McDs, the kids in pajamas-- because people 'round here go to amazing lengths to put together some pretty spectacular set-ups. This rather lousy photo is from our last foray of the evening:

It's from our loop around the so-called Candy Cane Lane. Every year, just about every house on this street puts up really impressive displays, featuring popular characters --like Cars-- and other more traditional figures. It's a lot of fun to listen to the kids calling out oh! There's Lightning! and I see Buzz Lightyear!.

Lambie came with us --you can see one of his ears on the dashboard-- but I treasure this tradition in part because I can remember Logan coming along with us and oohing and aahing over the lights.

Traditions are so such sweet blessings.

December 14

Brady, my baby, my mini muffin, turned 3 years old today. He endured a very (very) long wait to take his annual birthday photos, and then a rather short wait to see Santa (since Adam, Isaac and Abby stood in line while we were at the portrait studio!). He's a shy guy; he made the poor photographers' job a toughie, and he initially pulled the shy routine with Santa, too, until the jolly old elf asked what he wanted for Christmas, and he replied --with an arm swish and a grin-- a lot of cars. A rainbow of cars. It made me smile.

Then we moved on to lunch (at 2:00) at Red Tractor, where he had his fully silly persona in full effect:

Then it was home for presents, the family room premiere of Planes, and cake. Rainbow cake, his special request.

Now that he's off to bed, I have some downtime. And the thing I want to say more than anything is... I just love that kid so much. Three years ago, my life changed. All of my babies were with me that day. I miss that reality; I miss having them all here with me. They are, of course, all together in my heart, but I so wish I could hug all of them to my chest, too.

Brady is so much like Logan in some ways that it takes my breath away. The way he dances and shakes his booty, the funny things he says, the way his eyes glisten when he's excited. His oft-unbridled enthusiasm.

I'm so thankful for him. I'm thankful for the ways that he reminds me of Logan and for the ways that he's distinctly his own person.

Children show us so much about life and how to love, and I'm quadruply blessed.

December 13

I had dinner with some lovely friends this evening. Afterward, when I was just a few blocks from home, I saw one of the prettiest Christmas lawn decorations I'd ever seen. It's a poor photo, but here it is:

A beautiful, elegant angel, illuminated by pure white light.

It made me think of Heaven and of Logan and of all things beyond this human plane of existence. I liked it enough that I drove home and then circled back just to have another long look.

I take moments of respite when I can find them. And this angel brought a sweet moment of respite to me.

December 12

I'm not a huge Frappuccino person. Don't get me wrong; I like them, but I don't like the calories. Or the fat. But I bought these anyway:

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. Mmm, mmm good!

The one thing I do like quite a lot about Fraps is how they remind me of my college days, heading to the Sbux in The Village, having a mocha with friends. Good times, they were. And it's definitely worth the calories now and then to enjoy a nice shot of nostalgia.

December 11

I was surprised to find these guys stuck to the inside of my electric blanket this morning:

My plan was to fold it and put it in its place on the back of my chair, but I stopped for a minute to examine those familiar faces. And I left them in place so I could hang out with them later in the day.

Those Cars will always mean a lot to me, I think. They'll always bring me a sense of peace and comfort. And that's a big blessing.

December 10

Brady turns three on Saturday (THREE!), so after he went to grandma's house this afternoon, I took Isaac to the store so he could pick out a birthday gift. While he mulled the "Planes" themed options, I did what I usually do and went through the racks of Cars. And for once, I managed to beat the crazy resellers and found a few new ones on the shelf:

After I took them and put them in my shopping bag, a thought came to mind:

These are from Logan.

And you know something? I think they certainly are. And I'm so thankful for that, because I always try to figure out what he would "give" his siblings if he were here with us physically.

A nice little moment, it was.

December 9

I was cold all day long. It took me a good 10 minutes to thaw out my fingers after taking Abby and Isaac to school this morning, and I never managed to raise my temperature enough to feel comfortable. Even now, I'm huddled under my electric blanket and my poor feet are still freezing. Given my own personal fail when it comes to temperature resistance, I got a little jolt when I looked out my window this afternoon and saw this in my yard:

It's a pretty little pansy. Somewhere in my gardening schema, I'd pegged pansies as, well, pansies: weak, flimsy, intolerant of temperature change. Fragile.

But that's very clearly not the case. While the giant tomato plant fell victim to our recent streak of frosty nights and nary a rose petal remains on the bushes, this little darling is absolutely thriving in the chilly temperatures.

It was striking to me to remember that sometimes, the most beautiful, delicate-looking things are in actuality the strongest things out there. It's a good reminder that fragility isn't automatically a sign of weakness.

December 8

It is totally cliche, but laughter really is some seriously awesome medicine.

The kiddos and I had an unplanned tickle fest this evening. It began with Brady launching himself into my lap, and continued with me itchy-gitching him until he was red in the face with laughter. And then, of course, Isaac wanted a turn. And Abby and Brady and I were happy to oblige.

Those little unplanned moments? They're not everything, but they're an awful lot.

December 7

Okay, so this photo is slightly fraudulent.

The Little Boys have a tendency to run ahead during our walks, and that's precisely what they did this afternoon. But for once, they listened to me almost immediately when I called out for them to stop. Not only did they stop, but they stopped, and struck the sweetest pose as they waited for Adam, Abby and I to catch up. They stood side by side, stock still. Isaac put an arm around Brady. It was just so sweet and precious.

Of course, Brady bolted the second I pulled out my phone to take a picture, but hey, we can't catch all of the moments all of the time.

Like I've said many times before, the way they love one another is such a blessing.

December 6

I chaperoned my first field trip today. It's kind of shocking that Abby got all the way to the fourth grade before I was able to step up and help out in that way, but circumstances were what they were. I won't dwell on the things I've missed out on.

Anyway, here are some of the girls from her class after we'd left the wildlife museum:

I realized, after spending time with several of them during the car ride and inside the museum and at a picnic table during lunch, that they're all really neat kids. They're sweet and kind and honest and thoughtful and in some cases, amusingly quirky.

They really gave me a sense of hope for the future of this world.

And that, especially in this day and age, is an exceptional thing.

December 5

It's been cold here. I don't really do cold particularly well, but I could still see the wonder of the frost on my car this morning:

The detail was really remarkable; the ice looked like bits of lace thrown like a veil over the windows and the hood and the roof.

There's nothing like natural loveliness.

December 4

Today marked my older brother's 40th birthday. I think he'd probably smack me upside the head if I used a photo from our childhood, so I plucked one from my wedding day back in 2002 instead:

He's a little more than four years my senior, so we didn't "grow up together" in the same way that my younger brother and I did; we didn't play school on grandma's front porch or perform a very special rendition of the "Sisters" number from "White Christmas." But I still remember a few select good times from way back when: sledding in the snow down the massive hill in our back yard (that, in hindsight, is probably more of a mole hill than a mountain), fishing, playing treasure hunters at our old house, reading the page in my baby book where he told his preschool teacher that he liked to help mom take care of his baby (who would be, in case it's not clear, me).

Of course, as a self-respecting older brother, he also did his share of sister-tormenting, but I'm pleased to say that he's grown up into a responsible husband and dad who no longer tries to hold me down and crack my toes for kicks. ;)

So, happy birthday, Bobby! My first sibling, and my first friend.

December 3

Isaac isn't a natural when it comes to motor skills. I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but over the summer, I had to fight him to get him to even write his name. So I'm thrilled any time he expresses interest in writing. Yesterday, he brought home Cookie the cat from kindergarten, and today, he wanted to write about his adventures with said fluff-filled feline. So he did, all by himself:

It's true that I spelled out all of the words, helped him with remembering how to shape a few letters and made sure he put spaces in the right places, but I was so pleased --amazed, really-- to see his continued growth manifest itself in his work. Entering the school year, I didn't really expect it, but I'm so glad that he's proven to be such an enthusiastic, dedicated student. And I'm incredibly glad that I don't have to fight him to use a pencil.

It's a big blessing!

December 2

As we trooped back to the car after retrieving Abby from school this afternoon, Brady showed me a piece of wood he'd found and announced that it was a cool car ramp. I'm not a huge fan of allowing "nature" inside my van, but I didn't feel like arguing, so in it went. And he proceeded to set it up right there in his seat.

The obvious adorableness aside :) it's amazing to see his creativity blossom over time. I'm surprised every day by something he says or does. And I know that he wouldn't be the clever little man he is if not for God's hand in his life. (And of course, the same thing can be said for all of my kiddos.)

December 1

Every year, we make gingerbread cookies and the kiddos decorate them. I've amassed a truly impressive (and some may say decidedly alarming) collection of seasonal sprinkles, so Adam and I kind of let them go wild getting their creativity on.

Like I've said numerous times this year (and dude, can you believe I've been doing this for almost a year?!), family and tradition are huge blessings to me. So tonight, I saw God in how well they worked together. I saw Him in Lambie, who sat on Abby's shoulder overseeing the action. I saw Him in Isaac carefully crafting his designs, and in Brady dumping at least an entire container of sprinkles on a single Mater cookie. And I saw Him in the Logan angel Abby made. She used red hot cinnamon candies to give him red hair, but they melted in the oven. At first she was dismayed, but then I pointed out that the melted candies gave him a halo. And they certainly did.

Lots of God to be found right there at our kitchen counter, in the same place we've found Him in years past doing the very same thing. And that predictability... of course, a blessing.