Christmas Stockings and Twelve Days of Christmas

There was one Christmas song my mother did not allow us to sing. It tops the earworm charts, and the pesky little partridge will haunt you all day. (Did the pear tree come with it? That's what I want to know.)

I was asked to do a reading as part of our Christmas service at church about, of all things, this song. It was a fascinating,  if debatable, reading about the song having been used as code words to teach various facets of faith during times when it was illegal to teach or practice Christianity. 

It led me down the rabbit hole of researching the twelve days of Christmas. I learned that these twelve days actually start on Christmas Day and end at Epiphany,  when some people celebrate the Magi's visit to the newborn king.

*****

Muffled giggles and mysterious whispers echoed from the top of the steps. Thankfully,  I figured out what they were doing,  or they would have been sorely disappointed. 

The stockings were hung on the handrail with care,

In hopes that their mother would see them there.

_______

Some background information:

1) In our celebration of Christmas,  one thing Craig and I have not established as a tradition in our home is hanging and filling stockings. 

2) Our boys have listened to the Little House books over and over and over and over, so they know that Laura and Mary got oranges in their stockings. 

_______

We had a nice Christmas planned, with plenty of gifts, but I had not prepared lots of "stocking stuffers". Our kids don't need lots of Little Stuff.  Besides, I already secretly throw away probably half of the candy that sneaks into our house-- because I like healthy teeth AND because the sugar receptors on some kids seems to shoot large amounts of extreme energy straight to the brain, which in turn makes their bodies start orbiting the living quarters at breakneck speed. Since I have kids in this category, why would I stuff stockings full of  Sugar Nuggets?

I quickly rummaged through the possibilities,  and tucked a clementine, a pack of dye-free fruit snacks, and a handful of coins into each stocking.

Christmas morning, they were absolutely thrilled.  Oranges were just what they expected,  because,  after all, that's what Laura and Mary got in THEIR stockings. 

Christmas night, the stairs were once again the landing spot for whispered plotting and giggle-laden activities. Sure enough,  the stockings were there again. 

"Well, Mom, there ARE twelve days of Christmas!" 

So there you have it.

That's why,  while we're visiting at my mom's,  you might see a few socks hanging hopefully in random places. I'm humoring them by dropping tiny gifts of whatever I can find...a small piece of chocolate,  a sticker, or a little snack. 

Merry 5th day of Christmas!

Be That One Person to Some Person

We did a thing today.

We loaded up the whole family and went Christmas Caroling. I guess that's still what it's called when you have six people singing five different notes that are too far apart to  all be melody and too close together to be harmonious, and it sounds a bit discombobulated,  but if the listener is well versed in Christmas songs, they might be able to sing along with a fair chance of hitting one of the notes already being sung.

We went Christmas Caroling to a handful of people.  

Because our Christmas caroling is a little like Wooton Bassett's mail delivering, it took us roughly two hours to make five stops, but we returned home blessed in our hearts, and with more things in our pickup than we had when we left home to give stuff away. Crazy how that works.

Our last stop was a man who lives alone and has Very Few People.  We have visited him a handful of times in the past few years, and each time, I tell myself we need to go routinely.  He still has the pictures on his fridge that the boys made for him 2-3 years ago, and today, he wiggled things around on the fridge to make room for one more, and proudly displayed the painted rock in a prominent place on his shelf.

I get a little discouraged with myself sometimes. I have a collection of friends who specialize in doing Big Things For Lots Of People.  They frequently and successfully host large dinner parties or organize complex events. This is not me. I prefer doing Little Things For A Few People. 

As we left this man's place, I was struck with the power of Doing Little Things For A Few People.

If every person would Just Do One Little Thing for a handful of people every day or every week or every month or every year, all those One Little Things might make a difference. 

I feel most days like all I have to give, I give to our family. The little bit I have left, I give to our business, for the sake of our family. That leaves me with a tiny, teeny, little bit left to give into the community. 

If all you have left to give is a  tiny, teeny, little bit, then just do a tiny, teeny, little bit for a handful of people. 

It just might mean the world to someone. 

The Ten Thing Thing

I look around and see hundreds of things to do. I can't do hundreds of things in 2 minutes (which is the average amount of time I have to focus, with 4 kids under 10), but I CAN do Ten Things.

I swoop up Ten Things off one counter and go put them away. Even most of my children's URGENT needs can wait that long to be met.

I get bored easily, and housework holds little intrinsic interest to me, so I force myself to do it, and I break it up so I can tolerate it. Ten Things. I can do Ten Things.

Sometimes, I race the dishes against the laundry. Ten dishes away. (Go change a diaper.) Ten towels folded. (Answer a math question.) Ten dishes. (Break up a fight.) Ten shirts. (Get a drink for a Small, Thirsty Human.)

Then suddenly, there are only a few left, and I quickly finish them. 

The amazing thing is, those first 10 are the worst. After I've done 10, I often go ahead and do another 20. 

If it's a night when snuggling children took priority over dishes, sometimes I walk through the kitchen at 2 am, en route to somewhere that's none of your business. On the way back, I think, "Ten Things. I can do Ten Things." I might do 10. I might do 100. Either way, it makes a difference. 

Sometimes, after the children are in bed, I look around and see messes and unfinished projects all around, and I have no idea where to start. So I rotate through the spaces, doing Ten Things. After making a couple rounds of doing Ten Things, I realize that each space is no longer unconquerable, and I start conquering spaces.

I'm not claiming that it's an efficient way to do housework, but for me, with my fluttery-jibbety-flittery brain, it helps draw me into motion. 

I can do Ten Things.

I'm also teaching my children this. When EVERYONE does Ten Things, it goes 10x faster. Ok, not really, but they are learning. 

They can do Ten Things.

One thing at a time.

A case of "The Momses"

Oh, don't mind my rumbling,

I'm really not grumbling-

I love this circus and zoo.

But in case you wonder,

Take a moment and ponder

The stimulation that Mothers go through. 

The noise

    Of the boys

The wiggles

The giggles

The squirming all over my lap

The squabbles

The wobbles

The tossing

The bossing

The racket during my "nap"

There's the sound of yelling, 

There's this poo that I'm smelling

The taste of this pre-sampled food (🤮)

There's the sight of the messes

The feel of wet kisses...

"How are you?" "Don't worry- I'm GOOD!"

But I beg, please don't judge

While I feast on some fudge,

And curl up, wrapped in a blanket.

A mom can be strong

For only so long,

'Til she expends her power to fake it. 

She'll be right back, after these messages,

Knowing life's full of purpose and promises,

Based on speculation, 

She'll survive the stimulation

She's just had a short bout of The Momses.

- a mom of Very Lively Children 

After "one of those days"

Added, by same Mom of same Children,  after a couple hours of sleep helped reset her perspective:

Thank you, God, for the wiggles and giggles and noise,

For the busy girl and each of the boys,

For the huge hugs and wet kisses,

Messy hands, dirty faces

And for hope, help, and all of the joys.

Ode to a "Normal" Day

 

Back in the days when I was free

To roam the earth as I jolly well pleased,

I'd pick up the phone and I'd call back home

To hear the voice of my favorite Mom.

"Hi, Mom!" I'd nonchalantly say.

"Anything exciting happen today?"

"No, thank God!" was her heartfelt reply.

I truly, genuinely, could not understand why!

"How absurdly boring!" I said to me.

I struggled to grasp the reality

That "boring" is "normal" and "normal life" could

Actually, somehow, be honestly good!

"Adulthood is boring!" was my youthful conclusion. 

I subconsciously vowed Adventure Inclusion

Would be part of my life- it was here to stay!

There's no reason to EVER have A Boring Day!

I sought New Hard Things, sometimes treacherously,

And loved living life very adventurously.

"Try something new every day!" was my motto;

Drive a new route, fly a plane, eat gelato...

I don't know what happened to that Adventure-Seeking-Me.

Perhaps the Adventure started seeking me!

"Never a dull moment!"- words I once cherished- 

That's my life now; Boredom has perished!

(In my particular life, right now,

Life has completely filled up, somehow, 

With a little girl and several boys,

There's ALWAYS adventure- and So Much Noise!)

As the hours turn to days and the days turn to years,

My perspective keeps changing, and so do my fears.

The days when the phone doesn't ring are the best.

No Extra Stuff-- I just want to rest!

As I crave the Unexciting Day,

I shake my head and hear myself say,

"My conclusion really can't be any other-

Like it or not- I'm becoming my mother!"

Do that Hard Thing... maybe you'll LIKE it!

"I think I actually LIKE writing!"

That was his random close-of-the-day comment to me last night.

I thought I'd NEVER hear those words out of his mouth. 

He decided about 4 years ago that writing is Very Hard Work, and therefore, a task to be despised and avoided, at all cost.

It WAS very hard work. I didn't realize HOW hard it was for him until his brothers started writing. Writing is hard work for every kid, but for some, it's very, very hard. He was one of those.

The thing is, we corrected the things that made it physically hard. 

When we started Occupational Therapy, his fine motor skills were very rigid. His balance and coordination were 2-3 years behind what's expected. He couldn't cross midline.

All those things made handwriting extra, extra hard.

We worked through those physical challenges, and while some days we still see traces of them, it's easy to forget that they were So Hard.

The hard part now is retraining his brain to stop believing these things are so hard that it is not even worth trying. 

It has been one of the most challenging things of being his teacher, in addition to being his mom. We have fought many long, hard battles over simply writing a few lines. 

It is not that he isn't able; it is that he remembers how hard it WAS, and believes that's how hard it IS.

As a Mom Detective, one picks up on these things, because writing things like "Happy Birthday!" comes out quickly and cheerfully and relatively neatly.

Anyway, in an attempt to troubleshoot, I got a new handwriting curriculum, and started all 3 boys at the same place. I convinced them that handwriting is going to be the most fun class of the day. We drew lines in corn and dotted our Is and crossed our Ts.

And by the end of the day, he thinks maybe he likes writing, after all.

Sometimes, we all just need to shift our thinking a little....stop believing the lies that say we will always be trapped inside who we WERE, and step forward, doing that Hard Thing.

Maybe we'll like it, after all!!

Adventures of Cleaning Boys' Rooms

 Boys.

I love being a Mom of Boys.

There is never a dull moment.  Never.

One of the things that a Boy Mom faces is that she never knows what she will find when it is Room Cleaning Time.

One day, it was a Snot Wall. Seriously.  Apparently,  tissues make good drawing paper, because I also found a treasury of detailed Pen On Tissue art. But tissues for wiping noses? Absurd.

This past week, I cleaned out a collection of finger nail trimmings. Ew.

I put away a toy screwdriver 🪛.  I was promptly told that this son NEEDS the screwdriver on his bedside shelf. Why? "To make holes in my pants." He went on to explain that he doesn't like wearing pants,  and so if he makes holes in all of them, he won't have any left to wear, and therefore won't have to wear pants.

If you have noticed a gradual (or rapid) change in my hair color over the past decade,  this may help you understand. 

Momming Boys is not for the faint of heart.

It is, however, one of my favorite things ever.

Even (or maybe especially) when I find things like this clothespin/rubber band contraption on the ceiling fan: 

 I never have been fond of dull moments anyway.

You have one hour to set up your mini restaurant....and... GO!

As Craig and I get our feet under us in our 6th year of selling our beef at Farmers Markets, I have been pondering WHAT we are doing, WHY we are doing it, and HOW we do it. It has been quite a winding little journey with our family of Little People.  

Maybe someday, I'll write more about navigating the growing pains of our little farm-to-table meat business.

For now, I offer you a seat in the back corner of our stand, as it sprouts in one hour from a bare spot of ground into a fully functioning food stand.

Time: 3:57 pm

We pull into the parking space, and start pulling things out of the trailer.

Thanks to Craig's engineering abilities, the Big Stuff is on custom built, heavy duty carts with lots of built in storage space. 

The grill

The freezer

The serving tables--

These all get wheeled over on their carts.

Another cart makes several trips, hauling Important Stuff.

Up go the canopies!

Up go the tables!

Surfaces are sanitized.

Power sources are connected.

The grill is grilling.

The warmer is warming. 

The fryer is filled and sizzling.

The freezer is freezing.

The drinks are chilling.

Steaks for steak & cheese sandwiches are seared and diced.

Ground Beef for the Slapdash Sliders is browned on the mini BlackStone.

Beef Burgers and Beef Hot Dogs are on the grill.

French Fries are portioned.

Wash basins are ready.

Signs are up.

Ketchup & friends are in place.

Buns are positioned.

Rhubarb (along with its 6 year old salesman) has claimed its spot.

Time: 5 pm

The cowbell rings.

Three deep breaths.

"Good evening, Mike! Yes, we have your Slapdash Sliders tonight! You'd like three? No problem!"

Mother's Mistakes: our favorite stories!

 "Tell us the story about when you ordered socks you thought were all the same, but they had different colored stripes!"

The boys were matching socks and making conversation.

It's a Very Boring Story, really, and their request pretty much tells everything there is to tell.

So instead of retelling the story they had already told, I said, "You want that one, or the one about when I ordered tiny shoes?"

They LAUGHED and said, "We like them both!"

I didn't actually tell it, because they remember better than I do, that in a Mom Moment of "I'll save some time and quick order these online," I failed to realize I was ordering infant sizes instead of youth.

It was a rough equivalent of some of the shortcuts I suggested on road trips, that I DON'T recommend you ask my mom or brother about.

In other words, it saved no time.

Instead of telling the story, I just told my boys, "You just like hearing about my mistakes!"

"Yes! We LOVE hearing about other people's mistakes!"

Me too.

I prefer to live the good, uneventful days (now I'm sounding like my mom!), but generally speaking, good days make really boring stories.

It somehow gives me courage to hear how others navigate unexpected, self-created obstacles.

There's something life-giving about someone being honest enough to own up to their own mistakes and make a good story out of it. My dad was like that. He could laugh at his own mistakes.

I want to pass that Life Skill on to my children.

Meanwhile, I'm off to other adventures, in which I hope to have a Really Good Day Worth Telling About!

Of Shuttle Services, Guarded Parts, and My Own Heart

 

Part 1: Shuttle Service

One part of motherhood that I majorly underestimated was the time and effort allotted to Shuttle Service.

There are the routine things: classes, piano lessons, church.

Then there are doctor appointments, dentist appointments, chiropractic appointments, and immunization appointments.

Add some special needs in there, and you get therapy appointments and more appointments.

Stuck in between all the everything, you get grocery store and merchandise purchasing runs.

So one of my full-time jobs is Shuttle Service Coordinator. Usually I also fill in as driver.

Another fun part of this job description is keeping track of the names, birthdays, and insurance cards for each child. I don't know why, but since I'm multiplying this mental task x 4, I've been scrambling their birth dates. Right day, wrong year, etc. It makes me feel, right up front, like I'm losing it. Thankfully, we have many gracious people in our lives, and they never make me feel too incompetent or stupid.

Part 2: The Guarded Parts

One reason I currently feel especially busy in the Shuttle Service department is that two weeks ago, we had upper respiratory and double ear infections x4. We were fortunate to get 3 kids in to be seen at our Dr's office for same-day appointments. The other kid came down with symptoms the next day, and they ordered meds based on symptoms and asked us to bring him in with Baby for a recheck in two weeks.

Fast forward to today.

He loved watching while Baby Sister was being examined.

But when it was his turn?

"Why are you curled up under the chair?"

[Came up to whisper in my ear] "Because I don't want her to look in this ear, because of That Pain."

After some struggles and obstacles which I shall not describe in detail, he let her look. 

The infection was gone, but still some fluid build-up, causing the discomfort.

Part 3: My own heart

Walking with my son through his appointment helped me see one of my tendencies. If there's a part I find myself really guarding, it may be just the part that NEEDS to be looked at, so the problem can be located, named, and addressed in ways that lead to healing. 

Also, I have to trust the person(s) I have help me.

Also, it's more fun to watch my sister being examined.

The End

Joy's Parenting Advice (to herself)

 Disclaimer:

I read recently that no one under 40 should write "How-to's" or self-help stuff, because really, what do they know? In different words: time and experience are the true test of one's ideas. 

I'm 40 now, so I can...but someone else said 50.

And someone else said parenting guidance is not worth reading until the writer has teenagers they have successfully launched.

In other words, make sure your guide has already navigated the journey, and not fallen into a pit, before you follow.

I also very aware of our flaws & weaknesses in parenting. We have a Super-charged group of little boys, and we're all learning lots on this journey together, as we walk it very imperfectly.

Having said All Those Things, I will readily say that I DO really enjoy reading and listening to others who are in the trenches of parenting. They have not yet forgotten the role exhaustion plays in our daily routines, or the feel of vomit destroying not only the just-changed clean outfit but altering the whole day's plans.

I listen to and learn from moms younger than me. I even enjoy hearing perspectives from my unmarried friends, and from friends who have no children- honestly, sometimes their vision is crisper, and their lenses less fogged over, and they are able to just see it as it is.

Do I take what they say with a grain of salt? Of course. I take what I think with a grain of salt, too.

 ---

Having heretofore cleared the air of the things I felt I needed to say before I could say the things I wanted to say, I will now step up on my soapbox and present, to myself and anyone else who cares to listen, the advice I want to remember tomorrow and 10 years from now.

#1 Place high value on snuggles and low value on expectations. Great expectations are great, but it's okay to adjust them. Especially on days when everyone isn't feeling quite right.

#2 Connections are much easier to maintain than to mend.

#3 Don't accept as Gospel Truth For All every piece of advice or thing you discover that works for one child, and expect it to work for every child the whole world through.

#4 Don't reject as garbage every piece of advice or thing you discover that does NOT work for one child, and declare it as useless for all.

#5 If what works for most children simply isn't working for one, research and reach out for resources outside the box. Professionals who work with neurodivergent kids may be able to help find different ways for the child to meet the same goals, or adjust the goals appropriately.

#6 It's okay to get help. Whether for housework, school, business, or mental health, it's okay to get help.

#7 Choose your choices carefully.  Instead of "What shirt do you want to wear?" (Or worse: "Do you want to get dressed?) it's "Hey, you want stripes or dinos today?"

Of course, they get smart to this, too. Recently, the 3 year old asked me, "Mom, can I have a movie or tablet time?" 

Me: "Bring a book- I'll read to you."

He: "But MOM! THAT wasn't one of the choices!"

#8 Nurture your spouse. This is more of a goal than a how-to, because in this season of 4 kids ages 8 & under, some days we're more co-workers and less lovebirds. Even so, I want to do better at going above & beyond in helping him be His Very Best, and to be My Very Best, in his love.

#9 Reduce your own daily decisions. Assign age-appropriate chores to kids for a year. Put your things in the same place every time...but until you learn to do that, then at least give thanks for a husband who usually can help you find your glasses!

#10 When it feels like you're in a fight with your kid, remember- you're on the SAME TEAM! You are fighting FOR him, WITH him- not against him. Change your perspective to view the object of disagreement as a hurdle, not a battlefield. Then tackle it- together.

Bonus: 

DO NOT GROW WEARY IN WELL DOING.

Do Not Grow Weary in Well Doing

Do not grow weary in well doing.

do not g r o w w e a r y....

Lego Time

 "Wanna watch the boys get off the tablet fast?" Craig asked me. Of course!

"Hey, guys! Who wants to spend time with Daddy?" He called from the dining room.

"I do! I do!" and two of the boys came bounding from the living room.

"Doing what?" asked the oldest, measuring his options.

"Legos."

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!"

After some time, I interviewed them about their projects.

#1 was acting out an animated scenario involving a flooded airport.

#2 was making a box to store hats in

#3 was flying an airplane Craig made. "They can't find China!" he said as he buzzed through the house.

#4 was chewing on her blanket, happy to be surrounded by happy sounds

Craig was supervising and building a blue semi.

And I? I was enjoying some kitchen time while everyone else was otherwise occupied.

The three-year-old travel companion

 One of the myths regarding SAHMs is that they actually stay at home.

Truth be told, they often don't stay at home enough.

This is why I rarely call myself a SAHM. 

I work from home. I farm with my husband. I care for our children. I even educate them from home.

But we DO "get out." 

We "get out" way more than the introvert version of myself would prefer, but I do it in the name of necessity.

Today was Beef Delivery Day. 

We only had three stops, which, for this week (being the Week that it was), was perfect.

Craig delivered one order when he went to an appointment.

I delivered one order en route to piano lesson.

I got home from piano, switched out my passengers, and delivered the last order to West Branch.

Mr. 3-yr-old was delighted to be plucked up out of his slumber & strapped in next to his sister.

And thus the commentary started.

"She's sleeping, Mom. She's SLEEPING!"

"Was that a bridge?" (No, it was a railroad) "I LIKE to be on a railroad! But we need to be a train!" (No, we're not on a railroad, we just crossed it) "But what if a train BONKS into us?!?"

"She yawned. How can she YAWN?  She's awake, Mom. She wants your milk."

"Are we in South Africa? This looks like South Africa."

"What are you eating? Can I have some popcorn too?"

"JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS" 

"How much farther?" 

JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS" 

"How much farther?" JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS" 

"How much farther?"  (10 more Jingle Bells)

"Ok. Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells. I'm going to turn it off now. See, Mom? I'm being quiet. I'm going to sleep now."

"How much farther?"

"I had FUN, Mom!"

KM Photography, Part 2: Selfies

 A favorite pastime of our 3 year old is to grab my phone & take pictures (one of the few things he can access without unlocking it).

Most recently, he has discovered selfies.

He's still perfecting his technique, but he has a few tips we can all learn from.

Tip #1: Don't position the camera too far away

Tip #2: Keep your chin up.

Tip#3: Stripes in motion add some interest

Tip #4: Try featuring a variety of facial features, vs. whole face shots. 

Tip #5: Covering half the lens with your finger helps hide potentially embarrassing background clutter

He lives this motto: 

Wear a smile,

Share a smile!

I hope you found these tips helpful!

Until next time...

Remembered

 It's hard to believe that half a lifetime ago, I was 20. Full of hopes and dreams and ideals and ambition, I was determined to never settle into one of those surly, pessimistic, BORING adults. Hello? There's LIFE to be lived!

I lived it up in my 20s. Helped run my parents' bakery, got my pilot's license, got my RN license, traveled the world, and let a few friends crack the code to access the Real Me.

Then I hit 30. The 30's walloped me on every side with changes and griefs and shifting identity. Thankfully, by that time, I had a kind-hearted man to walk the journey with me. But somewhere along the way, in the abyss of grief and change, I lost sight of who I was.

Finally, now that I'm 40, I feel like maybe the fog is clearing. I'm starting to remember who I am. I hope my 40s have some of the energy of my 20s, but seasoned with some wisdom from the School of Hard Knocks.

The past few weeks have had multiple really impactful moments of reconnecting with friends who knew me as me. Before I was muddling through All This Stuff. They knew my imperfections back then, but managed to love me anyway. And they still do.

I have not done well at maintaining consistent connection through the years, so it feels really powerful to reconnect and feel Known.

It is one of the harder things about living in a community that is still becoming "home" to me: to not feel Known. There are some things that it's nice to not have everyone know about me 😜, but sometimes, I crave to be known, without having to explain. 

Thank you, God, for Life Friends!

Through the Darkness

Sometimes, we don't grasp how dark is the tunnel  we're in until we realize the pinpoint of light we have followed is growing. The blackness fades into shadows. The shadows morph into shapes with such intense slowness that the change is incomprehensible. Suddenly, we realize we CAN see. The things we thought had vanished were only invisible because of the invasion of The Dark. 

We dread to see ourselves in the mirror, because, in this journey through The Dark, we have picked up a whole lot of mud, and obtained some really deep, jagged wounds. Some of the wounds have festered and need medical attention. 

Sometimes,the light grows as we plod slowly toward it. We force one foot in front of the other, and move toward the light.

Sometimes, the sun rises on us, where we are, and The Dark is forced to leave (for a few hours, at least).

When the light becomes bright enough to find the mirror, we don't even recognize the person (IS there actually a person hiding in that big, smelly mass?) we see in the glass.

____

As I crawl toward the light, I realize a bit more how deep The Dark that I am wriggling my way through.

The past 10 years have led me through a quagmire of compounded grief as I faced, within three years, the loss of my Dad and 3 babies I never got to meet. In addition, there have been financial hurdles and learning curves in business and in parenting, and I have had to learn more about ASD than I ever wanted to need to know. Oh, and hormones. Lots of hormones. 

The tunnel became a dungeon. 

The Dark really likes dungeons.

But The Light is stronger than The Dark.  

The shadows are fading into shapes of things I know well.

I am starting to recognize myself again, as I move about in my own body.

When I smell fresh bread baking in my kitchen, and see the words tumbling onto the screen into sentences that are at least semi-coherent, I know I am still me.

I have wounds and scars, and layers of crust to work through, but I'm still me.

Me, on a journey.

___

Thank God for The Light!!!