I’ve battled depression for several years. Mostly, it’s under control because of my medication, exercise, counseling, family support, and other things I try to make a part of daily life.
One of those “helps” is being grateful for small miracles. Depression can be a black cloud looming over my head, and noticing everyday wonders has helped poke holes in the clouds to let God’s grace shine through.
Case in point: a day last spring, which I recorded in my journal—not because of its hugeness, but because of the little things that made it wonderful.
On that particular day, my husband, son and I were fighting spring sniffles, which made us all a little testy. But it was a cloudless afternoon, and Carey, my hubby, decided to mow our backyard, since its height could have concealed a small car. Jordan, age four, helped Carey clean up the toys strewn about in the back yard. I watched from the patio, journal and Dr. Pepper beside me.
Then sleepy Jordan asked me if he could have his sleeping bag and put it in his clubhouse so he could “west.” Pretty soon, my little prince was curled up on his blue and yellow bag, arm around his stuffed frog, fast asleep. No doubt he had been lulled by the sun, the hum of the mower and the frequent birdsong.
And instead of aching with tiredness and gloominess, I began to ache with love and joy and thankfulness. In our small corner of the universe, I was suddenly bursting with gratitude for small miracles—and large ones. For sniffly boys who sleep contentedly in clubhouses, for hardworking daddies who care for exhausted mommies, for the red bird that kept circling the yard, for blue skies—and for peace.
There have been many other days when God has brought me peace with little, but important, treasures during the midst of a dark mood. This I believe: that it’s up to me to recognize them, and to not let them float away before whispering, “Thanks.” Otherwise, I’ll have turned away a precious gift.
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