In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Years ago, I remember listening to Amy Grant’s newly released Christmas album (still one of my favorites and one to which I can sing all the lyrics of every song!) and being especially taken with “Grown Up Christmas List.” As I prepare for Thanksgiving this year, I’m taking stock and writing a grown-up gratitude wish list with a little help from some friends.

“Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh 

Like Piglet, I may have a Very Small Heart—being just one individual in a world of 8.2 billion—but as I’ve grown up, I’ve marveled at how I can hold a rather large amount of Gratitude. It’s the mystery of a tiny, teacup heart that never overflows, that defies sense with its bottomless wonder. This is the first thing on my grown-up gratitude wish list: that we know the magic of paradox, embracing how big and generous small can be.

“I thank God for my handicaps. For through them, I have found myself, my work and my God.” –Helen Keller 

I’m not often grateful enough for my handicaps. And though I’ve been blessed with good sight and good health, I’ve been handicapped by other things, namely, insecurity and anxiety that have been crippling at times. I’ve been handicapped by a consuming inwardness, a paralyzing compulsion for self-reflection. And self-flagellation. But like Keller, I’ve grown to see how this handicap has led me to deeper faith, deeper peace, and deeper joy. In Gravity and Grace, French philosopher and activist Simone Weil wrote, “Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire an equal degree of gratitude.” I’ve been learning to lean into this, to be grateful—in equal measure—for joy and suffering, strength and weakness. So here’s the second thing on my grown-up gratitude wish-list: that we give thanks for our handicaps—seen and unseen—trusting they will give more than they will take from us.

“The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.” ― Thornton Wilder

As I was walking this morning, I began thinking about my mom’s famous frozen cherry salad, the Thanksgiving tradition she faithfully made with and without nuts, for our family was nearly equally divided in their love or hate for walnuts. In the years since my parents’ deaths, I’ve grieved, sometimes more profoundly and deeply than I might’ve imagined. But I’ve always been grateful, immensely grateful, for their lives. Increasingly, I’m overwhelmed with the power of this gratitude, how its mercies are new every morning. I walk and remember, giving thanks for things as extraordinary as their legacy and as ordinary as frozen cherry salad. The third thing on my grown-up gratitude wish-list is this: that we remember to pay the highest tribute to those we’ve lost through gratitude.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
—e. e. cummings

One morning last week, the fog was heavy enough as I walked that I didn’t see the doe at the water’s edge until she crashed through the cattails and over the pond dam into the timber, her white tail flying into the amazing day. I’m thankful for this doe and for the muskrat who leaves a deep wake that fans across the eastern pond. I’m thankful for hedgeballs the size of fists that lay strewn across my path, for the lime green mystery of them. I’m thankful for the smell of earth and the sound of owls and coyotes. I’m thankful for each dawn that gilds the hills and for the silver-blue berries of cedars. I’m so grateful for this nature preserve, for its leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky. I’m grateful for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes. In her 1981 novel, Tar Baby, Toni Morrison writes: “At some point in life, the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.” This is my fourth wish: that the world’s beauty becomes enough for us and that we respond to it with a resounding yes.

“A desire to kneel down sometimes pulses through my body, or rather it is as if my body has been meant and made for the act of kneeling. Sometimes, in moments of deep gratitude, kneeling down becomes an overwhelming urge, head deeply bowed, hands before my face.” —Etty Hillesum

Years ago, as I stood singing beside a friend during worship, I felt an overwhelming and unmistakable urge to lie prostrate upon the altar. After the service, my friend confessed he’d felt the same urge. Neither of us acted, but I’ve never forgotten the sense that my body had been meant for this, that my spirit had been ready when my will was not. When I recall this moment, I see how it was born from deep gratitude. I understand the inclination to fall before God as a natural and appropriate response. And I regret not giving in to it. I regret standing stiffly in the pew as I denied the Spirit’s prompting, too concerned about what others might think. That Etty Hillesum, a Dutch Jewish author, should feel such gratitude in the face of her impending death at Auschwitz humbles me. That she could kneel before God, in gratitude and devotion, both shames and inspires me. Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor, confessed that “[f]or me, every hour is grace. And I feel gratitude in my heart each time I can meet someone and look at his or her smile.” This is my fifth wish: that in gratitude, we kneel more, for every hour is grace, and embracing this is our first and best response.

“I think that real friendship always makes us feel such sweet gratitude, because the world almost always seems like a very hard desert, and the flowers that grow there seem to grow against such high odds.”
― Stephen King 

The world can, indeed, seem like a very hard desert. We’ve all felt its pricks and pokes. We’ve thirsted and wandered through its dark nights of the soul. But friends who share our joys and bear our suffering are flowers that grow . . . against such high odds. In seasons of drought, they walk with us, and in seasons of bounty, they rejoice with us. I’m profoundly indebted to my friends—past and present—and regard them with such sweet gratitude. My life has been much richer because of them. They’ve shaped and challenged me, encouraged and celebrated me. So, here is my sixth wish: that in the hard deserts of our lives, we nuture friendships that blossom against such high odds.

“In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.” —Elizabeth Gilbert

It’s safe to say that I could never pay back all the people who’ve sustained my life. It’s better I surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity, better I just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as I can. This would be but a small measure of my gratitude, for how could I measure the worth of such sustenance? How could I not be astonished by human generosity? How could I not thank God for the many ways he works through humans, the times when I’m pulled up and forward by beneficent hands? Years ago, when my son, Quinn, was a baby, I strapped him to my chest in a newly purchased baby carrier and headed down the aisles at Target, feeling pleased and proud that I’d discovered a way to shop with two free hands. Until he began to fuss, and I couldn’t extract him from the carrier, which had become a torture chamber—for him and for me. As I stood in the shampoo aisle, sweating and near tears, an elderly gentleman tapped me on the shoulder and asked if he might help. Before I could even respond, he lifted Quinn up and out of the carrier with the skill of a seasoned pro and the patience of a saint. I was gobsmacked and couldn’t thank him enough. As he grabbed a bottle of Head and Shoulders from the shelf, he smiled and said, “You’re very welcome, my dear.” I didn’t know this man and never saw him again. But in my book of human generosity, he has a page of his own. And herein lies my seventh wish: that when we’re tempted to surrender to darkness and chaos, we remember the scope of human generosity and give thanks.

In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

So, I’ll leave you with the Apostle Paul who says it succinctly and best: In everything give thanks. This is a tall order. Many of us may have scoffed at those bumper sticker slogans that admonish us to develop “an attitude of gratitude.” As we’re running late for work, driving distractedly, and dribbling coffee on our laps, we may have thought, “Not grateful today. Maybe tomorrow.” We may doubt those who give thanks for everything and in every situation, refusing to believe the sincerity of their gratitude. And yet, most of us know individuals who are genuinely grateful, despite—and perhaps because of—the circumstances. To be in their presence is to stand on hallowed ground. Trappist monk and writer, Thomas Merton, claims that “[g]ratitude takes nothing for granted, is never unresponsive, is constantly awakening to new wonder.” So, this is my last grown-up gratitude wish: that we actively grow our gratitude, strengthening it through practice, grounding it in faith, and refining it with wonder.

Wishing you and your families a Happy Thanksgiving.

In gratitude, Shannon