Naming blessings out loud to people who ask me how I am, or writing them down in my journal, or thinking them in my head as is often the case because my hands are busy and the children can't seem to listen for more than a moment to the sweet things I want to share and by the time Philip comes home, I haven't the stamina or words to express them, is a form of depositing coins into my bank account of contentment. Or perhaps it is a bank account of discerning reality or accurately totaling the day's balance.
Each moment or beauty or funny thing the children say acts as a clinking coin, and as I collect, my bank grows heavy. I am saving up for those days when I must break the bank open because the children have rolled on the couch with dusty clothes or because our rabbit dies or because the church service was a bore or because I contracted pink eye from the kids or because Benny's oversized head concerns the doctors or because our grandparents will one day pass away or because our monetary bank accounts aren't enough for the credit card bill or because Phil's Mazda's engine dies.
Those inconvenient or tragic or worrisome creditors come knocking on my door and I must pay out. If I have no money, I will go into debt and quite possibly shake my fist at heaven, saying, "How do you expect me to pay for all this? Why didn't you give me the money?" And all the while it is raining money outside my home. I need only go out with my bucket.
One day's collecting isn't enough to pay out a year's worth of creditors. I must collect daily because daily I encounter disappointments. And besides, when collecting becomes a habit, I find that I shall never go into debt. My piggy bank and cupboards and drawers and bureaus are filled to the top with coins.
Here are a few from this morning's walk:
|The men I follow on a breathtaking trail|
|Trunks of oaks with green nylons|
|Benny in a red beanie Grandma Taylor knit|
|Windows of blue that we spy on our walk|
|Little hats left behind on the hat rack|
|A pop of pink and purple in the forest|
|Manzanita bark the colors of fire|
|Moss turned bright green in the rain|
|Rose's nonchalant attitude at getting water in her boots|
|This spot of wilderness where the children can be wild and adventurous|
|The view of the forested hillside hiding in the mist outside our cabin window|