The list could stretch lengths, so I will focus on a simple one.
Two of our children are adopted from places where food wasn’t guaranteed. Something not easily forgotten, but sticks in their bones, running through their mind, a painful place. Thankfulness, for us, one year later is that there is learned trust, visible and non. Rounded bellies, deeper laughs, eyes catching yours, but this time with a depth of knowing– we belong to each other. Thankful for mornings where the sight of cooking food doesn’t equal panicked tears, but a constant source of tangible love for our children. They know now. It can’t be forced, but shown. You are loved, even in pancakes.