Counting blessings or stacking sandbags

This morning on my way out of the neighborhood with my almost 4 year old in the back seat quietly humming a Christmas song, a huge flock of gorgeous white ibis rose up in front of me and skimmed over the top of the car. This is a beautiful snow white bird with a long red beak and black tipped wings. This flock of 30-50 birds has grown in our neighborhood over the last few years. I said a silent, "Thank you God!" for letting me live in a place where daily we see the ibis, great blue herons, snowy white egrets perched in the pine trees, on our neighbors dock, poking in our water fountain for lizards.

I started to think about the other things I am thankful for - the fact that last night I went to bed and this morning I woke up with Jim's arms wrapped around me. That Marshall went to school this morning with ALL his math homework done and that he only has his science project left to complete before the break. That I got to spend a weekend in New Orleans this summer with another adopting mom and that she is there for me, day or night, during this adoption ordeal. That my Mom made the halupkis (stuffed cabbage for you non- Slavic friends) for Christmas Eve dinner and that there is a Polish deli in our community that sells peirogis (because they are a bear to make!). That Lily's birth mom left her on the door step of a bakery on December 20, 4 years ago, knowing that her newborn daughter would be found. That Murphy did not chew the ornaments off the Christmas tree during the night.

I thought that I ought to start making a list to remind myself of all these blessings. There is a fear that we may need the reminders in the next two weeks if we don't get the news that Hung's papers have been approved by the province for his adoption. Making a list of blessings seems like stacking sandbags by the front door before a hurricane to keep the rising tide out. It is something that you almost feel like you are tempting fate by preparing. I don't want to plan for the worst.

We are trying to live day by day with "faith" instead of "fear." This is the time of year we celebrate Jesus' birth but my mind wanders to Mary as we wait for word on Hunter. Did she have fear as she sat on the back of the donkey on her way to Bethlehem? How strong was she to travel with a man who promised to take care of her but who was not the father of her child? Did she have fear when there was no room at the inn? When strangers began to appear to see her new Son, how did she know it was fine? Where did she get her faith?

Maybe she counted her blessings. God is so good.