I was staring at the lavender checkered tablecloth, pouring gravy on the chicken fillet, and suddenly I was tearing up.
For years I've complained about the cracks in the house I've been living in. I've rolled my eyes at the knickknacks and huge cabinets that have accumulated through the years (my Lola would never let me declutter—every piece has a tag that says, "We might need it later!"), hated the roughly finished walls, and glared at the old wooden ceiling almost collapsing from the weight of their age.
But in that moment, in a random lunch hour, I cried and thanked the roof above my head for the shelter it has served me and my family for decades. I thanked the walls that have witnessed my finest moments, and the floors that have caught my tears when I was at my lowest.
On an ordinary Tuesday, at lunch, I thanked God for all the things I took for granted.