I Appreciate | You Lord

The sun hadn’t even cleared the jagged silhouette of the hills when Elias sat on his porch, a chipped ceramic mug of coffee warming his calloused hands. At seventy-two, his body was a roadmap of a life lived hard—scars from the timber mill, the stiff gait of a man who had walked through more valleys than mountaintops, and eyes that had seen both the blooming of love and the gray ash of loss.

"I appreciate the day, Lord," he said to the wind. "Every bit of it." I Appreciate You Lord

His life was now a collection of these "appreciations." He appreciated the way the floorboards creaked—a sign that he had a roof over his head. He appreciated the ache in his knees—a reminder that he could still walk the trails. He appreciated the silence, which was no longer a void to be filled, but a space where he could hear a divine whisper. The sun hadn’t even cleared the jagged silhouette