Preparation for writing the Thanksgiving blog is one of the year’s great pleasures—rereading the gratitude journal, chock full of splendid moments and blessings. First, the “sine qua non” of all that follows, comes health. Our brushes with ER’s, doctors and dentists this year have been brief and mild, thank God. In fact, as we were leaving a hospital after a brief visit, I encouraged my grandson to give thanks: “we’re the lucky ones. A lot of people here are very sick and won’t be leaving for a long time.” Somehow, our gratitude propelled our dash to the car as a small, vivid celebration. Vaccines, excellent doctors and preventive medicines are gifts to health which many people might envy. Exercise, hikes, swimming and yoga are frequent journal mentions in deep appreciation for mobility, when others my age experience sad pain, disease or weakness.
On almost every page, my children and grandchildren appear. So many instances of their generosity: phone calls, visits, gifts of caps, scarves, mugs, treats-to-eat are sprinkled throughout the year, along with a warm hand in mine for the walk to school, a funny or encouraging comment, shared care for the littles when Grammy grows weary, a burst of joy when we experience something delightful together. When a self-described “picky eater” compliments my pasta, I feel like I’ve won the Great Grandparent Bake-Off.
Any lofty thoughts in the journal are few; far more often I read of hummingbirds who forgive my less-than-perfect feeder and drink long and deep. Cookies, fresh strawberries and special coffees abound, as does wonder at the changing seasons: a cool, cloudy July when the rest of the country swelters, cherry tomatoes, roses and daisies still fresh in the November garden. The soft feathering of rain, the pop of scarlet maple or golden leaves against darker redwoods eases the transition into fall, a threshold to the holiday season.
There’s nothing quite like the exhilaration of a jet pounding down the runway, and travel, even a short local trip is full of wonder and discovery. A shopping find, or view of mountains, or panorama of sunrise touching each tree in a valley lifts the spirits. As does laughter with friends, some dear as sisters, in other states or in restaurants near home. Unique to California are special times at the beach, where I see directly the words of Psalm 139:9-10: “If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,/ even there, your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.” A balcony over the Pacific for sunrise, or a skyscape at home for sunset: these are what Pope Francis called, “the golden threads that bind to [God].”
An infusion of long-awaited library books or favorite streaming shows means evening entertainment to look forward to all day, like the “ping” on my phone texting that my son-in-law has cooked another amazing dinner. A whole journal category could be Things I Worried About that Didn’t Happen, or a Meeting I Dreaded that opened a window of surprising opportunity and stimulation. Volunteer work in first and second grades has shown how utterly unguarded children can be: I watch happily as light dawns across their faces, sounding out a new word or responding with empathy to a lovely story.
Many of the gifts I’ve recorded are, I realize, hugely privileged—but how can we reject what God tailors specifically for us? It’s heartening that Thomas Merton records the same delight as I feel, “seeing the Creator’s imprint everywhere—not only some water and oil is holy; but all creation shines with divine presence” —and his was a life without many comforts or frills. For one who has struggled most of her life with “not enough time,” pockets and cushions of time suddenly opening are remarkable gifts—how much one can do with an extra twenty minutes or hour! That leads of course to appreciating months and years many people never get.
Thomas Berry writes that humans once saw life itself as an “unmerited gift… exuberant delight and unending gratitude as their first obligation.” Obligation? Maybe at this time of year, gratitude easy as breathing…
Kathy Coffey 