I'm sitting here in rural Kentucky typing on a computer that is on a dial-up connection. I'm listening to children play right beside me. Spongebob is on the television and every person in the house is interacting with one another in some way, including me between keystrokes. We are in my parent's home for the holiday; living in a one bedroom cabin on 200 acres.
The men-folk have hunted, and laughed, and built a horse stall. Our eldest sons have helped pitch hay to the horses, assembled a roof and driven farm machinery. Kazz and Vinze cut a full row of firewood 15 feet long and 6 feet high yesterday alone.
In all the farm living the men have laughed and joked and wrestled. The bigger boys have smiled and goofed off. The look of growing up radiates in them. The little ones bond in the cozy space as the ladies talk, play with the kiddie toys, clean up and scold this one and that one, now and then.
The family God blessed Brian and I with, sleep in our camper in the night. I hear them all, breathing and rustling in their sleep. I smile. Brian sleeps soundly and sleeps in. I feel him get out of the bed around 7:00 am; 4 hours later than normal. I smile.
I watch my dad wrestle and tickle the kids, teach the big boys to saw, shoot and build.
I watch my mom feed the boys, hug them, kiss them and play with them. I smile.
Country life, away from the city lights, stars shine bright.
I am thankful.
I'm thankful for my family.
I'm thankful for God's hand in their memories and experiences.
I'm thankful for what we do not have, and what we do.
Memories are precious. They shape us, mold our lives.
These memories God...These memories...
Please God, make them stick.
God, make them stick.
The Mom With Brownies
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