Gratitude for Work

That may sound strange, but I am so thankful that I can work, that I know how to work, that I was taught to work, that I like to work (love would be lying).

Mondays are my designated work day.

I'm grateful to get on Petunia and work up a sweat.  I've been injured enough and bedridden enough in my life to know that a healthy body and exercise are a blessing.  I try not to take them for granted.

I'm grateful for my favorite old shoes--I strap them on and my body automatically knows that it's time to work.  Someday my whole foot will peek out of that hole on the left side.  That will be a sad day.

I'm grateful for the two full bags of trash I hauled to the dumpster and the two full bags I took to DI today.  I love to organize and de-clutter, and these bags prove I've been working.

I'm grateful for the baskets and baskets of laundry I get to wash and fold every Monday evening. I cherish how this act of service to my little kids reminds me that I love them.

I'm grateful for seven extra loads of laundry today--from all these blankets being left out in a surprise rainstorm yesterday.  Seven blankets on the tramp means four kids wrestling and playing and loving each other.  I happily work to refold them, the echoes of their laughter and tears alive in my memory.

I'm grateful for the mess of music strewn across the piano.  I'll gladly straighten up that stack of paper. It's work to learn music, and it's work to remind kids to practice.  It's beautiful when they finally understand and practice just because they love the sound.

I'm grateful to teach Joy School to Hyrum and his friends every few weeks.  I enjoy the mornings that I have free, but every time they come, they reward my preparation with funny comments and lots of pretending.  Worth all the work.

I'm grateful for weeds in our garden.  We have few, and Brad pulls most of them, but I like to wander out there and work occasionally.  It reminds me of the hours I spent "weeding" and working as a child, rows of peas and potatoes, acres of lawn.  Life isn't supposed to be easy.  It's supposed to be work.  Then we reap the rewards of our labors.  Broccoli will be ripe in a few weeks.

I'm grateful for the random messes in my life--clay on the table, popcorn in the closet, moldy pancakes found in a pot.

Kids grow up and leave, as I well know.  And as they leave, so does the evidence that they once lived here and needed me.
Bodies age and wear out and break, preventing people from doing all that they wish they could, or all that they used to do.

I crawl into bed every night, exhausted from my labors of the day.
Exhausted, but ready for tomorrow.
I love my job.  I will wear myself out in their service.
And that's one of the greatest blessings in my life.