I’VE BEEN THINKING about my kids lately. Daughter and son.

They’re grown and gone from the home now.

One’s married. The other has it on the calendar.

I’ve worked out of a home office for my entire freelance writing career, for the past 18 years. I had my daughter and son in Daddy Daycare before and after school, when my wife was off working as a nurse.

I remember how busy it was back then.

Trying to squeeze my writing into those windows of opportunity while the kids were in school or while they were busy playing with their friends.

I had a rule: no writing while the kids were around and available. That wasn’t writing time. That was kid time.

It was one of my better rules.

I had my daughter in my daily life for about 18 years. Her little brother added an extra couple of years before he, too, headed off to college.

For 20 years I had my kids in my daily life, from morning light to feet-off-the-floor bedtime.

Best 20 years of my life, so far.

I know. That could sound like a dad bummed over the empty nest.

Well, maybe it is a little.

But what I’m feeling mostly is gratitude for those 20 years.

I picked up a pizza the other day for my wife and me. I parked beside a dad trying to convince his two fidgety boys to get into the car.

I caught his eye, smiled, and said, “These are the best years.”

He smiled back. I don’t know if he thought I was cracking a joke.

I wasn’t.

For me, I believe there are good years ahead. With my grown kids. The in-law kids. And perhaps someday the grandkids.

But right now, this week of Thanksgiving, I’m feeling grateful for the road I’ve traveled—and for the company I’ve had along the way.

Each day is a gift from God, the giver of “every good and perfect gift” (James 1:17 NIRV).