February 28

I'm about to be extremely repetitive.

As I drove Abby to her dance class today, I looked over and saw this rainbow over the line of houses to my left. We were running late and I despise being late, but I did something unusual anyway: I pulled off the road for a better look.

It's a little hard to tell from the image, but it was a real stunner: bright, bold colors, and it arched across the entire sky.

I'm grateful that I was open to being a little late so I could stop and smell the roses for once, because if I hadn't, I would've missed one of God's most impressive works of rain and light.

February 27

Really simple one today.

After a good rain overnight, the sky this morning was still overcast, but the sun peeked through now and again.

This rainbow appeared as I drove Abby and Isaac to school. And it's always a very good thing to be reminded of one of God's promises.

February 26

I think it's something of a universal human experience to feel unimportant and undervalued at times. We are, after all, bombarded daily with images of faux perfection we can't hope to attain.

With that truth playing on my mind, it didn't surprise me when I heard Brad Paisley's "Mona Lisa" more than once today.

In its most base form, it's a guy telling his girl how precious she is and how fortunate he is to have her in his life. But it's more than that, I think. In fact, I think God sings a version of this song to all of us, 24/7, whether we're listening or not.

Kinda neat to think of it that way.

February 25

I was all set to use this stunning sunset image I snapped this evening. But then during dinner, Brady did this:

...and my mind was instantaneously changed.

My muffin does all sorts of things to make me giggle throughout our days together: shakes his booty in such Logan-esque fashion that the nature versus nurture issue takes on hilarious new meaning, says silly little somethings, strikes poses involving such deep-kneed positions that it makes my joints ache. The list is really never-ending.

But I am SO intensely grateful for his silliness. It makes my world a much better and infinitely more pleasant place to be.

February 24

There's rain in the forecast, but not today: today was yet another beautiful one filled with singing birds and budding flowers and blue skies.

I know I'm kind of repetitive at times, but for good reason: just look at the scores of tiny white blossoms on this tree. Look at how the branches reach up to the sky. The detail is just incredible.

I thought a lot about that as Brady and I walked to school for kindergarten pick-up just before noon. The details in this world are amazing. Man makes some pretty neat things, but nothing compares to life.

And I'm grateful for all of the little reminders of that very big truth.

February 23

Today was the kind of day that makes you think --and genuinely mean-- "Today is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it."

The 70-degree temperature, the stunningly blue sky, the green grass that's at long last beginning to sprout, and of course, time outside enjoying it all with the most wonderful group of people I know.

What more can I say? It's less of a wink and more of a "bam, just look at your surroundings and realize that you are blessed."

February 22

Per our custom, we went for a walk this afternoon. As I circled the park, I noticed this:

In case it's hard to see, I'll tell: it's a single tiny tree surrounded by several big trees.

There was something oddly comforting about the sight; in a way, it looks as if those big trees will help and guide and protect that little tree as it grows to equal their stature.

It made me think of God and how He provides for us by sending us more experienced --bigger-- people to share their widsom and teach us as we grow and mature.

Kind of a weird way to get to the end message, but there it is.

February 21

Abby's been dressing herself for a number of years now. That's why she sometimes goes to school looking like this:

I roll my eyes at some of her more creative combinations of color and pattern, but the reality is that I'm quietly pleased by her confidence. I'm proud that she's comfortable enough in her own skin to wear bizarre outfits. And I'm happy that she doesn't care if some other kid snickers at her picks.

My daughter's confidence isn't something I've instilled in her; it's totally God's work in her life. And I'm grateful for the blessing.

February 20

It was just a normal ride to school this morning. And then Abby remarked it's funny how the only window that isn't fogged up is the one next to Logan's seat.

After I parked the car, I turned around for a look. And she was right: clear as crystal. No water droplets obscuring the view.

I was silent for a moment, and then turned to her. Why do you think that is? At first, she shrugged and said she wasn't sure. And then, almost as an afterthought, she added maybe because he wanted it to be clear for us.

I've said many times before that I don't know how Heaven works. But I like Abby's thinking. And she may well be right.

And beyond that, I'm so grateful that Logan is still so alive in our daily conversations.

February 19

I don't know if it's because I'm more conscious of the importance of family now, or if I'm getting lazy about looking, but it seems like a lot of my winks come in moments like these:

A little post-nap, post-work bonding moment between a man and his muffin.

I love the tenderness and sweetness inherent in moments like these. They're not major events. In fact they're tremendously easy to overlook.

But it's so important that we don't overlook them.

February 18

I got an unexpected call this morning. It was from Lara, a gal from our church. And she was asking if I'd consider speaking at the upcoming women's retreat/conference. About being real no matter what; even when it's scary and unfamiliar and risky and uncomfortable.

My first thought was are you nuts?! I write, I don't speak. (But I didn't say it.)

And then I thought about it more as the day wore on, and I'm leaning toward saying okay, because I feel like I probably should. And I always said that I wanted, no, needed Logan's struggle to have greater meaning. I need his precious life and passing to be more than a tragedy, or a situation in which I feel like God failed us.

If my feeble words could help someone else... if my loss could bring some kind of validation to someone else's struggles... I'd like that. A lot.

February 17

I was standing in my kitchen a few minutes ago drinking a glass of water when I looked over at the Valentine's Day flowers Adam got for me.

I love the seemingly never-ending, lush, velvety folds of a rose. There's just so much beauty tucked inside this little head that I could stare at it for hours.

Excellent work on God's part, I'd say. Excellent.

February 16

I know I repeat myself a lot, but when it comes down to the brass tacks of my life, these little people really do represent the biggest wink of all by leaps and bounds.

When we go for our walks, they almost always stop in this particular spot and ask us to take a picture. It's sort of an unofficial tradition that's repeated several times each month.

And since I'm a big photo fan myself, I'm grateful for their consistent collective desire to make this image happen over and over again.

February 15

This isn't really a wink. It's more of a miracle.

Abby's been having trouble in math of late. So tonight, while Adam was putting Isaac to bed, she sat down at the dining room table and began correcting her most recent test.

Don't get me wrong; it's something she's required to do. But the fact that she plunked down on her own accord and started the work without us pushing her to do it says a lot.

And I'm very thankful for what it says.

February 14

Tonight, we were the Johnsons.

Adam didn't get a baby-sitter, so we all went out to dinner together at the Cheesecake Factory. As we discovered, the Cheesecake Factory is certifiably insane on Valentine's Day, so the wait time was substantial. However, as Adam and the little boys stood in line to put our name down for a table, a woman approached and handed him a pager.

We have to go, so you're now Johnson, party of six.

We, of course, appreciated the gesture because it cut our wait time by more than an hour. But we also appreciated it because we were able to be a party of six once again.

Right there below Adam's arm is Logan's little plate and napkin. At his seat.

It was invaluable to us to have a place for him at our table --in the middle of an insanely busy restaurant, no less-- on this day that's designed to celebrate love.

Unexpected blessings rock.

February 13

As I've said many times, it's the little things.

Today, Brady enjoyed his first-ever Valentine's Day party at preschool. He was very happy to show me his card and treat holder, and complied when I asked to take a photo.

I love this little boy so much, just like I love all of my little ducklings. And that's what matters most in this crazy, topsy turvy world we live in!

February 12

Brady wanted to carry Abby's backpack after school today.

The sight of a little kid carrying a really big bag is always adorable, and that was my initial thought when I saw him trucking along.

But then I thought shoot, it's more than just a cute scene and I fumbled for my phone to snap this picture.

Brady is unquestionably carrying a literal heavy load here. But notice that he's not frowning. It's not exactly a smile on his face, but it's also not a negative expression.

He's carrying a heavy load without griping about it.

I can definitely take a lesson here. And I'm grateful for it.

February 11

It's unbelievable to me that Logan has been gone for two years; that my sunshine went away that long ago. After looking for him on and off throughout the day --and getting little nods now and then, like Devin Logan winning an Olympic medal and the little remote control fire engine that kept revving this afternoon despite the fact that no one was at the controls-- I finally had my a-ha moment early this evening when I glanced out the window and saw this:

Blue sky and beautiful sunshine everywhere. Lest I should've missed the message, my friend Erin noticed it too and shared her own picture.

I can't really think of a better way to celebrate my Sunshine than with... sunshine.

February 10

I cried more than once today. Ugly-cried, really. The heavy emotional toll of what I know is coming tomorrow was just too much for me, and my ability to cope just... misfired, I guess.

I hadn't even gotten out of bed the first time I cried; I was lying there checking my email when I opened this:

It's an excerpt from our preschool's weekly email update. The director first wrote it last year and I read it back then, too, but somehow, it was more poignant this morning than it was 365 days ago. Maybe I didn't really read it back then. Maybe I was still so numb from loss and grief that I didn't let its words sink in. I don't know what I was thinking a year ago, but today, I was touched and gratified.

This beautiful little tribute reminded me that Logan was important to others outside of our family; that though his life on this earth was brief, it was powerful and memorable. And my prayer as we cross into tomorrow, the beginning of our third year without him here physically, is that that legacy will live on... to infinity and beyond.

February 9

I spent much of today focused on the Olympics: watching, writing, cheering, cringing (though not all at the same time). Meanwhile, Adam was in the kitchen baking. He liked to make chocolate chip cookies with Logan, so in honor of those memories and because we were sadly out of chocolate chips, he made brownies and peanut butter cookies.

I love peanut butter cookies. Seriously, if I were a baked good, I'd marry a peanut butter cookie. (Well, maybe not because I wouldn't want to eat my husband, but you get the point.)

So seeing (and smelling and drooling over and tasting) these cookies was a blessing to me, both because I know it made Adam happy to do something to remember Logan (which in turn made me happy), and because I get to eat them.

February 8

Today marked the first of two very difficult days this month. One hundred and four weeks ago, Abby and I left our mother/daughter dance class, rolled through the McDonalds drive thru for a bite to eat, and then headed home. When we got there, Adam and the Little Boys were sitting on the driveway waiting for us. And I knew. My heart broke into a million frantic pieces because I knew what it meant. We drove to CHO through intermittent rain showers that fell from a cloudy sky. And then we had to say our see-you-laters to the person we'd devoted our lives to saving for 18 months.

That day changed me. Forever. It took a lot of out of me. It made me believe a little less and doubt myself a lot more. And I don't look at Saturdays in the same way.

But it was what it was and is what it is.

I struggled to find an image that would adequately express what I wanted to say today, and finally settled on this.

A Lightning McQueen Band Aid.

It covers wounds and keeps them clean, allowing healing to happen underneath. And they provide a cute, innocuous covering for an otherwise unattractive wound. So though not a permanent solution, they're a part of the healing process.

And on this second anniversary Saturday, as I'll call it, I'm grateful that I have band aids in my life so I can cover my wounds when they're just too painful to look at.

February 7

Sometimes, for me, it's as simple as the sunrise.

This was the sky this morning as I walked Isaac to his classroom. The view encapsulates, for me, the majesty of creation. And if this is imperfection, I can't even begin to imagine what Heaven looks like.

February 6

Obviously, I have to explain this one.

While Isaac participated in his dance class this afternoon, Brady and I sat just outside the door observing. Well, I was observing. Brady was asking to wash his hands and crawling through the tunnel under my legs and taking selfies with my phone.

At one point, he noticed the drawstring on the hood of my sweatshirt. After asking why I had shoelaces somewhere other than on my shoes, he grabbed the frayed end protruding from one of the aglets and announced that it was toothpaste. Then he grabbed the other aglet and said it was a toothbrush. And then he told me he needed to brush his teeth.

His creativity hit me right smack in the middle of the heart. I laughed out loud at the unique ingenuity and imagination he showed. And I thanked God for that little bit of Heaven on earth.

February 5

Early this evening, a child who shall remain nameless made a mess than shall remain without description. During the moments that followed the moment of discovery, I was indescribably grateful for these:

Never in my younger days would I have imagined that the sight of scrubby-textured pre-moistened cleaning wipes would bring me such joy, but they do. They really, really do. And this evening, I thank God for giving the inventor of such wipes the wisdom and inspiration to create them.

February 4

I love youthful exuberance. (Most of the time.)

It was just a tick in time, but Brady was exuberant this morning when he plopped himself down in the passenger seat of the car while I stood outside waiting for him to get out. I was in a hurry, but I waited it out and played a quick variant of peek-a-boo.

I love that smile. And I love the little moments. And I love that I took the time to appreciate this one.

February 3

It was cool but lovely today. As we walked home from school, I felt compelled to take a photo of the sky. So I did.

And then I promptly forgot to look at it until just now. And I was a bit startled by what I saw.

Yes, the clouds are a pure white and the sunlight is beautifully filtered through them. And yes, the blue sky is a perfect backdrop. But the little circle with the purple fan-shape around it? I have no idea what that is. It wasn't visible when I took the photo.

It could be a plane or a basic trick of light. It could be a speck of dust on my lens or maybe even the moon. It could even be Logan saying hello. But no matter what it is, its presence reminded me that it's important to be on the lookout for unexpected blessings in this life, because we never know when God will choose to surprise us with something special.

February 2

At long last, we had a good, steady rain today.

In celebration, I had a nice cup of hot cocoa.

When it comes to beverages, I'm more a coffee girl than anything else; as a matter of fact, as the years pass, I like frou frou drinks less and less. But there's something about the occasional hot cocoa that takes me back to those times when things were simpler; when I could blank my mind and just listen to the rain drip-dropping on the roof.

And sometimes, even now as a grown up, it's a blessing to sit with my cocoa and just hear that rain.

February 1

We've crossed over into yet another February. The month of love. And also the month we lost Logan two years ago. Needless to say, the word 'February' conjures up a lot of very mixed feelings in my soul.

Despite whatever emotions I may harbor in my heart, today was an indisputably beautiful one. I had a lovely walk with this quartet of bespectacled people:

Although my heart will never be completely unbroken in this life, it continues to beat, in part, for them. And in spite of the days that the burden of grief feels heavier than I can bear, I'm grateful that I have these people with whom I can share my time.