Hush-a-bye cobwebs... I'm counting my blessings.

Leo with his great-grandpa Boyd.

I am. And I felt the joyful weight of them during church today. Even though I wasn't in Sunday School. I was in the mother's lounge, nestled between the Relief Society room and the bathrooms in the east hallway, with my precious one nestled in my grateful arms.

With Thanksgiving coming and going this week, I've had blessings on the mind. Namely, the blessings I desperately hope, wait, and pray daily for. Those someday blessings, the ones I wake up thinking about, the ones I curl up with at night, the ones that are "closer than breathing" to quote Tennyson. And I've struggled to balance those blessings in the weights with the ones that are, again to quote Tennyson, "nearer than hands and feet".

But on Sunday, rocking and feeding my dearest babe in the dimly lit mother's lounge, these words from a poem came to mind:

Hush-a-bye cobwebs, dust go to sleep,

I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

It struck me how really temporary much of life is. How temporary is financial stability. How temporary is nursing a heavenly babe. How temporary are my heavy worries.. I am assured that they won't last forever. I know in some future day I will wake with those someday blessings at hand and not only in dreams. How temporary is mostly everything that is not eternal.

I looked into my son's little brown eyes, stroked his fuzzy sweet head. Curled his mighty fingers around my own, took in his smell, his presence, his love. Thought on my life before and since him. Thought of his devoted father. Listened to sweet singing through the thin walls of the lounge. Pondered on my little family and on my parents and on their parents and on the very things that connect us for all time. And counted my blessings.

Not the ones I wish for, but the ones I have. And they are so very many.