Category: Gratitude

Thursdays are for Thankfulness- on the lookout for the little things.

5/31/2018

Cheerful little face on woodland violet

It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.
Arthur Conan Doyle

It makes sense that the writer who created Detective Sherlock Holmes and his assistant, Dr. Watson would hold the little things in high regard, for his cases were famously solved through the careful observation of a “little detail” hidden in plain sight.

But you know what? Valuing every little thing makes sense for me too. When I’m hoping, watching, longing for something big to happen, it’s easy to overlook a dozen little reasons for gratitude that are right in front of me.

Here's a "little" example: when I'm mountain hiking, I'm always hoping for what I think of as the big sightings - a flock of turkeys, a doe and fawn, or a great horned owl perched overhead...all of which I've seen at one time or another. This weekend, early in my walk I gave wide clearance to a 5 foot black snake, and I realized, after that, I was looking down at exactly where each footstep was landing much more often than usual. (It seemed wise...)

I didn't see another snake, but I came upon this red-spotted purple, trying to recharge his solar panels on a not-so-sunny day. I watched him for a long time- open, close, open, rest. Pause. (Even butterflies need to pause.) I'm glad I didn't overlook him in the search for something bigger.

Red-spotted purple pause

When I undertake the search for reasons to be grateful, I’m increasingly aware of every.little.thing.

It has become a challenge, as if I’ve given myself a dare to keep looking until I see what is probably always right in front of me.

Dew diamonds on iris

It’s a choice I need to make – every single day – to look and keep looking.

Mostly, I need to remind myself to notice.

Notice.

I’m becoming a detective of the unobserved because I think Doyle is right...the little things are infinitely the most important.

Keep looking for every little reason to say, “Thanks.”

Little visitor at the window...

brave little buttercup in the shadow of an oak

new little trotter in the neighborhood

a few little purple flowers...a whole lot of delight!

Just a few purple blossoms, but oh the joy they have brought to me! I've watched nothing happen on this wisteria plant year after year after year for over a decade. Maybe one blossom, maybe two. But this year? I stopped counting at 30...just a few little flowers, but thankfulness welled up within me every time I saw them. They're gone now; like purple snowfall, the blossoms drifted to the ground. But even the memory brings me joy, and next year I'll be watching every branch for the telltale promise of small, extravagant beauty.

Watch for the little things...

Thursdays are for thankfulness.

What do you see?

HumminB

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Thursdays are for thankfulness...Thank You, it's finally spring!

4/26/2018

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If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.
Meister Eckhart

I like the focus of this quote - gratitude.

I also know, in all honesty, that I never would have made it to this point in my life without another prayer. I call it the Prayer of Pooh, because as I recall, Winnie the Pooh used this phrase quite often: "Oh, help."

Sometimes that's all I can manage to say, for myself, for someone else, when the needs are overwhelming and words don't work, plans don't work, nothing at all works.

"Oh, help."

And that prayer is enough. For the asking.

But life is so much more than asking, and I think that's the deeper meaning of Eckhart's quote. There are always reasons to say "thank you" to the Giver of all good gifts.

But if God already knows my thoughts, my intent, the state of my heart, why bother to say thanks at all? Is it just "being polite" to God? I don't think so.

I believe thankfulness matters most because of what happens in me when I choose to say "thank you," to continue that list of gratitudes on the worst (unending) days of winter, dragging into...April. (Snow. In April. At least three times.) But, oh, that last snow, clinging whiteness in the dark of night...ethereally beautiful. Even in April. I can still remember it vividly.

When I choose to say thank you, I see reasons to say thank you.

When I say it, I see it.

All around me, small and large reasons for gratitude begin to catch my eye. The more I say, it the more I see it.

I don't "get more" reasons to be thankful, I simply become more tuned in to the thousand reasons I already have.

Granted, some days that's easier than others. Days when spring is suddenly here, there, everywhere. Days like today. Yesterday too. And who knows? Maybe tomorrow. But for today...

I want to remember to say "Thank you" for...

1. New life in the pasture,
and the reminder that wool color is just wool color...
and sheep are sheep.
(and the greener grass is on the other side of the fence!)

Ferguson and her two lambs.

2. Ears to hear..."Flicka, flicka, flicka."
(No green in sight, but he's still a sure sign of spring!)

3. Eyes to see the golden-green willow,
the bluest sky,
the soft pink reaching along the mountain,
the clouds chasing each other...
pick one, pick them all.

4. Smiling faces in garden places,
wearing green leafskirts.

5. Happy voices of recess-carefree children
on the green-grass hill.

6. Spider web hen and chicks and little knobs of green popping up in my play garden, waiting...

7. Big view sky in my little greening valley

Thursdays are for thankfulness, and that's my list for today, the signs of spring all around me, seven ways of looking at, looking for, saying thank You, thank You, thank You for the green, green green.

HumminB

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Snow as a gift...even in April. No foolin'!

4/3/2018

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World in (black and) White!

Sunday was supposed to be April Fool’s day, but yesterday I woke up to a world in white, snow upon snow upon snow, maybe 6 inches! In the early light, I was watching birds outside my kitchen window...and before coffee, I’m never quite sure I can trust what I see.

I looked again.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one confused by the piles of whiteness. A disoriented Wilson’s snipe was sharing space with a robin on the driveway! (No foolin'!!)

I was tempted to complain...snow in April? But I knew it couldn’t last long, and truly it was beautiful out there, a winter wonderland. I'd be a fool to complain. In another season of life, I would have looked out into that beauty, longing for the chance to see the sights, camera in hand. So, why not do it?

I pulled on my purple coat and a warm ivory scarf, found my ready-for-storage snow boots and my favorite mittens, and opened the door into “pause.”

Somehow, snow muffles the ordinary noises of country life – leaf rattle was silenced, and traffic buzz from beyond the hill had been muted.

I was left to wander in snow hush and bird song.

A determined song sparrow warbled from the walnut tree, and everywhere, robins fussed and squabbled, trying to find perches on fence posts with six-inch snow caps. (Oh God, let me be the song sparrow...)

I made meandering paths with frequent footprints like this,
stopping “in my tracks!”

to look up,
around,
and back.

So much to see,

in sparkle and shine mode.

I was wrapped in stillness and wonder. I discovered I was smiling and couldn’t stop. (But I didn’t really try.) I had not asked for this enchanting gift, but I was grateful to open my arms, my heart wide to receive it from God’s hand.

Job 37:5,6 God does great things that we cannot comprehend –
for to the snow He says, “fall on the earth...” (even in April.)

Soon enough, it’s time to return to the house. (and the coffee.)

That snipe has moved on (he wasn’t frozen in place as I had feared.)

Already, snow is falling in muffled thumps from branches and wires. By day’s end, the whiteness will be a slushy memory along the roadside, and maybe my gratitude will have melted away too. (I’ll work on that...)

But for these moments, I’ll choose joy, I’ll choose gratitude, I’ll chose praise.

Praise the Lord from the earth-
Fire and hail, snow and mist...
Psalm 148:7,8

If the snow can praise Him, so can I.
Even in April. For snow.
No foolin.

HumminB

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A Wonder-full weekday wander.

2/23/2018

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Time for a wonder-full walk. Want to come along? With temperatures soaring to the 70’s - 30 or 40 degrees warmer than normal!!- we won’t even need our sweatshirts! (As you can tell, our walk happened a few days ago, since today is a rainy "high of 47 degrees" day!! I guess this makes our wonder-full walk even more of a treasure!)

Let’s wander along Hickory Lane and Cemetery Road; the sky is a canvas of cloud splendor, and it might take us forever to walk a mile...I keep stopping to look up, to turn fully around and look again, gaping at the shifting magic overhead. The scene changes, reframes, comes into focus, fades, and changes again. I can't seem to find any words but Wow! And thanks!

facing north east at 4:19pm

facing south west at 4:22pm

In the flooded meadow, the puddles are full of clouds, it’s Longfellow’s “Infinite meadows of heaven” reflected in slop, and I think, “This is my life.” (Yours too?) Still, it’s puddle-wonderful. (Thanks, e e cummings.)

My life in five words: Heaven reflected in the mess.

My heart is so full I can barely breathe. For three days, that one new worship song has filled my mind, my heart; now it overflows, and I’m singing truth loud and scaring the birds.

Your deep, deep love
Washes over me
Your deep, deep love
Fills my every need
How I long to hear Your voice call out my name
It draws me to Your deep, deep love...
(You can learn it and sing along right here!)

I adapt it and sing it again -
"How I love to hear Your voice call out my name,
it draws me to Your deep deep love..."

The creek sings too, its own water music, lavishly splashing the full greenness of spring across a dead log.

Willows wave promises, and I wave back.

Overhead, a robin prances in the tree tops...(but won't perch for a clear photo!)
Bluebird call notes make my heart race; a cardinal sings in the underbrush.
And look! In the thorn thicket, a perky Carolina wren announces himself.

Not all the sounds are music. Near the still-frozen pond, geese are loudly out-of-sorts. Probably, they wanted to take a float; their complaints rasp the air like rusty gate racket. But I still love them. They make me smile.

And over everything, sky wonder. More extravagant than you would ever imagine seeing in this long valley in the drab of February. The skyscape is full of glory, clouds of all sorts gather and disband, little windows of azure open and close, and I wonder what’s coming next...Jesus? A cold front? Both?

4:57 pm

5:07pm

This vision of sky beauty and the smell of wet earth and the robin song of hope swell up inside of me and I’m sure if I don’t sing I’ll break wide open...

Were the whole realm of nature mine. (Wait...isn’t it all mine for the seeing and hearing and feeling touching and even tasting, because it’s all His and so am I, and it’s all gift?)

That were an offering... (a present, this present moment, my heart clear full, my vision fully clear for this glimpse of enough and glory, mud and clouds)

Far too small – (and yet it’s all I have to offer, my small presence, my small gifts, my small full soul, broken, mended, filling, spilling joy.)

Love so amazing, so divine demands my soul, my life, my all. It’s small, but it’s my all...

and I fling it heavenward like a handful of feathers and of course it comes back all over me,
joyful thanks pouring grace back over me.
I’m walking on a cloud of His enoughness, and it carries me.

Maybe tonight in my dreams, I’ll be flying.

5:19pm

5:20pm

5:36pm Praying Hands.

5:44pm

5:49pm

Hummin(flyin!)B

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Weekends are for wandering...wondering too. Oh, and gratitude!

2/18/2018

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For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it.
Ivan Panin

A half dozen gratitudes for the commonplace bits of beauty my eye has seen on a mild winter day...

1. Sunrise glowing like this, just for a few minutes...

2. Bluebirds calling and singing, as if they didn't notice the snow.

3. Soft spring-promise green shining on the meadow willow.

4. Late winter afternoon sun sparkling on a chattering creek...

5. Momentary parhelion shimmering along the mountain just before sunset...
from the guest room window.
And I almost missed it.
Almost.

6. A delicately beautiful sunset streaked with every shade of blue.

For most of these bits of beauty, the space between seeing and not seeing was moments...
a glance, and then a second glance. The briefest pause...and oh!

How many times do I miss the opportunity to see and to give thanks because I'm in too much of a hurry to notice, moving too fast to catch the glimpses of glory?

That's why I need to wander and wonder. Because if Ivan Pavin is right, and "for every beauty there is an eye to see it," I want to be that eye.

Let me be singing when the evening comes...or at least humming. HumminB.

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Be still - further adventures in going nowhere.

1/24/2018

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All this month, we've been talking about stillness, the Resolution Revolution - Resolving to do more nothing. It's not always easy, sitting in the silence, but it's always good. Here's what happened to me one day when I finally sat down to pause midday. ("Just sit here and be still," I said to my busy, chattering soul, "for five minutes.") Here's what happened.

Clouds stretch along the far side of Stone Mountain like quilt batting, hinting of a transient mountain ridge beyond what we know.

As I stare, the ephemeral beauty glides slowly left - east - across my view. I’m pleased to have detected the incremental drift, and then something else grabs my attention.

Although sunrise glow happened hours ago, I perceive soft colors in the clouds –
back lit patches of delicate aqua,
deep blue-sky background,
distinctly pink shading,
dashes of golden yellow that look surprisingly warm, considering the wind chill is five degrees.

I wonder if this is a special phenomenon -“Midday Cloud Colors,” or have I never before noticed because I am generally just glancing instead of gazing? I realize again

how good it is to pause,

how hard it is to pause.

Breathing helps. Pulling in long, deep draughts, and thinking...grace, all is grace – the breath, the opportunity to pause, the eyes to see clouds.

Breathing in grace, and it’s You again, Jesus, grace of Presence, presence of grace. I comprehend for a moment, for this moment, that it’s always You, always present.

Although I forget and forget and forget, yet once again it's – grace - here You are!

Breathing out, praise.
Praise for pause,
deep gratitude for the utterly steadfast nature of Your love,
appreciation for Your Abiding Presence.

Breathing in grace; although I am at times faithless – yet – You are faithful.
Breathing out thanks for hope – for Your promises fulfilled, in progress, yet to come.

Today again, I say Yes to the deep peace of pause.

In the adventure of going nowhere, I have once again found You.

HumminB

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Be still, even when you're on a ramble...

1/14/2018

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"What’s a ramble?" One of Youngest’s friends posed this question recently when someone in our family used the word. He’s a very bright student, and I was surprised that the word was foreign to him. But upon further consideration, I realized that the concept is quite uncommon in our hurry-up, purpose driven world.

Here are a few definitions I read today:

Ramble:
(noun) a walk without a definite route, taken merely for pleasure.
(verb) to walk for pleasure, typically without a definite route; to wander around in a leisurely, aimless manner.

So, rambling. I can type a definition for you, or I can take you along on today’s ramble:
I’m heading up the mountain on the road less traveled...

I wander past Becky’s little stream,
and think how much my grandson would love
the dinosaur ice teeth that have grown along the edges.

I pass the woodland meadow where stalks of colorless goldenrod bend in the snow, and I remember their splendor just a few months ago.

Change. Relentless. Unstoppable.

In the woodland meadow and in my life. And, in both cases, I can chafe at the changes I don’t like or look for the myriad reasons for gratitude. Today, I’ll choose gratitude for life’s little pleasures, such as...

1. The air is brisk and sharp, and I don’t think the thermometer will hit 20 degrees today. But, the wind isn’t biting today, and the sky is azure, and I’m glad to be outside looking straight up.

2. I’m glad to see the shiny berries on Debbie's bush; they add a splash of color to the world, and I’m glad the birds didn’t get them all.

3. Ice is nice. Yes, yes, I know it’s cold, (although not as cold as last week?!) but without the cold, I’d never find sights like these.

Notice, this delicate crystal collection has gathered on the tip on a maple leaf.

I continue along the way less traveled, through the deepening blue shadows of a late winter afternoon, and I realize that I really want to hear an owl calling...the resonant whooo-whooo, floating down the mountain through the icy air is always haunting and beautiful. On this mountain, I’ve most often heard owls in conditions just like right now - cold, late afternoons in January and February.

But all I can hear at the moment is the sound of my own footsteps, crunch crunching along the frozen path.
I realize something:

If I want to hear an owl, I’m going to have to stop and listen.

I say a little pray, which isn’t very spiritual, something like, “Oh God, I’d really like to hear an owl today...” and although I’ve only once caught a slight glimpse of a shadowy form winging away from me in deep dusk, I add something about seeing one too. “That would really be something, God.”

I continue on my way by fits and starts...very gentle ones, of course, because I’m trying to be quiet which is almost laughable given the conditions underfoot. And the condition of my feet, which is to say very large and not always the most graceful. I’ve always been a bit on the clumsy side.

Just this week, I was walking through the downstairs reading a magazine and not giving any thought to my path because a kitchen remodeling project was in the final stages and the room was completely empty of furniture so the floor could be replaced the next day. Completely empty of furniture, I say, but an immovable roll of floor covering...when I was picking myself up from the floor, I was glad to be mostly intact except for my pride. The next morning, my gratitude list contained a detail that is always true but for which I don’t usually give thanks- “my arm is not broken.”

But it still hurts.

This is the same person now picking her way along the trail, navigating patches of snow covered ice, slick leaves, frozen springs.

It is a little tricky because when I am walking I can’t hear anything, and I want to keep watching for wildlife, but then I can’t watch my steps!

I am mindful of my feet because I don’t want to fall, of course, (but also because I’m afraid my kids might decide to buy me one of those medical alert systems for seniors if they find out about that kitchen floor dive or today’s treacherous adventure...maybe they won’t read this!)

And then it happens. I’m stopped, waiting in the stillness, when I hear an owl, far to my left, along the ridge. Such a beautiful sound. I wait a bit for an answering whoo-whoo-whoo, but it's too cold to wait long, and I hear nothing. Every few minutes, I pause to listen, and I hear it again. Memorable, melancholy music. The truth is not lost on me that I must be still to hear the owl call. He might very well be hooting more often, but I cannot hear him unless I am still.

Once more I pause on the icy path, waiting for another call, looking around for other birds. A chickadee scolds close by, and somewhere to my right a woodpecker is grubbing out a snack before dark. Looking ahead, I wonder about a strange “knob” in a distant tree...which turns out to be...a Great Horned Owl!!

The picture quality is low, but my delight is sky high...I watch him for awhile, then proceed up the trail.

Silently, he glides away, wide beautiful wings angling that large body effortlessly between the trees.

He arcs around me in a huge half circle, then disappears.

My gratitude list lengthens with the tree shadows in the setting sun,
and reaches heavenward in heartfelt thankfulness
that God was listening when I prayed,
and I was listening, watching when He answered.

HumminB

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Happy Thanksgiving! One more song...

11/23/2017

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One of the (many?!) things I love about getting older that I've been talking about recently is the opportunity to look back and see the hand of God and His unfailing faithfulness in my life.

God has such a good track record. Ever present, always faithful,unfailing. I never -ever- walk alone.

I think the truth of this song is what I am most grateful for this Thanksgiving...

Never Once have I ever walked alone.

If I could give you one gift, it would be this- the certainty of a faithful, loving God always at work in your life.

Is He safe? Not exactly.

Is He good? Always.

"Every step, we are breathing in Your grace,
Evermore, we'll be breathing out Your praise,
You are faithful, God You are faithful."

And that is what Thanksgiving means to me.

HumminB

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A Song for Thanksgiving...even in your storm.

11/19/2017

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Thanksgiving. Sometimes giving thanks seems like the hardest part of the day. Harder than stuffing the turkey and figuring out the family stuff. Harder than ignoring the political discussions that probably shouldn't have been broached because there's so much ugly from both directions. Harder than missing the ones who belong in the empty seats.

The journey to gratitude can seem uphill all the way, and stormy too.

At some point we all end up on this path at least for a season. (It just seems like forever...maybe. Hmm.)

It's just how life is.
You know, real.

Hard.

If this is your season, this song is for you. I couldn't find a video that I liked, so I'm linking this audio with a couple of pictures.

Keep moving toward gratitude, even in the storms. Especially then.

I'm humming with you...and it's still raining...
HumminB

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A song of thanksgiving....it's not what you think.

11/18/2017

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The world is broken, shot through with pain which you probably already knew-
before Sutherland Springs,
before the Harvest Music festival,
before #metoo,
before an opiod epidemic killed roughly 64,000 people in the US last year...

Our national collective misery meters can’t stop sounding alarms, and it’s five days until Thanksgiving.

In a more personal way, I know plenty of people first hand who are knee deep in their own difficult stories, right now, right here.

My young friend slogging her way through her first year as a single mom,

a friend of a friend figuring out what it means to have been a mom for, oh, say...6 hours, from birth to death,

another family reeling from a suicide they didn’t see coming or even if they did, couldn’t stop it,

children who were fatherless now fending for themselves because they’re motherless,

families being torn apart by (pick one, or maybe pick them all) drug abuse, infidelity, mental health issues...

friends facing overwhelming health battles and financial headaches,

grandparents raising grandchildren because somebody’s got to do it...

on and on, a chain of pain wrapping itself around those we love.

The chain snags me too; we’re all carrying stuff that in a perfect world we wouldn’t choose. So much disappointment, regret, loss...the world is broken. My world is broken. Yours too?

And now, Thanksgiving.

I’ve been realizing that if I’m going to make it to/through this day without numbing the pain or faking it, I’m going to have to dig a little deeper to find my way to gratitude. So I’ve been digging around in the Book that always calls me to look closer and find more of what I need.

In the Bible, thanks/thanksgiving is mentioned for the first time in (of all places) Leviticus, a book that is probably in “flyover country” for most of us most of the time. (It’s the book where the wheels usually fall off the New Year’s bandwagon goal of “reading through the Bible.”) But here too is “good stuff,” which I discovered as I read about bringing a peace offering for thanksgiving. (Leviticus 7:12-15 and 22:30)

Notes:
Sacrifice of thanksgiving (12, 14, 15, 29)
Loaves mixed with oil, wafers smeared with oil, fine flour well mixed with oil (12)
Eaten on the day it is offered, leave none of it until the next morning (15)
It shall be eaten on the same day, leave none of it until morning. I am the LORD. (22:30)
The word used is “towdah,” meaning an extension of the hand, an offering of thanks or a sacrifice of thanksgiving; worship by the presentation of songs of thanksgiving and praise that extolled the mighty wonders of the Lord; shouts of jubilation and thanksgiving. (from Strong’s concordance.)

Lots to ponder here, and this day, my ponderings turned into prayer...

Oh God, some days, giving thanks is my joyful offering, and I just give it, the overflow of a full heart;
it’s Your grace pouring in, sloshing out,
my heart and hands upraised,
tossing thanks to You (ta-da!) like a child with a bag of confetti.

Other days, other seasons, my thanksgiving is a sacrifice.

The storehouse seems undersupplied, and I must search with diligence for thanks to give. I mindfully embrace the truth that You give good gifts, and I look until I find them, find You,
and Spirit mixes well the flour dust of my days with Himself,
smears small wafer windows of time with the shine of Presence,
and I know – it’s You,
this gift is from You.

Today it looks like this:

Glint of frost sparkles across the meadow, ethereal beauty bound to disappear completely in sun warmth, shining like diamond dust tossed heedlessly across bent grass and fence post and horse manure,
and it’s all grace.

Great blue heron floats in silently, slender wings bearing an impossibly large body,
and I know I’m carried too.

Flock of geese honks by somewhere in the early mist, maybe they’re lost but they’re still honking (is that their song? that’s the best they can do?!) and I know I’ll sing too, though I’m still not sure where I’m headed and my voice breaks when my throat tightens and tears pour down.

Still, I will bring my sacrifice of thanks...for this very day,
leaving none of it until tomorrow, offering it all up here, now.
(I’ll start again tomorrow, new, like You start with me, new day, new mercies, new gifts.)
For You are the LORD.