One year ago, our purchase offer was accepted. The boys and I were recovering from a violent tummy bug, and our little California house was topsy-turvy with the remains of a cross-country visit.

What a difference a year makes.

Lately, though, I’ve mostly been thinking about what a difference a day makes, as I ride the waves of nausea and exhaustion and not feeling myself. I wake each morning and wonder, what will this day be? Will the simple acts of breakfast and shower completely wipe me out till evening? Will I be forced to sit perfectly still, hoping to keep my stomach from sloshing, upsetting? Or will there be the gift of energy spurts, and a lifting of the “I just don’t care” that seems to be my constant feeling these days?

What a difference each day makes.

Everyone around me is talking about new years, fresh starts, new seasons, and I try to not feel severely lacking as I continue to simply process days. I have no exciting game plans, no fresh excitement for routines. Instead, I’m trying to let go of everything but bare essentials. Trying not to feel bad that the routines I so enjoy are having to go by the wayside for a bit. Trying to combat a sense of guilt for letting a New Year go a bit uncelebrated and unprocessed. Instead, being thankful for two little boys who are so happy these days, who have not once been demanding when I needed rest, but instead are almost always delightful. Thankful for a husband who is happy with clean socks and sandwiches. Mostly, thankful that, although God grants us the newness of seasons and years, He moves in our lives day by day.

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.

Strength for today.

Bright hope for tomorrow.

Blessings all mine.