91.

[to be thankful for the smallest of gifts is a gift in itself.]

i was just speaking with my father. one of our daily heart to hearts where we learn to listen better and share with ease. in this particular conversation he said to me, "Your daddy may say something here you disagree with, because I am not sure how religious you like to be, but I think that God does have a plan for everything." I thought this very tolerant and understanding of my father. Lord knows my mind isn't one that can settle on profound decisions like faith or life plans with ease. it got me to thinking about his and my mama's desire for us to say the blessing before each meal - something I do when I am with them. something I prefer doing, as opposed to saying the blessing, is giving everyone at the table an opportunity to reflect on their day and say what they are thankful for. no matter what book you call the "Good One" or what sort of man or woman you pray to, a little thankfulness never hurt nobody. every time we get off the phone he says to me, "Honey, I'm proud of you. God bless you and I love you." i am thankful for this and for his understanding sort of love that let's me flail my misguided arms about and ask questions that are too big for my britches.

so, when we were asked to write about something we were grateful for last week, I smiled to myself and pulled the opportunity close, close, close like my mother's words of wisdom and the struggles I have known.

...

I am thankful for the knowledge that it could always be worse, so that when life retreats into the bitter New England winter and denies the sunshine of newness and growth and beginnings as I’ve always known them, I can dig deep into the spirit of my mother, other mothers, those denied, and those silenced and step slowly backwards into the comfort of my own insignificance.

God bless education and opportunity. I recognize privilege and chance, but do not deny the potential that hard work has to shape us. If I were denied history, if I could not listen to the stories of others and hear their heartbeats, and recognize the thumping as something born from the same source as my own, and know with certainty that my humanness, my history, is inseparable from the struggles of the past and the progress of the future. Then I would not know struggle. I would not know forgiveness.

Bless all who listen, who wait, with wisdom.

I am grateful for the questions I will never answer and the mysteries that will remain that. For they will keep me thinking, wondering, wandering, thanking, sitting, stepping out, and saying yes to this life.