At least once a year, usually at Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, my Pop would get the urge to pray. Pop was not a religious man, however, he was a family man. In a voice shaking with emotion, he would give thanks to God for granting him another year. For another year of life, another year to spend with his family.
This year, like Pop, I’m thankful for one thing, but in that one thing is everything.
I’m thankful for my life.
It is imperfect and certainly flawed, but it is mine. In its imperfections, glimmers of beauty can be seen in the bits that make me who I am. And while we may never know who or when or where our lives mattered most, one thing I am certain of is this: each and every life matters.
Your life matters.
Your life is important.
You were made for a reason.