We had spent the night singing and dancing in the kitchen.  Just being silly.  Playfully fighting over the radio dial.  Enjoying life.  I sent my three boys upstairs to get ready for bed, with the promise that I would come up to say goodnight.

A few minutes later, taking the final batch of cookies from the oven, I walked upstairs and was struck anew by a sight that I had so often seen.  Three doors at the end of the hall.  The rooms where my three boys sleep.  The rooms that hold so much happiness.  So much promise.  So much brotherly conflict.  So much brotherly love.

Seeing those three doors.  Their appearance plain, but so deceiving.  For behind those three simple doors are blessings beyond measure.  Blessings so far beyond anything I deserve.  Blessings for which I would do anything.  Blessings of pure joy and daily wonder.  My three sons.