This morning as I woke up, it seemed inviting to stay under the covers a little longer. The window-weather check revealed the same crop of icicles I’ve seen for a week, each dagger looking like it could zip down and pierce me right through. My pillow seemed an edgy place to rest!

As I lay still, my thoughts drifted to our children. When I write prayers over them, I refer to them as “our 7+2,” using a plus sign for our son-in-law and daughter-in-law, since they’ve added so much to our family. All nine of these people have made themselves unselfishly available since the minute we heard the word “cancer”. At that time they rearranged their already-full lives to be physically present with us, with me.

While ruminating under the covers, I thought back over the past few days. Each of our 7+2 has either been with me at the cottage or checked in from their distant homes. They’re still making themselves available, with enthusiasm. I believe Nate does have some awareness of earth-activity, a truth supported by Scripture, and if he knows how his 7+2 are performing, he is pleased.

Nate and I never set out to have seven children. Although I fantasized as a little girl about eight babies, choosing their sexes and naming them during my play times, Nate had no expectations in this department. Then he married me. During our engagement, we talked about a family and whether or not we wanted one, while having a great deal of fun just by ourselves. We tabled the matter for later.

When we learned I was pregnant with Nelson after three years of marriage, we were both smitten with the idea of a child. Nate had never been around babies and knew nothing of sleepless nights or messy diapers. But he learned fast and willingly got his hands dirty in the nitty-gritty of parenting. In the beginning he would ask, “How much ointment on his diaper rash? A teaspoon or a tablespoon?”

As more children came along, he became a pro at helping, and we struck one of many parenting deals. If I would clean up all the bloody noses and skinned knees (because he was squeamish on those), then he’d clean up all the vomiting episodes (because I was squeamish on those). We would share the poop. During our twenty-five years of parenting young children, that arrangement worked perfectly.

Nate grew up in a family of two boys, and “just two” seemed right to him, since it was his experience. It would have been fine for us, too, except that after two boys, we both longed for a girl. After one daughter, we hoped for another. There was always a reason why “one more” would be a great idea. As each came along, Nate enfolded him or her into his life, with the exception of one pregnancy announcement. (See tomorrow’s blog.)

As our kids grew older and left home for college and points beyond, Nate was fascinated with their choices, becoming interested in each of their pursuits. He never insisted they go to his universities or investigate his career as their own. Instead he studied each one, learned their strengths and encouraged them in those directions.

Although fathering didn’t come naturally to Nate, he did a good job, evidenced by the fact that his children all rushed to be with him when the chips were down. He related well to these 7+2 young adults and found deep pleasure in being with each one of them.

This morning as I turned the covers back to get out of bed, I had to acknowledge that God had showered me with blessings even before my feet touched the floor, reminding me of the many gifts he’s poured into my life over the years. No matter what this day or any other would bring, I knew I already had more than enough reasons to be grateful.

“Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)