Happy 4th {one day late}

Yesterday morning I went for a run, and as I huffed and heaved like a Clydesdale, sweat streaming from temples to toes, I thought about gratitude the whole hot way.

I was grateful for the runners and bikers who shouted out their own sweaty greetings as we passed each other on the path.

I was grateful for my 42-year-old body that, while not exactly graceful, could carry me through four miles with hardly an ache.

I was grateful for my two boys, so excited for fireworks they'd leapt out of bed in a flurry of chatter at 7 a.m.

I was grateful for my husband, who, while I ran, was making my favorite birthday cake (a Harvey Wallbanger -- the cake my mother-in-law always made for all of our birthdays) from scratch.

And I thought about you, too, because I am so, so grateful for you. For your companionship as we walk through this mysterious journey of faith. For your support, encouragement and love during the times I falter. For the fact that you keep showing up here, even when I write rambling, 42-year-old birthday posts.

Thank you, every one of you, for being a light in my life. You are a gift.

{Come back tomorrow for Graceful Summer? Link up a story of your own slow summer moment?}

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