Things like fixed rate mortgages befuddle me. Balloons, compounds, and fifteen vs thirty years all add to the confusion, as do pre approval, and variable interest rates. It turns out that such ignorance does not preclude me from living in my house. My efforts with an array of jobs help satisfy the monthly payments and in fact next May will mark the end of that mountainous financial commitment. 

 

John comprehends these options, and leaped into the morass of paperwork both when we bought it and when it made sense to refinance. I simply signed where he told me. Our daughter Hosanna is also savvy with such things, having graduated from Yale Business School at the apex of her very smart class. She has been generous with advice to her clueless mother and semiclued father. 

 

But I do understand blessings. Our house qualifies as one of those, and my gratitude has ballooned over the years. Another is the ridiculous joy of having children. I call them children, but they are all adults now. It turns out that while I enjoyed those blurry years of raising them, it is my good luck to enjoy them still. Even though they are technically gone. 

 

My twins and I have been enthusiastic members of the shepherd's choir since 2006. They were four, and held soft stuffed lambs. My mother had died the month before and that loss only amplified the tenderness of the day. Each December that we again joined in to create surround sound for the congregation who walked between us on the way to behold a newborn baby, my feelings gained momentum.  

 

This week I unlocked the cabinets that hold costumes for the upcoming tableaux service. In the mix of brown and striped coats were a pair of angel robes. My daughter's names were there to announce that these are what they wore for the last performance. 

 

I started to cry. 

 

It astounds me that the gladness I felt sixteen years ago is not depleted. On the contrary, its worth has grown. Compounded, in fact to a joy that I can only call great.