I try to set aside enough time to pray every night, I do. I never miss helping my 3-year-old say his prayers, but when it’s my turn . . . I fall flat sometimes. 

By the time my body finally collapses into the soft curve of our mattress at an hour far later than I had planned, I know I only have a few seconds before my mind slips into the bliss of sleep. 

In those fleeting moments, I know I’m not going to be able to give God the prayers He deserves (but really, there would never be enough time for that). 

Instead, I pray, “Thank you for all of it.”

That’s all that I can usually get through before my brain shuts off and I begin dreaming of a frog that changes from blue to purple when I pick him up or of the most incredible cinnamon bun imaginable. 

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While I only get out those six words, I mean so much more.

Thank you for our home, our health, our food, our steady paychecks, our health insurance, our physical safety—things that so many people in our world don’t have. 

Thank you for the way my little boy woke me up before the sun, smiling and telling me in no uncertain terms that he was ready to play. 

Thank you for fact that my husband and I have made it through the ups and downs that come with nearly a decade of togetherness, fused like steel that’s been through the hottest blue flames. 

Thank you for FaceTime, letting me see the way my niece and my son giggle together, even though they’re a 6-hour plane ride and a time zone apart. 

Thank you for the drive you instilled in me to become a writer, allowing me to express myself creatively while still enjoying the privilege of taking my son to the park on a random Tuesday at 10 a.m. 

Thank you for my 14-year-old obese orange cat, who has seen me through three cities, snuggled my hangovers away in my party days, and has been a faithful companion no matter who came and went in my life. 

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And thank you, God, for the little things that make life so whimsically fantastic: the way it’s summer until one day I look around and notice the falling leaves and the damp smell of fall, the way my son puts his hand on my face when I’m sad to ask if I’m having a tough moment, the way my husband makes goofy noises through our home security system while he’s traveling for work to make us laugh. 

God, I’m working on spending more time with you, I promise. I’ll get there. Maybe not at the end of a day of toddler chasing, but in time, I will get there. 

In the meantime, please trust me when I say, “Thank you for all of it.”