A View of Gratitude

Today has been an alright kind of day. Not my favorite, but quiet before the fun that will take place this weekend. I woke up and had a slow morning, it took me awhile to pull open the shades to the day and things I hoped to tackle. I uploaded a ridiculous amount of pictures to Facebook, and then I went to Covington Honda to get my car service and engine light fixed. Two hours later a young man walks in, sits down and asks me to change the channel so we could watch Ellen. Lady Gaga was on repeat, and we shared a conversation about Gaga, and pop culture. He was the last person I'd imagine with an opinion, but alas we should never judge a book by its cover.

In leaving however I began thinking about my car, I've had it five years September. I began to think about 5 years ago right now. I began to feel the walls close in around me as I broke down the past 5 years of my life, and 156,000 miles on my car. I'd say after that things kind of lulled out. I went to Walmart and came home, grabbed my mail, and knew that I had to start unpacking my bedroom. It was time. I was suffocating in the undone.

As I pulled items out of boxes and unwrapped small glass objects and placed them back in the home they last knew, I thought over and over again: "It wasn't supposed to be this way."

This admission is not a surprise, nor is it ridiculous. I don't indulge my heart many moments such as that one to feel the weight of current life circumstances. But today I could not run.

But I began to make a list.

My biological father, whom I never met face to face after I was a year old was a recovering alcoholic and celebrated 23 years of sobriety 1 month and 3 days before his death five years ago, July 26th. Of my favorite and most prized possessions (including his watch, photographs that my very talented paternal grandfather took, and my grandmother's quilt) are pieces of paper with his handwriting on it. I have letters, and cards from him that I treasure, but among those with his hand meeting the page is a small yellow pad of paper. There are pages upon pages of things that he wrote that day he was grateful for. They ranged from his faith in God, relationship with his mother, the sunshine, and scribbled away almost ineligibly was 'that my daughter is safe'.

He wrote gratitude lists every day as part of working 'the program', and I am so thankful that among those things I found in his home next to my letters, was this very unnoticeable priceless collection of thoughts. They document part of his journey.

I have never written a gratitude journal. Even when Oprah got on the bandwagon years ago- I never did it. I always felt like "God knows I'm thankful", and just moved on. Today in the midst of a day in which I was face to face with a plan I did not choose, I understood why to be consciously grateful mattered. It means that in every and all circumstances that we are choosing to change the periscope we view life, ourselves, and God and instead of closing in by what is not- we are opening up to what is.

I unpacked and I folded, and I struggled- but the thoughts in my head found a pattern of gratitude and for which I found a resting place. My list was long, and I didn't write it down. But I know that I began with Christ- and then I went on to be thankful,

For the man I never knew but loved me so deeply

For Gracie

For this home

For time

For the stamps in my passport

For Crystal Light and Diet Coke

For XM Radio

For postcards

For conviction

For hope

For being chosen by Christ

For promises unspoken and unseen, and lastly for what was supposed to happen that didn't, so that I could experience what is... and what is coming.

Thankful for a lesson of love and hope, scribbled away on what would otherwise be an ordinary yellow note pad.