I wake up and roll over and twitch the curtain aside, one hand still clinging to warm covers, just checking if the sun’s awake with me, and she is.

I eat something little and savory – first morning food always making me nervous with nausea – and move into the light. Set myself in the blue chair, legs curled under, gratitude journal open and pen clicking on off on off on off while I think happy morning thoughts and squeeze cold toes in the sunlight.

Fuller, stronger, take my fuzzy blanket and cold toes out to the back patio. Sit in the sunshine, feel warmth holding joy against the calendar box of today. Pen scratching journal paper; “403. Sunshine. 404. Singing birds. 405.”

I always leave one blank at the end because I always want to remember that I will be thankful, again, later. There will be more little happy things scattered among my hours and more evident faithfulness piling up where I forget even to write them down.

Always more.

Sunshine following me inside and I leave the door open, spend the day with shoes on and bike tires whirling, or feet moving and climbing, or self settled in a hammock, swinging. Always in the air, always bringing the outside in, bringing the books and joy out, letting God show me how he can make a day just like I like it.