A Thousand Reasons: Canto XII

{86} Thank God for tea. Green, black, herbal. For its warmth and subtlety. For the spirit of drinking it, sinking into a sofa and feeling it ooze out to my furthest extremities. Homey. Warm. Content.

{87} Thank You, Elyon, for Your graciousness in wrestling. Thank You for letting me thrash, saying what I mean. Thank You for never holding it against me. Thank You for being a God that is undefeatable—that will never short-change me by letting me settle on anything less than what is right. And thank You, so much, for bringing those fights to an end, no matter how long it takes. I am not entirely there, You know. But today I felt, for the first time, that we might be coming to a close, entering a final, much gentler round.

{88} Praise to the God who understands us enough to provide examples. Not to give us a book that is moral lessons, but one that gives us glimpses of what it is: being imperfect humans trying to serve a perfect God. And Thank You, for the perfect example—the Christ we never have to question.

{89} For the endlessness of creativity: how there is always something else to imagine. I am occasionally daunted, by the number of written and painted art already in this world. But then I am comforted, relieved in that the ideas do not stop—how there is always more to come.

{90} Thank You for baking: a place where I can do all I can and then sit back, watching the result grow into what I have made it, for better or worse.

{91} For conclusions: when things come to an end that is as satisfying as it is sad. Because the story was that good, and we do not want it to end. But the ending was good too, so we cannot help being happy about it.

A Thousand Reasons: Canto XI

{79} Thank You, God, for making man a storyteller. I love to see, peering back, how this has always been—how it always will be. There is a bit of my soul that flutters in excitement, imagining Adam and his sons around a campfire, sharing stories and telling tales.

{80} Praise God for the greyness of morning. I am never not happy, when I take the time to notice the way the world looks when I wake: how everything is alight with a sort of dim glow. Soft. Elegant. Magical.

{81} Again I find myself grateful, endlessly, for music. But today, to be different, I shall say my gratitude, specifically, for the variety. Variety in instruments, in moods, in artists. I love how the same structure of vocal chords can make such different sounds. How I can recognize the artist the instant they open their mouth: how the fluctuations and tones of a voice can be as individual as a personality. And I love them all, from the deep, lucid tones of Yoann Lemoine to the high, soft fluttering of Regina Spektor.

{82} For chances. Chances to rise to the occasion, putting forth everything at my disposal. Chances to welcome others home. Chances to exert myself, throwing all my bodily strength in a way I did not, for so long, understand to be a joy.

{83} Thank You, Elyon, for sisters. Blood sisters: the ones that have always been and always will. They are such a warm, solid permanence to fall back upon, for all things. But also for acquired sisters: the ones that were given to me along the way and which it is such a joy to get to know, to revel in, to treasure.

{84} Praise God for survivors—the people we can look to with hope. The ones that survived the illnesses that have taken others away from us. There is something soul-saving, in seeing the little girl on the road to healing from cancer. And the ones that survive the nonphysical: the loneliness, the trials. The ones that are a little older than you and have felt some of the things you feel. The world seems to alight from behind, making a warm breeze that you could rise upon, when the survivor smiles and you, holds out their arms to display, and says without saying: "See? I'm still here."

{85} For health. I say it with longing this time, sitting among the used tissues and still clogged sinuses. But I say it genuinely, feeling the strength come back and rising on that lifting, excited feeling. I am almost back—almost there.