I gave up on writing my 1000 gifts. It’s not that I don’t have life-gifts to be thankful for. And it’s not that it wouldn’t be profitable to record them, but since it has taken a year to get to #90, I have decided my list is done. For now.
The journal I was using would get buried under my school materials (Oh, and I am thankful to have an income-producing job!); and then, it was an out-of-sight-out-of-mindish kind of thing. When I would think of it again, I would feel guilt—not for being ungrateful, but for not recording my gratefulness (I guess I can be thankful my heart is not so hard I cannot feel guilt.)
So am I not really thankful?
Am I not really aware of all the blessings I have been given? Well . . . maybe some days.
But other days, most days, I wonder at the aggregate complexity of a single raspberry and how luscious it feels on my tongue as I squish it and taste it with all my sweetness receptors. I glance up from my computer because I catch movement in my peripheral vision (How great is peripheral vision! Think of how much we would lose without it.) I look into the face of a hummingbird, tentative, but daring to feast on the nectar so close to this big person in the window. He flutters red, now black, now magenta, and now lively green. He looks at me directly, all the time assessing his safety factor, not knowing what pleasure he is giving me.
And I look up at the clouds moving fast, traveling all the way from the Gulf of Mexico to brighten my day with their mounds of dark and light, pushed on by bullying wind. And, hopefully, they hold a little rain left over from the drenching in Arizona.
And back to task, I prepare a writing assignment, and joy spills out in the words that tumble one after another onto paper or screen or my mish mash of post-it notes.
So I really am thankful for many things, in spite of what my journal says—or doesn’t say.
Each day is filled with moments of pleasure and remembrance, each stacked one upon the other as I tackle my daily tasks. And if I took the time to search for my journal and record them, I might miss it. Life, that is. So at least for now, I’ve decided to put my 1000 gifts journal on hold and just live the gifts.
(For those interested in Ann Voskamp’s lovely and inspiring book One Thousand Gifts, it is indeed a good read!)