Celebrating Amma – A Life of Grace and Purpose

Amma's birthday

Some people carry grace like a quiet strength, touching the lives around them through simple, daily acts of love. In my husband’s mother – Amma – I discovered a woman whose beauty runs far deeper than what meets the eye, whose generous heart has shaped not just her family but everyone fortunate enough to witness her way of living.

When I first entered this family as a young bride, I was struck by more than just Amma’s natural beauty. There was something in the way she moved through her world – purposeful, caring, always thinking of others before herself. Over the years, what began as admiration has grown into deep respect and genuine affection.

In her, I found a mentor whose actions spoke louder than any words of advice.

There’s something almost magical about walking into Amma’s home. No matter when you arrive – whether it’s been planned for weeks or you’ve shown up unexpectedly – everything is immaculate. Not the cold perfection of a showroom, but the warm, lived-in cleanliness that speaks of care and respect.

In those early years of marriage, I was amazed by this aspect of her life. Despite her workload, despite being tired after long days, she ensured her work was done and, most importantly, that her space reflected the care she felt for her family. Her home wasn’t just clean – it was organized with a thoughtfulness that made everything feel intentional.

Over the years, I’ve come to understand her philosophy about our surroundings. The place around us is the one thing we can have control over, and when we keep it with neatness and care, that’s how we respect our space and ourselves.

I watched her live this philosophy every single day. She kept her things organized not out of obsession, but out of love. What I’ve always admired about Amma is her ability to not procrastinate or push things to a later date – she gets things done because she thinks it’s important. This applies not just to keeping her surroundings clean, but to everything in her life. She always dresses very neatly, presents herself with care, and tackles tasks without delay. This is another quality I can see clearly in my husband – he learned from her that important things shouldn’t be postponed.

Every time I visit India, even now when she and Appa are in their later years, I’m still amazed by how neat and tidy their house remains. Despite their age, their home still reflects that same grace and attention to detail.

What amazes me about Amma is her memory – it’s sharper than mine, and I’m much younger than her. She remembers details about conversations, events, and people that happened years ago. She even remembers exactly where things are placed in the house. She recalls exactly what was said, who was there, what was served. Her incredible memory helps her keep track of everyone she loves.

This became one of my greatest inspirations. Through witnessing her actions – never through words of instruction – I learned how keeping our space clean helps our minds feel clearer, more peaceful. I try to follow this lesson she taught me, though I often fall short of her standard of grace.

If there’s one thing that defines Amma’s approach to life, it’s abundance – not material abundance, but an abundance of heart. This shows most clearly in her kitchen, where no meal is ever planned for just the right number of people.

“It’s better to have more than for someone to have less,” I’ve come to understand this is her philosophy, and I’ve watched her live by this principle for over two decades. When guests come – whether it’s two people or ten – she always cooks extra. Always. I used to think this was just careful planning, but I came to understand it’s something deeper. It’s her way of showing love through provision, of ensuring that no one who enters her home ever feels there isn’t enough.

What moves me most is how she approaches her own needs. Every single day, Amma eats last. After making sure everyone in the family has had everything they need, after serving seconds and checking that everyone is satisfied, only then does she sit down to her own meal. I’ve tried countless times to negotiate with her about this, to convince her to eat with the rest of us, but I’ve lost every single one of these gentle battles.

This generosity extends beyond food. She gives of herself in countless small ways – remembering exactly how her family members like their coffee, ensuring their favorite dishes are prepared, thinking ahead to what might make their visits more comfortable. Her heart overflows with care for those closest to her.

Some of my happiest memories with Amma happen in the kitchen. There’s something special about working alongside her – the easy rhythm we fall into, the way we can cook together without getting in each other’s way. She became not just my teacher but my companion in creating meals for the family.

In those early years of marriage, her kitchen became my classroom. Not through formal lessons, but through watching, trying, and gradually understanding the subtle art of South Indian cooking. Her cooking has so much taste, so much depth of flavor, and I learned by standing beside her, observing how she balanced spices, how she knew exactly when each dish was ready.

What meant so much to me was how she would encourage me when I cooked something she enjoyed. Coming from someone so experienced in the kitchen, her appreciation gave me confidence to keep trying new dishes and flavors.

But our connection goes beyond cooking techniques. We’re both women who love to enjoy life, who find pleasure in good food and good company. What I discovered about Amma is how beautifully spontaneous she is. Many times, in the middle of an ordinary day, I’d turn to her with a sudden idea.

“Would you be interested in going out to eat?” I’d ask, and she would always say yes with such enthusiasm. Off we’d go – two women who shared a love for trying different foods, for the simple pleasure of eating something delicious without having to cook it ourselves.

Amma enjoys chaat – those wonderful North Indian snacks – and South Indian foods with equal enthusiasm. Be it food outings or watching movies together – another common interest we share – these became some of our best bonding moments.

What made our relationship so easy from the beginning was discovering that Amma, despite being from an older generation, wasn’t rigid or overly orthodox in her ways. She was ritualistic, yes, but in a practical way that worked for our family rather than being bound by tradition for tradition’s sake. This was such a blessing for me as a young bride – being someone who also isn’t too rigid or overly ritualistic, I found in her a kindred spirit who valued substance over strict adherence to form.

Amma carries the stories of her entire family in her heart. She’s deeply attached not just to her own children, but to the family she married into and her extended family – her brothers and their families. When she speaks of them, which she does often, it’s always with warmth and affection. I’ve never heard her say anything negative about any family member. Instead, she focuses on their positives, their kindness, the ways they’ve touched her life.

Through her stories, I’ve come to know these relatives as real people with beautiful qualities. She remembers all the small things someone has done for her – a thoughtful gesture from decades ago, a moment of kindness during a difficult time. Her gratitude runs deep, and she carries these memories like treasures.

Her love for her grandchildren is something truly special to witness. When my children were young and she and Appa would visit us here, the house would transform with her presence. She didn’t just babysit – she played with them, engaged with them, created a bond that my children still cherish.

I can still picture her playing card games with them, and she brought the same competitive spirit to these games that she had with the adults. She would playfully hide the jokers, keep a perfect poker face, and tease her young opponents with that mischievous glint in her eye. What I loved watching was how she never gave up her competitive edge just because they were children – she played with the same interest and determination, making the games genuinely challenging and exciting for them. She was an expert at card games, and even with her grandchildren, she played to win while making sure everyone had fun.

When they were toddlers, she would spend hours making their favorite pureed foods, taking such care to prepare exactly what they loved. She would sit with them during cartoon time, patiently feeding them spoonful by spoonful, completely absorbed in making sure they were well-nourished and happy and equally enjoying with them their favorite shows. Even now, years later, her first concern when the grandchildren visit is whether they’re hungry. She’ll immediately start thinking of what to cook for them, what would make them feel most loved and cared for.

Her cooking was aromatic, filling the house with wonderful scents. She made sure her grandchildren experienced the tastes and comfort of traditional South Indian foods she grew up with.

The most powerful teachings often come not through lectures or advice, but through quiet examples. Amma taught me about life simply by living hers with such grace and intention.

From her, I learned that cleanliness and organization aren’t about perfection – they’re about creating a peaceful space where love can flourish. I learned that hospitality isn’t about having the fanciest things, but about making people feel genuinely welcomed and cared for.

I can see her influence clearly in my husband – the way he keeps things organized, his natural cleanliness, his attention to neatness. These aren’t traits he consciously learned; they’re simply part of who he is because of the mother who raised him.

Amma has other passions that bring her joy – she loves playing Sudoku and puzzle games, exercising her sharp mind with challenges that keep her engaged. I can see where my husband and children inherited their love for puzzles and mental games.

As I write this memoir as a birthday gift for Amma, I reflect on the woman she is and the many ways she has touched our family’s life.

What I’ve come to appreciate is how we’ve both grown in our understanding of each other over the years. Family relationships aren’t always simple, but there’s something valuable in learning to honor the good we see in each other.

Amma, as you celebrate another year of life, I want you to know how much your devotion to your children and grandchildren means to all of us. You’ve also been there during my difficult moments, listening with patience and understanding. That quiet support meant more to me than you might know.

I see how lovingly you care for Appa, always making sure he’s comfortable and has everything he needs. I find that very inspiring.

Your son carries your best qualities – your sense of organization, your attention to detail, your love of family. Your grandchildren light up when they remember those card games and the special foods you made just for them.

You’ve shown me what it means to maintain a graceful home, to care deeply for family, and to find joy in simple pleasures like a good meal shared or a challenging game of cards.

On this special day, I celebrate the gift of having witnessed your love for your family over all these years. May this new year bring you continued health, happiness, and many more moments of joy with those you hold most dear.

With all my love and admiration,

Sujatha

Everything is Already Ours: Belonging to God’s Unlimited Creation

This morning, after I fed the birds in the little park area in front of our home, I sat down to meditate near the trees. I watched these little birds come and eat, and I felt so happy I lost track of time.

There’s a crow who visits my balcony every morning for his feed. He once came into our home through the open balcony door, cawing to remind me it was feeding time.

There were times when I used to feel lonely. But now, with the crow visiting me and me feeding the birds, I realize no one is really alone. We’re all here together. We’re so connected.

I feel this is such a blessing. I feel connected to these beings, like I belong with them. The land where I feed the birds isn’t mine in the human sense, but I can still feed them there. The birds aren’t confined to me, but I still feel like we belong to each other. The trees aren’t confined to me either, but I feel I belong alongside them.

When we belong and coexist, there is no sense of controlling or owning. We’re living with them as family.

That’s when it hit me – I had it backwards. I used to think I needed to own things to truly enjoy them. Like the times I felt if I had a bigger outdoor area, I could have a bird feeder hanging in my garden or grow more plants and flowers to enjoy. But the truth is, I don’t need to own anything. Everything already belongs to me. The whole world belongs to all of us.

It really does feel like we all belong to it. The trees, the birds, the sky, the water – it’s all just there for me, for all of us. We belong to it, and it belongs to us.

I feel such abundance, such richness – not because I possess anything, but because I have access to everything through belonging. Everything is given to us without needing to grasp or control it.

I feel immense gratitude to our Creator for providing us with all that we need – everything is already given – and for all the beauty that’s already there for us to enjoy.

We can still grow plants or take care of our animal friends in our space, but that doesn’t restrict our sense of belonging to the vastness of creation.

This thought made me feel so vast, so free. I felt truly happy – not because I had something, but because I let go of needing to have it. The happiness comes from not controlling, not owning, just being and connecting.

We’re so blessed. We have this entire world, and we can experience it as belonging to us while we belong to it. When we see it that way, everything changes. We want to take care of it. We want to coexist with each other because we’re all part of this same beautiful belonging.

This is such a beautiful reminder to step out into nature whenever we feel down or alone – to realize the beauty and peace that nature offers, reminding us we’re never truly alone.

We’re all family, belonging to this unlimited creation – a gift of God’s unlimited love flowing through everything around us.

The Miracle of the Heart’s Calling: A True Story of Divine Love

For over a year, I had been feeling this desire to feed the birds. Living in a condo without the possibility of having a bird feeder on my balcony, I felt to go to PetSmart and buy bird food and feed birds outdoors. But I didn’t act upon it – my procrastination got in the way.

Finally, last week, I felt at least this year I should do it and act upon it. And I did it. The idea came to me: why not go to the trees in front of our home, to the little park area where there are trees? Why not feed them there?

I bought a bag of bird food – dried corn, seeds, and peanuts – and began my morning routine of feeding the birds under the trees in the park area in front of our home during my walk with my dog, Tuffy. Watching them come and eat filled me with such joy.

This morning, I woke up a bit late and made my way to the trees around 10 AM with my bag of bird food. As I was scattering the seeds on the ground, I noticed a lady walking toward the same tree. We smiled at each other, and she asked, “Do you feed the birds?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I just started doing this recently.”

What she told me next revealed the beautiful miracle unfolding. She had been feeding these same birds for the past year. Right there, in the very tree where I had been placing food on the ground, she had three bird feeders hanging – feeders I had somehow never noticed.

With tears in her eyes, she shared that she was moving away at the end of this month. She was heartbroken thinking about the birds who had come to depend on their daily feeding. Who would take care of them? She couldn’t bear the thought of these little creatures going hungry.

And there I was – having just begun this same calling on the exact same tree, just one week ago.

“Don’t worry,” I told her, “This is taken care of. I will continue feeding them.”

In that moment, I saw so clearly how God orchestrates His care for even the smallest of His creatures. The birds would not go unfed. One instrument was preparing to leave, and another had already been called into place. The same work of love, continuing seamlessly through different hands.

As we talked more, Marianna (she graciously allowed me to share her name and our story) showed me how to properly use the bird feeders. We discovered we had so much in common – both of us believers in listening to God through our hearts, both drawn to the same spiritual language.

Marianna and me by the tree

I shared with her how there was a time when I felt deeply connected to the trees, when I would hug one particular tree daily, asking it to be my friend and give me strength – to help me become solid and humble like the tree itself, unassuming and non-presumptuous.

She smiled and said “I have a tree I hug every day too.”

How can such connections be mere coincidence?

This whole experience revealed such a beautiful truth to me. It’s not about me or Marianna at all – it’s about God’s tender care for these little birds. They needed to be fed, and He made sure they would be.

One instrument was preparing to leave, and another had already been prepared and placed. The same work of love continuing through different hands. How perfectly He orchestrates!

This experience reinforced what I believe: that God takes care of everything. When we stay in the moment and listen to what our heart is telling us – we become part of His plan. This is what matters most to me: trusting that God handles everything, that He knows everything, and that He is as close as we can imagine, even beyond that.

It’s important to remember and remind ourselves that this is not something we are doing – or to feel great about it. It’s humbling to realize and feel that we are just instruments in God’s hands, just as Marianna was His instrument for the past year. The birds’ needs never go unmet because God sees them, cares for them, and provides for them through willing hearts.

This is the miracle: not the human connection, but the divine provision. God’s seamless care for His creatures, ensuring that the food these birds depend on continues to come, day after day, through whoever He calls to serve. And in this calling, we discover the most intimate relationship of all – with the One who knows everything, who orchestrates everything, who is closer than close.

Thank you, Marianna, for listening to your Heart and feeding these birds so lovingly, and for helping me see how beautifully God provides for His creation.

And thank you, God, for using us both in Your perfect plan to care for these little ones. Thank you for showing me that even the birds are not forgotten, and that You make sure they are fed through willing hearts.

The miracle isn’t in human connections – it’s in Your seamless, tender care for every living creature. How amazing that You would call me to continue this sweet work of feeding Your birds.

But it’s not just the birds who are taken care of. God’s love is so complete that everyone is taken care of. Marianna and I are both filled with joy, gratitude and trust in You.

Every time we hear God’s voice in our heart and act upon it, we are transformed. When we become His instruments and don’t claim responsibility for ourselves, we are changed in the humblest way. God’s love transforms everyone who is touched by it – it transforms everything connected to it.

Sometimes the most profound truths are revealed in the simplest acts: that God sees, God cares, and God provides – even for the smallest sparrow.

A Father’s Embrace

In a small orphanage at the edge of a busy city lived a little girl named Eva. Her dark brown curls framed her almond-colored face. While other children complained of boredom, Eva found magic in the ordinary – ants carrying crumbs in perfect lines, raindrops racing down windowpanes, dandelion seeds drifting on summer air.

Unlike the other children who felt the ache of being parentless, Eva carried a different truth in her heart. Years ago, when she was tiny and weeping because she had no parents, her teacher had knelt beside her.

Those words planted roots deep in Eva’s soul. She embraced them completely, with that pure, unquestioning faith that only children possess. Not once did doubt cloud her certainty. While other children dreamed of being chosen by new parents, Eva already knew she belonged to someone greater than any earthly parent could be.

Each night, Eva knelt beside her small bed, hands folded tight in prayer. She spoke not to some faraway god but to a Father she knew listened to every whispered word:

Eva in prayer

On the night before her seventh birthday, after Eva finished her prayer, Eva asked her Father.

Birdsong woke her – not the usual morning chirps but something musical and intentional, like a birthday melody created just for her. Eva opened her eyes, not to peeling ceiling paint but to ancient trees dappled with golden sunlight.

Fear never touched her. Instead, she felt something like coming home after a long journey – as if the orphanage had been the dream and this forest her real home. The air filled her lungs differently here, each breath deep and sweet.

Eva understood immediately – this was extraordinary and more than a dream. This was an answer, an invitation. The feeling of love surrounding her in this place, the happiness bubbling up from somewhere deep inside – this was her Father’s presence. The forest itself spoke His love directly to her heart.

A blue butterfly landed lightly on her curls. A hummingbird buzzed close, carrying a tiny white flower in its beak, which it tucked gently into her hair. Eva giggled, delighted.

Eva sensing that the beauty around her was a language of love meant just for her, whispered:

Eva welcomed in the forest

A family of deer emerged from between the trees, eyes gentle and knowing. The mother deer approached and nudged Eva’s hand with her velvety nose, then gestured with her head for the girl to follow. The fawn pranced around her excitedly, occasionally rushing back to touch noses with Eva before darting ahead again.

As they walked, Eva noticed how different this forest felt from the small park near the orphanage. The air was pure, each breath filling her with energy. The sky above showed patches of clearest blue, with clouds that seemed to hang low enough to touch, as if welcoming her presence.

In the distance, mountains stood like wise guardians, ancient and knowing. The trees along the path swayed gently, creating a refreshing breeze that carried the scent of wildflowers and old bark. And the flowers themselves – they seemed to turn toward her as she passed, their blossoms brightening, as if offering greeting.

Eva whispered to herself, understanding intuitively that in this place, everything was aware – conscious in ways she couldn’t fully comprehend but could certainly feel.

As the deer family led Eva deeper into the woods, more animals began to appear. Rabbits peeked from behind ferns, squirrels paused on branches to watch her, and butterflies danced around her head.

The mother deer stopped in a patch of sunlight. She looked at Eva, then up at the trees. Eva followed her gaze.

At first, she saw only branches and leaves. But then she noticed how the leaves moved together, like they were talking to each other. The birds weren’t just flying – they were carrying messages from tree to tree.

The fawn nudged Eva’s hand and led her to a puddle of water. When she looked down, she saw not just her reflection but somehow the reflection of the entire forest. In that moment, something clicked in her heart.

A bluebird landed on a nearby branch and began to sing. A rabbit thumped its foot in rhythm. Then the crickets joined in, and even the leaves seemed to rustle in time.

Eva didn’t know how, but she understood what they were telling her: Here, nothing is alone. Here, everything belongs. Here, even the smallest ant matters to the tallest tree.

She felt tears of happiness in her eyes. The animals weren’t showing her magic tricks – they were showing her the truth that had always been there, if only people had eyes to see it.

Her heart so full it could no longer contain itself, Eva began to sing. The words came to her as naturally as breathing:

Eva singing in joy

When her song ended, the forest responded with a sudden chorus of bird calls, as if applauding. A shower of golden light filtered through the canopy above, touching her face with warmth like a loving hand.

The deer motioned with her head for Eva to follow again. Just ahead, sunlight poured into a clearing where an ancient oak spread its massive branches. Beneath it, an old man tended a garden of plants Eva had never seen before – flowers whose petals seemed to glow from within, medicinal plants whose spicy-sweet fragrances mingled and danced in the air around them. His home was a shelter crafted from interwoven branches and leaves, resembling a giant bird’s nest.

The old man looked up. His kind eyes showed no surprise at seeing a seven-year-old girl in a blue dress standing at the edge of his garden, accompanied by woodland creatures.

Throughout the day, Eva experienced wonders beyond imagination. She drank nectar directly from flowers that bent toward her lips, tasted exotic fruits that grew nowhere in her known world, and helped the old man prepare a simple lunch of forest vegetables with lemon and creamy milk made from forest nuts that tasted divine.

As evening approached, the clouds above the clearing parted, and warm, golden light poured down like honey. Eva felt wrapped in something she couldn’t see but could certainly feel – love, pure and simple.

A voice spoke to her, not through her ears but straight to her heart:

Eva speaking to her Father

Eva stood still, breathing in the golden light. She noticed it dancing around the edges of her blue dress.

Eva nodded, her face breaking into a delighted smile.

When the voice fell quiet, Eva gathered her courage. The question she’d wondered about for so long finally found its way out.

A feeling like a gentle smile surrounded her.

Eva thought for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the ruffle on her dress. Looking up into the golden light, she asked,

The light glowed brighter, like a sunrise.

Tears filled her eyes, happy tears that rolled down her cheeks. For a long moment, she simply stood there, letting the words sink deep.

The light shifted, like someone kneeling down to be at her level.

Eva looked up in surprise.

She nodded, suddenly shy.

The light seemed to come closer, like a father embracing his child in his arms.

Eva asked, thinking of one of the older girls who sometimes pulled her hair.

The light wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

The light gently touched her cheek, like a parent wiping away an unshed tear.

Eva pondered this for a moment. Then, looking down at her small hands, she asked her next question.

Eva felt something heavy lift from her shoulders. She didn’t have to fix everything – just do her small part with love.

Looking up into the golden light, she asked her final question, the one she’d wondered about most of all.

The light grew softer, and her Father answered in words that seemed to sing:

Chapter 5: The Inner Light

From the golden light descended a pendant with an emerald stone that seemed to hold the forest’s essence within its depths. A delicate chain formed itself around the stone and gently floated toward Eva, settling around her neck. The pendant came to rest against her heart, warm and pulsing with the same rhythm as her own heartbeat.

The golden light gradually faded, leaving Eva standing in the clearing with the emerald pendant warm against her skin, glowing with an inner light that matched her heartbeat.

The old gardener approached, kneeling down to her level and placing his weathered hands gently on her shoulders. His eyes held the same loving warmth she’d felt in God’s presence.

Eva's emerald gift

When he released her, he motioned with a loving sweep of his arm toward the wolf pack waiting silently at the clearing’s edge.

The largest wolf, silver-furred with amber eyes, bowed its head low. Eva followed the wolves through the twilight forest, her heart full of wonders seen and wisdom given.

She woke the next morning in her small orphanage bed. For a moment, she thought it had all been a beautiful dream – until she felt something heavy and warm against her chest. Looking down, she found the emerald pendant, glowing with an inner light that only she could see.

Eva smiled, tucking the pendant beneath her dress. Its origin would remain her secret, but its message she would share through how she lived – with kindness, with wonder, and with a heart surrendered to a wisdom greater than her own.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The Sacred Gift – Honoring His Gift that Carries My Life

Praise to You, Our True Source of Unconditional Love

The Gratitude Bowl

Liah had just turned fourteen, and nothing in her world felt right. Her drawings were the only things that made sense anymore; everything else seemed wrong. School was tough, her parents just didn’t understand, and lately, even the sunshine bothered her.

She fell into a vicious cycle: the more she complained, the more unhappy she became, the more she withdrew from others. Making friends became increasingly difficult.

It was almost summer break, and she was looking forward to visiting her grandmother. Her grandmother lived a few hours away in a quaint town. Her grandmother had a gentleness about her that Liah always found comforting.

Liah’s grandmother lived alone in a small house. Her house was simple and minimalistic. Being an avid gardener, she enjoyed growing herb plants in her kitchen. Her backyard was a beautifully tended garden – where she grew everything from roses to potatoes. She also had pet fish in a small outdoor pond. Since Liah was little, their special bond had grown through these quiet moments in the garden, watching and feeding the fish and nurturing the plants.

The first weekend of summer break arrived, and Liah eagerly packed her bags, looking forward to seeing her grandmother.  Her parents drove her through the winding country roads and as they pulled up to the familiar white house with its beautiful garden, Liah could see her grandma waiting for her. Liah ran and gave her grandma a big hug. Her parents came home and stayed that night and left early next morning.

That evening, over cups of chamomile tea and homemade cookies, Liah found herself opening up to her grandmother. They sat in the cozy kitchen, where the fading sun cast warm shadows through the window.

Her grandma listened quietly, her gentle eyes encouraging Liah to continue.

Her grandma listened quietly.

She looked at her grandma, with tearful eyes.

Her grandmother reached across the table and held Liah’s hand.

Her grandmother got up and walked to an old wooden cabinet, pulling out a beautifully painted ceramic bowl.

Liah picked up the bowl, turning it in her hands.

Slowly, Liah began to write:

As she dropped each note in the bowl, something began to shift inside her – somehow Liah felt lighter, happier. She was surprised she had a lot of things to be happy about despite feeling sad.

Over the next few weeks, Liah found herself noticing small blessings – the scent of garden roses, a successful drawing, gardening with grandma, watching the orange fish in the pond. With each note she added, she realized something: her days weren’t as empty as she had thought. Good things had always been there – she just hadn’t been looking for them.

When it was time to leave, her grandmother insisted she take the bowl home.

Liah hugged her grandmother and promised she will continue the practice.

Liah had placed the gratitude bowl on her desk in her room. She continued to write gratitude notes every day. She began to appreciate little things around her and found there were many things she was grateful for, to feel happy for.

One evening, as her mother placed a cup of hot chocolate beside her, Liah hesitated for a moment, then picked up the gratitude bowl.

Her mother listened, intrigued, as Liah explained how the simple act of writing down little joys had changed her perspective.

To her surprise, her mother wanted to try it too. That night at dinner, her mother suggested they all share one good thing from their day. At first, it felt just words spoken out loud but soon, it became their favorite part of the evening. A quiet warmth spread their home, unspoken tensions softened, and they began to feel closer in ways they hadn’t before.  

Over time, Liah noticed a shift not just in how she felt, but in how others responded to her. She smiled more, and in turn, others smiled back. Conversations felt easier, friendships blossomed naturally, and she felt no longer trapped in the cycle of frustration. The gratitude practice that started as a simple habit had quietly reshaped her world.

In Liah’s case, her gratitude practice didn’t change her circumstances, but it changed how she experienced them. She became more aware of the love in her life, the small joys she had overlooked, and in doing so, found a sense of peace that had felt out of reach before.