No Ordinary Tuesday

Today was an ordinary Tuesday in just about every way. I used my yellow umbrella to get from the door to the car. I had my performance evaluation at work. I came home and made soup, then finished the reading for this week’s assignment in my master’s program.

But it is not an ordinary Tuesday because it is the sixth anniversary of the worst Tuesday of my life: the one on which my mother died. And I can no longer talk to her about any of the ordinary events of my day.



Yet, today I felt a different kind of joy in several small, caring gestures—the ones I received, and the ones I gave. They triggered a deep thanksgiving and awareness of how richly I am blessed, not only of the gift I had in my mother, but of the gifts I have in those who are with me still.

The gift of the father who, along with my mother, made me who I am today—in some way, both of them will always be present in me. The gift of sisters who are forever the only ones who know what it’s like to lose my mother as Mom. The gift of a long-time friend who never forgets to remember with me the significance of this day. And the amazing gift of a husband who reached for my hand across the breakfast table this morning and prayed for me as I faced this day.

These are just a few of the good and perfect gifts from the Father of Lights—the one who never changes or flickers in His love when my circumstances shift. He is the one who gives the gift of ordinary Tuesdays, when all is well and normal, and He is the one who comforts, heals, and surrounds me on those Tuesdays that hurt the most.


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