His Last Gift.

The usual calm after the storm had taken over Happy House yesterday.

Children played - fascinated with their newest toys.

Parents closed sleepy eyes and lazily flopped around the house picking at

leftovers. We had a few hours in between festivities.

We all seemed to breathe a collective and appreciative sigh for Christmas. For

each other. For Santa. For the leftovers calling to us from the kitchen.

But, the sun broke through the clouds in mid afternoon and the weather

became, simply put, too nice not to be outside.

Without thinking much about it, I said to the family -

"His last gift

is waiting for us in the back woods.."

And without further ado, the children

raced to that locale.... never asking who "He" is, and never asking what the gift could possibly be. They just took themselves there and the Hubs and I slowly followed.

Dec balanced, listened to a red-tailed hawk and used his new bow and arrow to aim and concentrate.

Nonie pointed her toes, transformed herself into an outdoor ballerina, and performed for restless squirrels and birds happening all around her.

Together, as the setting sun sparkled on the lake in the distance, we all discovered that

His Last Gift was waiting for us in the back woods.

And as I sat on the old stone wall cradling my camera, I lifted my eyes to the sun and marveled that our cup spilleth over on days like today. And, every day, really.

How could we possibly be given more, when we already have so much?

Perhaps a big part of being truly thankful, is taking the time to inventory all that we have for which we could be (and should be) giving thanks.

And how are our children not asking where the gift is right now - do they know that it is them?

And when I opened my eyes - I saw this. My angel. My beautiful Christmas angel.

I believe that our offspring somehow know what I'm just discovering as I sit here on the old stone wall basking in soul-warming Christmas sunshine:

His Last Gift,

is really

His Lasting Gift.

Of course they know this.

Of course I believe in His Last Gift,

and in so much more.

merry everything.