Here dies another day
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world round me;
And with tomorrow begins another,
Why am I allowed two?
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world round me;
And with tomorrow begins another,
Why am I allowed two?
- G.K. Chesterton
A little blue journal sits beside me. Some of its pages are creeping up, opening to what this day has in store. It’s robin egg blue, a reminder of something new and whole and pure. I need that reminder this morning – awakening to knots in my hair and makeup smeared across my eyes and permanent marker flecked on my fingers. Remnants of yesterday’s endeavors in the breaking of today.
I remember the day I bought this thanksgiving journal, leafing through the empty pages and chuckling. The challenge to write 1,000 gifts seemed effortless at the time. Child’s play.
I reach for the journal and press the pages open to “jasmine tea” and “bunk beds” and “sunlit spider webs.” Smells and sounds and tastes flood my mind, and I’m transported back to a week spent in Vermont this summer. A week of kayaks and laughter and baby feet.
Of the eleven pages that hold the inventory of my “thank-you” moments this summer, seven of them are filled with freeze-frame moments of this week at the lake house. The other four pages recount all the other weeks. All the other hours.
The less glamorous hours. The ones when my hair clung to sweat running down my face, the sound of my feet pounding down stairs, fingers gripping another heavy cardboard box. The ones when I sneezed dust into the air, rifling through 25 years of photographs and school reports and wrinkled art projects. The ones I found difficult to be thankful for.
I returned home for the summer just in time to say goodbye to it.
This will be the third time my family has moved, but this time is different. This time we’re not just closing doors to a house; we’re closing doors to a history, a season of pain. Parents in two houses, lives separating, organized around What to Keep, What to Throw Away, What to Give Away, and What to Sell. Minimizing, down-sizing. So many hours of dragging garbage bags of memories into the street, impatiently waiting for that truck to make them disappear.
The less-than-pretty moments far outweighed the picture-perfect ones this summer. The summer of 2014 will always be my summer of thanksgiving. And not because I embraced it, but because I fought it.
Thanksgiving is easy when we receive “acceptable” blessings, when we experience those “feel-good” moments. Those summer-at-the-lake moments. We say, Look at all that I have… I am so blessed. But what about all the other moments? The ones that are ordinary and ugly and uncomfortable. The ones when things are torn away instead of given. Are we blessed when we're forced to retrace our steps into pain? How can we be thankful in every circumstance?
And the answer is We can, because ALL is grace.
Every moment, every season. Every breath that is freely given to me. Every morning that my eyes peel open and every night they shudder close. That is grace. Unearned, unmerited. This life is God’s gift to experience more of Him.
And if ALL is grace, then I ALWAYS have a reason to be thankful.
Because thanksgiving has nothing to do with what I “deserve.” Saying thank-you has everything to do with ALL that I cannot deserve.
Ann Voskamp, author of One Thousand Gifts, writes, “I discover that slapping a sloppy brush of thanksgiving over everything in my life leaves me deeply thankful for very few things in my life. Life-changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time” (p57).
Giving thanks right where I am, in these messy moments. Writing them down. Nailing them down. 1,000 gifts.
“Thanksgiving precedes the miracle,” Ann writes. When Jesus broke the bread symbolizing His death, symbolizing the breaking of His own body, He gave thanks. Why? Because He knew the miracle was coming, that new life was waiting.
Saying “thank-you” for all the moments of my life is anything but child’s play – it is hard, sometimes awkward, always unnatural. (And isn't that what the Enemy wants?) But slow, daily surrender is transformation, the real kind. And it's the only way I can anticipate the miracle He is delivering through me.
So I’m going to keep writing 1,000 ways He loves me. Because this is the kind of amazing grace that saves.
......
Readers, financial supporters, powerful prayer warriors: I cannot stop giving thanks for you. When I think of the ways you have encouraged me by sacrificing your time & resources, commenting and sharing, and praying persistently over these past 2 years, I am utterly amazed by God's faithfulness. Year 3 has just begun! Stay updated by following my blog via email, or just stay connected through Facebook.
The classic first day of school picture! I accepted the Lead Upper Elementary position this year, which means a few more responsibilities on our campus Leadership Team. I'm excited to support our elementary faculty and rely on Him for wisdom in this role.
My classroom this year. Exciting update: I've gone DESK-LESS! I realized after last year that my desk was just a storage space, not a place I actually worked. All of my supplies are now kept in a hanging shoe rack on the wall!
Much needed prayer for my students this year. I have 19 sweet third grade smarties. They were so nervous on the first day of school that I didn't have to be! Five of them receive additional services from our Special Ed and ESL teachers. Last week I learned that my 19th student is brand new to Highlands - she is a darling little girl from Japan who speaks neither English nor Spanish. Please keep this class in your prayers as my fellow teachers and I work to make this year a wonderful year of learning for them!
The view from our school looking out to Mt. Illimani. Isn't it gorgeous?
I have already been so richly blessed this year! Looking forward to all that He has in store.
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