Well, it’s November 1st and…wait, actually it’s November 2nd, but I was sick in the bed yesterday so I missed the 1st, so I’m starting a little late, okay?
So, it’s November
1st 2nd and I’m noticing, as in years past, many of my friends on Facebook are doing the “Thing-a-Day I’m Thankful For” where they post something they are grateful for each day on account of Thanksgiving being this month. Sounds simple enough, right? Well, if you know me at all, you’ll know that typically I avoid stuff like this for a number of reasons, one of which being that I know that I’ll probably never follow through with the thing so I figure I’ll save myself the embarrassment of having to “catch myself up” every other day or just falling off the thankful wagon altogether because of my general inability to stick with or finish much of anything. (For a wonderous example, see the previous posting date of AUGUST something or other on this blog!! Good-ness.)
Anyhow, I won’t make empty promises, but I will make the effort to do this because it’s something I thought about yesterday as I was scrolling through Facebook while lying in bed in a pool of used tissues and cough drops, and while I could have attributed the initial thought to the fact that the congestion was cutting the air off to my brain, here it is 3am on November 2nd and I actually woke up thinking about it.
Gratitude moments. Those little moments that something happens and for a second everything around you stops and you realize in the moment that you are truly grateful. It could be for something really big, like for Jesus and for what He did for us. How He gave Himself over in death so that we might have life. Yes, for that I am deeply grateful.
Or it could be something for considerably less profound, like this cup of coffee I’m drinking right this minute. It’s nice and warm on my throat. Of course, I don’t guess it’s going to help me much in terms of being able to go back to sleep and I could have probably had some nice herbal tea, but I…alright, alright. You know what? Let’s just stick with the topic at hand. Gratitude.
Anyhow, in reality I guess any moment of gratitude is quite profound in its own right, whether it’s for the big big things or the small and simple things, because ultimately those moments draw us back to the Giver, the One whose gift has taught our hearts grace. (For an incredible read on this very subject, might I implore you to pick up Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts?)
I actually had two very specific gratitude moments for the 1st (since technically it’s not “today, the 2nd” yet considering it’s still dark out and all).
As I was driving home from taking the kiddos to school, I was almost overcome by the beauty of the changing colors of the leaves. Yesterday was a bit overcast and yet somehow on those overcast, drizzly days, it always seems to me that colors are even more vibrant. The grass seems a bit greener, the dirt a bit earthier. Like days of dust have been washed off and the true beauty of everything is finally seen. The burgandys and deep oranges and bright yellows against the gray sky were breathtaking. Fall in all its glory. A changing in the season that is beautifully leading into death so that after a time of winter, life might be born back into greens and pinks and blossoming flowers and fruit. Thank you Lord, for fall. For the reminder that in the beauty of sacrifice, painful as it may be, new and wonderful things come…in the giving up and giving over, there is grace.
Last night, that darling hubby of mine called to see if I needed anything from the drugstore besides Nyquil before he came home from work. The first thing I thought of was macaroni and cheese. And that’s what I had for dinner. Those unbent elbow noodles wrapped in creamy orange psuedo-cheese. Reminds me of my grandma and Sunday lunch after church. Growing up, we went to eat at my Mama and Papa’s house after church every Sunday. And I knew that, somewhere on the table among all that delicious country cookin’, there would always be a rectangle Corningware dish of yummy macaroni and cheese. It was tradition. (And it was my favorite.) And whenever we ate at my Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house, Gran always made mac and cheese…the homemade kind that you bake in the oven with the big fat elbow noodles that would string cheese across the counter when you served it onto your plate. It was tradition. (And it was my favorite.) And in the midst of my macaroni last night, I remembered family and tradition and was grateful. Grateful for those people in my life, whose tree branches from the same trunk as mine, and for the stability of traditions. Grateful to be known and remembered, and to be loved deeply.
Hey, you wanna join me on this? Share a gratitude moment in the comments…