Let’s say I thanked you for something. Anything. Giving thanks, transforms a gift.
The gift is enriched. The warm breath of gratitude instills life, sentience.
There I am, my gift looking back at me.
I can tell you are thinking of a treasured gift and being thankful all over again.
My momma did not dish out compliments. Yet, one day she gave me the gift of telling me I had unusual common sense. Thank you, Momma, I’ve remembered that one compliment my whole life. It’s still making my brain feel valuable.
My beloved named a fear of mine one day. That sort of gift. He then told me “stand a little taller and step a little closer and don’t forget Who is standing behind you.” I think the intended gift was courage. Ok. Thank you for that double-edged sword.
The gift looking back at me was…
Unblinking silence that exudes strength
or silent desperation. Despair. I’m talking about the phobic silence of a panic-attack crushing any try at gratitude. Sarcasm’s incessant, internal, name-calling blots out anything close to courage. The power of this to cripple a soul cannot be exaggerated.
Unintentional and debilitating gifts. Can thanks mend that?
I don’t know.
I’ve tried using gratitude like a magic potion.
Doesn’t work. Seems fake.
All I know–at the exhausting end of myself, at the end of fears & anxiety & night-terrors, Something good is there. Jesus. He calls my name like He is still glad for having made me. Making me–a gift to Himself.
Can I say He is Thankful?
I want to say so because of the way this changes me. It lays joy over me, a sentience indescribable.
The Lord promises to give a white stone to each of us in heaven, a stone with a new name on it. I wonder what your name will be. Just imagine!
Let mine be Endless Anthem of Thanks.
Oh and something to think about:
Perhaps “It is good…” is the sound of God giving thanks.