A ride a night this week. Most of them finished in the dark. But that makes way for sunsets and dusks and moons (only one per night) and stars and a view off the edge of the hill worth riding around twice for.

The handful of volleyball girls who made it a point to thank me for dinner last night (homemade pizza) and tell me how good it was (which is super nice, especially after everything went wrong). And mean it.

An opportunity to get to know one of Suze's friends a little better over the dining room table (as moms are to serve and not be seen or heard at team dinner and the girls were all outside). I don't believe it was chance that brought us together with time to talk. She works in the NICU and had enough knowledge and experience to help me wrap my head around this weekend's loss and sorrow. It was exactly what I needed.

The kind older fisherman along the Provo River who sportingly showed off his prize catch--even letting me take a picture. He enthusiastically told me exactly how to cook a catfish--despite having to sometimes search for the English version of the word. "I already promised this one to someone else or I would let you take it home for your dinner," he said. And he meant it. And after we happened to mention the mosquitoes he abandoned his live line and walked over to his car to get out a can of bug spray, which he promptly and carefully sprayed on K~ before handing it over to me.

Tender moments shared with a friend at the side of her father's death-bed. Too precious to share, but the truths in them deserves to be shouted from the rooftops. Just know this: I don't just believe. I know. And that's what keeps me going--that and those seemingly simple things I acknowledge here--even when my heart is broken or my burden seems too heavy to bear.