One time when I was little I asked for a specific toy for Christmas. It was a parrot, much like the ones in the Tiki Room at Disneyland. When you pulled the string it talked, and in late November it was all I talked about. When the morning came to rip open packages, there was the parrot, wrapped in red paper. My father looked eagerly for my response. He had searched through four stores to find it. 

But somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve my fancies had shifted, and I wanted fluffy slippers instead. I was disappointed. So was my father. 

A few months ago, I wrote down things I was praying for. One was a resolution for Benjamin's anxiety. Another was for Micah and Nicole's wedding to be joyful. The latter came true first, when all of his siblings showed up to help, and to dance. The pictures are a reminder to me of what was a blessed event. The former came to pass through the heart wrenching process of admitting Ben to a clinic for residential care. But the outcome has been as sweet as I could have hoped for. Benjamin is a happy guy. As I write he is charging through the house for the sheer pleasure of singing.