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…
…silence.
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.
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Oh and something to think about:
Perhaps “It is good…” is the sound of God giving thanks.
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YES! It changes everything in ways I could not have thought to ask.
”He is still glad for having made me. Making me–a gift to Himself.“ The breathtaking treasure at the end of myself. It reverberates backwards making every trial somehow different.