“my happiness level is a 10,” he said, as we spread comfortably atop the snow, just looking at the blue sky.

my heart grew at his words. they were unprompted and were discovered while he was zippered into his father in law’s snowmobile suit from 1970. he wore them out to the property where we got married, the snow blanketing the field where our tent stood and our dance floor lay.

we were laying at the bottom of the hill that i walked down to get to the aisle. snowsuits hiding our skin from the wfet snow, i looked over at him as he said those six words that meant we were doing something that i would want to remember forever.

he was happy because we had just come down from the top, riding together on a little plastic sled that had no idea how much it was helping to make happiness.

the little plastic sled didn’t realize that a year ago, it couldn’t have held ian, because ian wasn’t healthy enough to get on and off a four wheeler, or get down on a sled, or sit in the sled.

“laris are you sure you guys can do this?” my mom asked. she was there with all of her kids, unexpectedly, because we had surprised her for her birthday.

“the worst that will happen is we fall into snow.”

i needed us to do this because we need to be willing to take risks in order for ian to feel that he’s alive.

and he spoke it as he lay at the bottom, listening to his nieces and nephews scream their way down.

again, he found those little big things, that mean the world to someone who’s world has become small. he found one of those things that make us feel little again, seeing excitement in the ride down the white trail.

he found a reminder of all that God has done.

tonight we’re grateful.