Brooke's Birthday

I couldn't resist reposting this on his birthday. For several years we stayed at the Marriott Hotel overnight to celebrate his birthday. $50/family on weekends. We'd take in the tabernacle choir Christmas program, the lights, and swimming and hottubbing at the hotel. Carol, Verla, and their families joined us some years so it was a real celebration. Happy Birthday, Brooke!

May a baby come to thee,

And lie beneath your Christmas tree,

In a cradle set with pine

Be a perfect present thine. . .

And, when the blessed day is done,

Birthday of God’s only son,

May your heart a cradle be

Needing not a Christmas tree,

For in your arms a babe will stay –

Every hour a Christmas day! --Author Unknown

Brooke Duffin Hugh born December 21, 1971
(I might point out that we are living in the garage while building our house.)

America the Beautiful

When I woke up in the middle of the night,

I lie there thinking:

I am so very grateful that when I awaken,

I don’t hear gunfire or explosions

or suicide bombers or fighting or fire.

I’m grateful I have never had to watch

a child starve to death in my arms;

or to be separated from family members by war.

America the Beautiful.

The Land of Plenty;

where we live relatively free of fear.

I’m thankful I have a clean “lived-in” house

and food and clothes.

The closest we come to violence was expressed by Ed this morning,

“Thank you for making my bed, even if it killed ya.”

Our battles are in jest.

Ed and his dad are always racing to see who gets showered first;

Who gets dressed first; who goes to bed first:  Who wins?

Ed chides DeRay every morning about making his bed.

One morning when DeRay came down,

Ed, always on his back, bids:

“Did you make your bed? True or False?”

The closest we come to starving is having dinner a half-hour late.

Like Ed,

I love this planet;

I love America;

I love this town;

I love this house;

I love Ed’s car;

I love my bed.

I love my family,

each and every one.

Blessings incalculable.