On a morning in winter, my chronic illness wakes fierce and its lunging roar devours, and I fall out of remission and into the hot pain tears.
And a child glares icy, slams a door hard, and the walls shake my heart sad.
Brothers bicker.
The dog eats the roast I had cooked for lunch. I laugh! I can't believe it. And I can. I glug down more water, more pain medication, more desperate despair, smile anyways.

I stumble to the prayer bench, and I read it there, on the letter He left behind and called Holy. I read that He keeps a list and I can't say I am surprised. He is God. Record-keeping might be of paramount importance.
It's what He's keeping a list of that turns my skin and the cosmos inside out and that changes everything, changes me and the pupil of my eye and the way I brain-film my life.
You have recorded my troubles.
You have kept a list of my tears.
Aren't they in your records?
Today is recorded in the heavens and its pains are written with the wet of tears of God who "hurts with the hurt of my people." (Jeremiah 8:21)

For our God does not primarily catalogue the endless stream of sins. He is God, not a tabloid informant out for dirt, for the flame sensationalist ugly. I forget this. And there are unspoken parts of me that think He makes no records at all but forgets me, the blind, deaf and dumb God.
But I touch the paper where He's left the trail of His heart. He is love, the tender Physician God who keeps tab of the every ache, a doting Father who soul-fissures when His child cries, the God who keeps the ledgers of every pain, every scrape, every brimming, falling, searing tear.
God does not slumber for He cannot cease to bear testimony to our hurt.
God keeps a list.
It's the wildest Love that drives the Father to record His child's every lament. We never ache without God attending, and He can't stand to see a tear fall to the floor. God cups our grief and "puts our tears in His bottle" (Ps. 56:8).

I reach for a pen. An icicle drips off the eave, one winter tear at a time.
If God makes a list of my laments, I will make a list of God's love. If God has a list of my pain, I will make a list of my praise. If God writes a list of my tears, I will write a list of my thanks.
It's Love that makes God and I list keepers.
And keeping the list of His love, keeps me in joy.
On a morning in winter, tears fall and ink drips from a pen and a heart's warmed long by Grace.
You have recorded my troubles.
You have kept a list of my tears.
Aren't they in your records?
~Ps. 56:8
keeping the list of His graces, counting the endless gifts....
#1402. a deeply thoughtful book to encourage through difficult times, Rain on Me
#1403. a huge pot of the best soup for Sunday ladling

#1404. pink woodlands and her little hands

#1405. a house erupting in cheers!
#1406. a Canadian gold!
#1407. the crumbs of love

#1408. boys reaching for Bibles to see what is true
#1409. light in bubbles, laughter in child

#1410. lost snowflakes floating up higher in the updraughts and winter all confused
# 1411. mama's heart shortbread, her Valentine's tradition

#1412. the next generation loving the tradition as much as I did as a child

#1413. the prayers adoring Jesus
#1414. preparing for Lent
#1415. the fragrance of Grace


Want to drink the joy elixir? Become a Joy Finder? Consider joining the Gratitude Community -- just jump in with your own counting!
How to begin your own 1000 Gift List ::: How Gratitude Can Change your Life
( Drop me a line if choose to begin giving intentional thanks and gather fresh joy and I will happily add either your name or a web link to the Gratitude Community I'm slowly getting caught up on meeting all you beautiful folks who have joined the Gratitude Community. Thank you for your kind grace and patience! I'm so looking forward to meeting you all soon!)
If you'd like to share your gathering of God in the moments... , (please, jump in!) consider adding the direct URL to your specific 1000 gift list post... If you join us, we humbly ask that you please help us find each other by sharing the community's graphic within your post
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