Daily Gratitudes Book Novels & Stories

Damien suggested as soon as they reached his place. Flora was still laughing and breathless from a sudden run when she went to a room Damien had led her to go to get changed. "Thanks!" Flora beamed, looking at Damien before she closed the door. Damien smiled gently. He felt her words meant more than being thankful for the spare clothes he handed her. And he was right. It was the joy she was feeling at the moment that made Flora express her gratitude verbally like her loving grandparents always taught her. "Be grateful in everything. Especially the ones you actually received without difficulty, and most of the time, they come in small, simple things that many neglects to mention and acknowled

Her giggles floated up into the kitchen like music, harmonizing with the low hum of the radio and the occasional rustle of pages turning from the open newspaper in front of Raymond. It was a morning without an agenda. A rare kind of peace. The kind that invited you to stop long enough to notice just how beautiful the ordinary could be. I moved through the kitchen slowly, barefoot, stirring porridge and flipping pancakes with a lazy rhythm. Raymond looked up at me over his cup of tea, eyes soft and curious. "You’re glowing," he said. "Is that a compliment or a concern?" He chuckled. "Definitely a compliment." I glanced at the gratitude journal resting on the counter beside the stove. The edge

"Rest well. Don't think about anything. I'll make you some soup to help you recover." If I had not known the truth, I would have thought I was the happiest man in the world. Now, this false tenderness was tearing my heart apart. Fiona brought over a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. "Honey, you look so pale. You have to drink it all." She fed me spoonful by spoonful. The aroma was enticing. It seemed she had put a lot of effort into it, but I tasted that familiar bitterness. It was that drug again!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT IN THE PROLOGUE WHICH, focus on the habit of showing gratitude and appreciation to the Almighty God, for making it possible for this book to be in and existence. When it seen like no one care about my zeal in writing. He keeps surprising me with his wisdom and knowledge I recognize and acknowledged you the reader, if you didn’t read my book, I wouldn’t be writing them, once again thank you There are a lot of people who help to bring this book into fruition, and I am grateful to all of them.

I had spent so much of my life hiding, making myself small, and not noticing anything because noticing meant being present, and being present meant being vulnerable. But I was tired of hiding. I started keeping a small notebook on the table beside my bed. Every morning, I wrote down one thing I was grateful for. Some days it was the warmth of the fire, and other days it was the taste of honey in my tea. Once, it was simply the fact that I had woken up without a nightmare. It felt strange at first, like I was pretending to be someone I was not. But after a few days, it started to feel natural. Like I was training myself to see the good in the world, even when the bad was still there.

"This, coming from the man, who has set a gift on my nightstand every night since we were mated. He does this so I can wake up every morning and find it there. He hasn't missed a single day since then. Even when I gave birth. He placed it next to me and I looked over and about fainted. When he has to go away for business and I can't go with him, he plans the gifts ahead of time and has the boys place them out for me. When I asked him why, he simply stated, that everyday I am with him is the best gift I can give him, so he is just simply returning the favor." "Exactly, I see nothing wrong with that. Your joy everyday when you thank me is the best thing I could ask for. You never expect it but

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I stood in the imagined Stonehaven and I cried for her for the girl who had spent nineteen years not knowing what she was, for the mother she had lost and the father who could not look at her and the specific lonely courage of someone who gets up every morning and keeps going when there is nothing telling them why. And when the grief was done I felt something else arrive. Not relief. Not triumph. Something quieter than either of those. Gratitude. For the morning my name was called. For the horse I could not ride. For the mountain road and the throne room and the mark finally making sense and the warmth finally having a direction. For Zaron and Drex and Thessaly and the hidden book and the ga

I’m grateful for every single one of you. ‎ ‎Let’s keep going. ‎ ‎AUTHOR EXCELUTHOR

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