Can I really come up with that many? I doubt it. I'm honestly not even sure I can conjure a thousand... or a hundred. I'm ashamed to say I'm not a very grateful person, even if Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. But I'm trying to change that. I'm starting smaller than maybe I should, afraid to dream too big in the area of projects and plans. But I keep hearing of a book that did something similar, so these seems tangible to me* (one of these days maybe I'll actually read it so I get a better idea of how it was done). So I am starting what I hope shall become daily and weekly habits, coming up with one thing that I am grateful to God for every day and then sharing them every week for all of us who need to remember that this world has sunshine too (a group of which I am, most likely, first and foremost--let no one say I am judging pessimism, for that would be very self-discriminating judgement).
So, here I go.
Canto I
{1} I am grateful for morning air--the freshness of its taste, scent, and feeling. I adore how it is never empty, brimming over with sounds that give it life and texture. Oh the joy of the bug's chirp and the bird's song. At any time these may be music, but in the morning air they are a symphony.
{2} I thank God for excitement: the quickening of the blood in its centermost veins. The squeezing thrill in the gut that says, "On this day my life holds something worth looking forward to."
{3} Thank heaven for the comfortable quiet of Family. The most precious moments are sometimes those without words, where we may all sit together in a silence that says, "It's alright. We don't need to speak. We have all these years of words with which to understand each other already. Now let us sit and breathe the same air, inhaling the knowledge of love and acceptance that has no need for verbal affirmation. It has been so long in getting here, and it won't last long, with the ever changedness** of human nature. So let us cherish a little while longer."
{4} Praise God for distractions, and the variety they come in. I love how my grim thoughts can be swept away by stories of adventure just as much as they may be swayed by the persistent need for sleep. Oh how these wondrous little rabbit trails can lead away from the black current: the path that would suck the body and soul into the desire, the trap of thinking it a need, to sin. And we helpless humans would try to call this victory of Grace "mine." Oh, my foolish pride. Thanks to God for overlooking it.
{5} For imagination--the key which releases us from the prison of these dreary bodies into the realm of the infinite, where we may find the galaxies' ballroom and join the dance of the stars.
"Everything was new and delightful for him.
The rosy glow of a sunrise had in it the flaming
glory of creation. The stars at night were a living,
heavenly dance. He listened to the grass growing,
smelled the west wind, tasted the rain, touched the
grains of sand on the shore. All his senses, his mind,
his heart, were alive and in touch with being."***
{6} For words: the vessels by which we may ride the tides of imagination. They throw open doors into fantasy and weave a tapestry of magic. And this is a magic made for sharing, to pass on to anyone with eager eyes and a heart ready for the adventure of reading.
{7} For laughter--that balm over inner aches which rumbles the body and strengthens the soul. Thanks to God for its wile, stubborn nature, sneaking in to snatch you up and squeeze you in a bear hug on the grimmest of days. How it grins, mischievously.
"You only thought I could not touch you today. Let me show you the depth of your naivety."
*One Thousand Gifts by Anne Voscamp is the book I'm referring to. And yes, I have, unfortunately, not read it yet.
**I reserve the right of making up words to suit my purpose. Let's call it "creative license", since that sounds more like the act of a posh writer than being simply stubbornly set on making the English language do what I want.
***From the book Walking on Water: Reflections of Faith and Art, on the second page in Chapter 3, where the author, Madeline L'Engle, is reflecting on another author's depiction of how we view the world with such endless imagination as children.
