Thursday was a good day.

I had a routine meeting with my therapist and at the meeting I asked him if I could send letters to my kids. He picked up his phone, called my probation officer in McLennan County, and left a message to this effect, "Hi, [insert name here]. This is Dr. [insert name here]. I've got Eric here in my office and what I'm wanting to do is move him toward family reunification. The first step in that is allowing him to be able to send letters to his kids. What do we need to do to make that happen on your end?" So we await her response.

Now, if for some reason, BC comes back and says, "No, you can't write letters," then we'll have a valid argument with which to approach the judge: "Look, judge, my therapist -- the guy appointed by the state -- is saying I need to have some sort of contact with my kids and that I need to be moving toward family reunification. May we do that?" Of course, the judge could still say no, but with the professional therapist on our side, our chances are much better.

After my meeting with the therapist, I got the call from the mysterious stranger wanting to give me his truck. Not a bad day. The truck is the nicest vehicle I've ever owned. It's been well cared for and looks absolutely beautiful. I'm amazed.

On Wednesday (obviously, the day before Thursday), my former truck (which, in reality, is a small wheelbarrow with a 4-cylinder engine attached to it) had gotten a flat tire. When I was getting the tire fixed, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. I thought, Thank you, God, for this little beat up farm truck. Thank you that it runs right now, and even if it breaks down on the way to work, I'm still so thankful for it and for everything you've done in my life. The sense of thankfulness was so overwhelming, I had to text a few people right then to tell them how I was feeling. It was great!

God is faithful. And even if I had never gotten the call about that truck, He'd still be faithful.