2009 has been a year of many blessings.
There was this sweet baby.
Oh, and then news of a family members reversion and a calling.
Then there’s my husband’s new job. That’s right! After nine years of medical training, my husband will be earning R.D. degree – as in real doctor (I did not coin this phrase; Lisa Hendey of Catholic Mom is the one who recently congratulated my husband on his R.D. degree). Forget the M.D. Sure, it was exciting for my husband to graduate medical school, but there was so much left to learn. There still is. He’ll never stop learning. But on July 1st, he’ll be a resident no longer. Woo-hoo!!!
This spring, we’ll be putting our townhome on the market. Then we’ll be gearing up to move from the chaos of the city (no more heinous Atlanta traffic!) to a more bucolic kind of town (we’ll have a yard! Our own yard!!!!). Best of all, our new town isn’t far from extended family.
When my husband began the job search, he kept hearing how tight the market was. I worried. He didn’t.
Then people said doomsday kind of things about how he won’t be able to take care of patients the way he wants because of Uncle Sam. I worried. He didn’t. In fact, I once asked him what all the doctors he knew were saying about all of the health care hoopla. “We’re too busy taking care of patients to talk about it,” he said simply.
In this tough market, he was offered some amazing jobs (a testament to the years of hard work he has invested) – some far, far, far away from our extended family. I worried about making the right decision. He didn’t. “You can’t put a price tag on being close to family.”
He’s like Yoda, except he’s over six feet tall and doesn’t speak in strange syntax. But the no-frills-kind-of-wisdom is definitely there.
He gives great gifts, too, like this (much better than the Force). “So you can write that book of yours at coffee shops.”
I am one lucky woman.
Have I mentioned I’m writing a book? I mean, officially. I received a signed contract one week before Christmas.
The blessings are just too many. There’s no need to count them. They’re everywhere.
My dad’s license plate on his car has three simple letters: TYG. I’m sure people think those are his initials. They aren’t. My dad is driving around a gratitude-mobile. TYG stands for “Thank You, God.”
Perhaps I should tattoo myself with TYG to say thanks for my life’s bounty. Then again, maybe I’ll just show my gratitude by ceasing to worry and to simply put my trust in my husband and God as we forge forward and face all of the exciting changes ahead of us.
2009 has been a great year indeed. I can hardly wait for 2010.
Happy New Year!
Thank you God for my many gifts. Help me to never stop showing my gratitude even when things aren’t so rosy. May I learn to always set my eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel no matter how dark it may seem at times. TYG!