Galas, Assassination Attempts, and God's Good Gifts

This weekend I had reason to be thankful that I was not the President, or his wife, or any such famous person. 

I was just a very lowly, ordinary mom who was taking pictures of daffodils in snow in the Black Hills instead of being a journalist trying to capture the near-assassination of President Trump on camera at the journalists' gala at Washington Hilton ballroom. 

The closest we came to fame this last weekend was when Danny's firetruck, with him inside the passenger window, ended up in the news, along with one of the two or three fires he fought just before we left for the Black Hills. 

No one would know that was him in the fire truck except us family whom he told in letters of neon green. 

I was just a wife (still weak from multiple chemos) eating breakfast beside a very un-famous husband (who was struggling with worse and worse pain ever since the spider bite, although he thinks it may possibly be getting just a bit better). 

And I was just an almost 60-year-old grandma whose birthday was being celebrated a few days early by her not-famous-at-all-but-wonderful family. All weekend I was blessed, not with popularity or huge galas, but with loving gifts from my heavenly Father and my dear and precious family. Here above I am admiring a cheese press from Sam and Caitlyn, after opening a gift of a book and homemade dishcloth and patchwork potholder, made with so much love by Rose.

And Tim comes from hiding with his milled live-edge boards for Danny to screw together for a bookcase for my room. There were geraniums from Danny, extra special olive oil and dried yummy, salty mushrooms from Carrie, a book and cheesecloth and pansies from Hannah, pretty springy dish drainer mats and a floor mat from Crystal, and a new CD player from Jonathan.  

And while the Marine Band plays somewhere at a gala in Washington, D.C., I get to be part of just singing some simple songs and worship choruses that Tim, Hannah, and Rose strum along with on their guitars and mandolin they brought along. 

Christian music is something the family knows is worth a lot to me--a good gift from God. I was too weak to stay watching the children having fun across the road that Saturday afternoon after the morning hikes, and I ended up on the sofa where Tim found me and brought his guitar down--or up, whatever the case may be, since the place we stayed had basement bedrooms as well as upstairs one. 

"He Will Hold Me Fast," "Gentle Shepherd," "In His Time," Something Beautiful," and several others were ones we sang, with Tim looking up chords on his phone. 

Baby Ellie is charmed and excited about music. She would start jumping in utero, Rose tells us, when she heard music, just like baby Crystal did in utero in Ukraine, I remember, in the worship services when the music started up so many years ago. Now it happens again, and the girls let baby strum a bit, too!

A precious granddaughter is a gift of God. When I don't know how many more months or years the Lord will give me, I count it such a gift to get to see my first grandchild and enjoy her and hold her.

Baby falling asleep trustfully on my shoulder is a gift--a reminder that we can lay our weary heads upon the great Divine Shoulder and trust Him with our burdens. 

In place of our burdens, He gives us good gifts!

And while galas are interrupted with gunshots, a simple, ordinary mom gets to enjoy God's good gifts--including the gift of prayer--

prayer for our president, his wife, and our other national leaders,

prayer for journalists, judges, and juries,

and prayer for just everyone-

that they would come to know the love of God, be given the gift of repentance, and would find forgiveness and grace at the foot of Christ's cross!