eucharisteo: yoo-khar-is-teh'-o               to be grateful, feel thankful, give thanks. 

"The root word of eucharisteo is charis, meaning “grace.” Jesus took the bread and saw it as grace and gave thanks. He took the bread and knew it to be gift and gave thanks. Eucharisteo, thanksgiving, envelopes the Greek word for grace, charis. But it also holds its derivative, the Greek word chara, meaning “joy.” Charis. Grace. Eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Chara. Joy." -Ann Voskamp

Being thankful for the little gifts that He gives us in every day life. These posts of "things to be happy about"  will be sporadic until i've reached 1,000. Some will be beautifully worded. Some will be broken. Some will be a short sentence. All will be gifts.

________________________________________________________

number seventy-one: Early morning photo-shoots after a fresh rain. 

number seventy-two: Actual steam rising to toast my chilly face. So much tea lately. 

number seventy-three: 5 o' clock work mornings manifest themselves in full glory as I watch the sunrise from my little car, shivering and soaking in the wonder of a new day. 

number seventy-four: Slivers of sunlight streaming through the clouds. 

number seventy-five: Apple-picking days with my family- apple cider, apple pies, apple crisp, apples. Oh yes. Quite wonderful. 

number seventy-six: These days, my eighteen-point-seven years could seem like a hundred. And yet, day after day, "My power is made perfect in... you at this place. In your weakness, precious one." Ah, these words. These words make my heart soar. 

number seventy-seven: I am so thankful for prayer. 

number seventy-eight: It's the season to turn on Vince Guaraldi (author of the Peanuts score), and have "fun" as that carries me with a light step through cleaning my room, working on school, etcetera. 

number seventy-nine: I've been the listening ear and recipient to so many different testimonies lately, whether through a few lines dropped online, a close conversation, even my workplace. I'm in awe of the constant weaving of stories that somehow find a small place together at such a time as this, and that i have the privilege of being able to listen and rejoice in my Savior's glory. When two lives collide. 

number eighty: I've been going through 1 Corinthians with my C.B.S. kidlets lately, and studying it myself for the core groups. I can honestly say these ladies are such gifts from the Lord in this season. Older, wiser liver of this life speaking volumes to my younger, broken soul, leaving fingerprints permanent...perhaps without even realizing how much some of her words mean to me. 

number eighty-one: My kidlets- all the time, of course; but there's something special to be dropping off your middle sister to a class and have a little guy of eight or nine from last year's co-op class wave to you ("Hey, Miss Sierra!") and give you the biggest hug he can. I live for moments like these. 

number eighty-two: Ponderings on the words "staying grounded" in the non-spiritual sense. Lord-willing, I'll be stepping out on my own wild, much-needed venture (more on that soon) next September. I've been feeling the need for a change of scene recently, but not keeping my roots in one place can seem overwhelming. I know for a fact, there's nothing beautiful or "romantic" about feeling ground torn from under your feet, having a constant ache in your chest that leaves your knocked on your knees, begging for the pain to cease as much as you prayer for His will be done is ever constant as well; but I also know for a fact.. that beautiful things come from these circumstances. And that there's a journey beyond my wildest dreams ahead. 

number eighty-three: Wide, wild field of open zinnias. 

number eighty-four: As odd as it sounds, I'm so thankful that another set of courses became available (since CLEP's have become a bane to my existence to put it melodramatically)- Western Civ has never been so fantastic (for Western Civ, that is). 

number eighty-five: Worship. 

number eighty-six: Christmas-season scented soaps and candles?

number eighty-seven: Sunrises and sunsets. Dawn and milky dusk. Pastels. 

number eighty-eight: The warm cooing of pigeons from steep rooftops is a comforting sound. They're roosting, gathering together; and I want to do the same. 

number eighty-nine: Entire days I could spend reading to the gentle pitter patter of rain (as the clouds choose, of course) on the windowsill. Honestly, I think about uprooting, and I realize it'll be the moments like these I'll  miss. When I curl up on my bed or in the patch of sunset to my window, and Grace-Hope comes to just sit with me and knit and try to hold some sort of conversation with me while I'm lost. It's simplicity. When Daddy calls me a kitten. When Marmee and I can cook and chit-chat. When Alexandrea and I got for a completely spontaneous hike or photoshoot or something-or-other. 

number ninety: First bonfire. Smoke rising. Chilled faces, toasted warm hands. S'mores. And s'mores. And also, how do I forget every single year how much I enjoy these?