Returning Thanks

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, people on Facebook are posting one thing each day for which they are thankful. A friend posted the following:

“I am thankful for whoever’s idea it was to post something that we are thankful for every day. I, who can too easily see the glass as half empty, am now thinking of all the things I have to be thankful for. It’s hard to choose just one for the day. I am so blessed and fortunate. Thanks for the reminder. “

Thankfulness is like that. You begin to count life’s blessings only to find there are many more to be enumerated. The blessings don’t multiply because they are counted. They are present all along. Thankfulness has a way of bringing to our attention gifts otherwise hidden from our view. Look carefully at all we enjoy and what grows is an awareness that we’ve been given quite a lot.

Receiving these blessings leaves us pondering their Source. Gifts given imply the presence of a Giver. Thankfulness is our appropriate response for the many good gifts sent into our lives. Gratefulness forms the basis for gifts extended to others. We give out of the overflow of what we have received.

Why else are we compelled to cultivate an attitude of gratitude during this season of the year? If the good we enjoy merely happens as the result of fate, coincidence or luck, then why be thankful at all? If they come to us intentionally through the generosity of One who gives us life, how can we neglect to return thanks for all we have received?

The problem (at least for me) is that unexpected blessings enter my life so regularly that it’s easy to take them (and their Source) for granted. Because good gifts are bestowed consistently and generously, I often begin to expect them thoughtlessly without returning appropriate thanks.

Thankfulness cannot be manufactured or coerced. Gratitude, like any gift, must be freely given. Heartfelt appreciation is about the best gift we have to offer in response to all we have received. Nothing inspires us to be generous to others like acknowledging what is so graciously given to us.

Thanksgiving found me unexpectedly this year though two songs. Sarah McLachlan suggests that we all encounter “ordinary miracles” each day. One listen was enough to plant a seed of gratitude within and (as she says) you “don’t need to teach a seed to grow.”

Ordinary Miracle

It's not that unusual
When everything is beautiful
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

The sky knows when it's time to snow
Don't need to teach a seed to grow
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

Life is like a gift, they say
Wrapped up for you everyday
Open up, and find a way
To give some of your own

Isn't it remarkable?
Like every time a raindrop falls
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

The birds in winter have their fling
And always make it home by spring
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

When you wake up everyday
Please don't throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
'Cause we are all a part

Of the ordinary miracle
Ordinary miracle
Do you want to see a miracle?

It seems so exceptional
That things work out after all
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

The sun comes out and shines so bright
And disappears again at night
It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

It's just another
Ordinary miracle today

May you have a blessed holiday with family and friends as you give thanks for ordinary miracles and all the other blessings of life. Oh, and the other song?

You’ll find it here.

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Maybe There's Hope

Monday night’s run is the coolest of the fall. Temperatures are in the mid 40’s as I exit the car.

The brisk air activates a mild case of asthma. Sometimes on cold nights I’ll take precautions before leaving the house. Because it’s a relatively rare occurrence, the wheezing tends to sneak up on me. Such is the case on this night.

Normally, the bronchial passages open after the first couple of miles. I push the pace and am well satisfied with the finishing time.

On Tuesdays a group of ministers meets in my office for conversation and coffee. These guys are a great source of support and encouragement. There are aspects of our vocation that only another minister understands. Time together is one of the best parts of my week. If the brew is good then the fellowship takes care of itself.

So following the run I make a stop at the local grocery store in search of a robust, dark roast coffee. A can of sweetened condensed milk is snagged because the guys sometimes like to add it to the cup. I could eat the stuff straight from the can.

Earlier in the week Pamela discovered the store now carries a particular brand of cinnamon cookies we took a liking to many years ago. Unavailable for over a decade, they suddenly turned up on the shelf. They are light and crispy with just a hint of sweetness. The perfect compliment to strong coffee.

I make my way to the checkout line and witness a random act of kindness. A guy and his six pack are in the process of checking out. As the cashier rings up the total he is short on cash. He apologizes profusely and indicates he will get change from his car.

A young lady stands in line between he and I. Without a moment’s hesitation she tells the clerk that she will complete his purchase. The young man shoots her an uneasy smile.

"You don't have to do that." She counters that it would be her pleasure.

The clerk hands the guy his change. He holds it for only a second when a light dawns within. He turns to the one who rescued him.

“This is yours ,” he says with a smile, depositing the change in her hand. Then he adds, “Thanks, I really appreciate that.” Then he is on his way.

Maybe she just wanted to save the guy the inconvenience of a trip back to his car. Or maybe the fact that she was also buying a six pack created common ground between them. Whatever the reason, her simple act of kindness is about as generous an exchange as I’ve witnessed in a long time.

When it comes her turn to check out, she discovers that she no longer has sufficient funds to cover her purchase. She fumbles with her purse and glances back at me as I hold up a dollar and we laugh. “There” she says with a sense of satisfaction as she hands the cashier a couple of quarters scavenged from the bottom of her purse. With that she's off, grinning as she makes her way to the exit.

A smile also spreads across my face while crossing the parking lot to my car. What a different place this would be if people were always that thoughtful. It’s enough to make you think there might be hope for the world after all.

Some night’s you lace up the shoes determined that running will be the evening’s priority only to find it’s not the main event at all. Sometimes people surprise you. They leave you feeling guilty for being so cynical.

And that’s a good thing.

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Blue and Black

One of my favorite colors is midnight blue.

That became clear when overhauling the blog last week. I don’t have an explanation for why that became necessary. All of a sudden there was a need for something different. The call could not be denied. I’m grateful for another blogger who helped me answer that call.

So over the past week more hours than I would care to admit were spent tinkering with a new template. Getting all the bells and whistles operational was a matter of trial and error. I think they all work now. You’ll let me know if they don’t, right?

Who knew that Blogger had a new post editor? Or that comments could be added to the end of a post rather than on a separate page? What planet have I been on while all this innovation was taking place?

I learned how to create a wider header and perused articles to find solutions for a few glitches. At times the difficulty was more the result of personal ignorance than a problem with the template. There. I said it.

Then there were all those little check boxes where the colors for various components of the page must be selected. The process is tedious. Once I had them all chosen, an inadvertent key stroke reset them randomly with a single click. In an instant everything became a mass of magenta, purple and lime green.

I didn’t think you were ready for that.

While I wanted a different look, I found myself drawn again and again to the darker blues of the palatte. The reason for that became apparent while the blog was being deconstructed and reconstructed (tasks like that always get worse before they get better).

Church members driving home in the early twilight this past week might have been surprised to catch a glimpse of their pastor perched on the steeply pitched roof of the sanctuary, eyes patiently scanning the heavens. Why would he do something like that?

A friend sent an e-mail indicating that the space shuttle could be seen orbiting the earth for about three minutes around dusk. My formative years coincided with the development of the space program. I’ve always been curious about what takes place beyond the bounds of this planet.

My mind cannot comprehend the wonder of a universe with countless galaxies and billions of stars sown amid the vast emptiness of space. A borderless cosmos which stretches to infinity leaves me in speechless awe. The feeling of amazement never gets old no matter how many nightly runs are logged.

Contemplating an endless universe with limitless boundaries makes believing in an eternal Creator who is without beginning or end infinitely easier for me. Knowing that I somehow figure into the scheme of all that leaves me humbled to a degree that is difficult to express.

Under that sky that is neither blue nor black, but an indescribable mixture of the two, being aware of the presence of my Maker is somehow simplified. I sense a power that transcends any earthly source and give thanks for the privilege of being a part of all that is.

What I learned last week is that that the blue-black of that celestial canopy overhead never fails to stir my thoughts and emotions. Capturing a bit of that hue on the space where I write somehow extends what is experienced on the run. Reading what occurs to me out there on a midnight-blue background somehow seems fitting.

Even so, I deliberately chose to go with something different this time. Change is a good thing. Besides, Blogger didn’t offer a true midnight-blue on the limited dashboard color palette and I wouldn’t possess the technological savvy to know what to do with the color code for the perfect blue-black shade if someone gave it to me.

Someone will no doubt suggest that the outside border of the new template is a dark shade of blue (not unlike the blue-black that inspires me so). But that’s where you’d be wrong. It’s actually the deepest shade of green available. The fact that it looks rather midnight blue-ish is strictly coincidental.

 Convenient, eh?

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Thanks for Your Persistence

The invitation didn’t sound inviting in the moment when extended. An elderly lady requested that I join her for lunch in the cafeteria at the retirement center which is now her home.

She tried to tempt me with the knowledge that they employ a gourmet chef. “The food,” she said, “is really tasty.” I remained unconvinced, mostly because of my inability to associate the words “retirement center” with a four or five star dining experience.

Enumerating the number of weeks that pass before her request is accepted would be embarrassing. A hectic work schedule is offered as justification for my procrastination.

There’s no shortage of people who want the pastor to be involved in their circumstances. The decision about where you spend your time isn’t as simple as choosing between black and white. There’s lots of gray mixed in there.

My friend is nothing if not persistent. Over time she wears me down with her gracious persistence. When I knock on her door on the appointed day, the joy her broad smile communicates is in complete contradiction to the quiet reluctance within me.

The conversation is lively even if our pace is not as we start down the hallway. She’s a thoughtful person with a thorough grasp of her mental faculties and possessing clarity of conviction. Her frankness is refreshing as opinions are expressed on one topic and then the next. You never have to wonder about where she stands.

People at surrounding tables speculate about the identity of her guest. This delights her no end. Some assume I am her son. There is something motherly about the way she guides me through the gauntlet of food as our trays are filled.

Humans are a predictable lot. A discernable yet unwritten etiquette determines who sits at what table. This is not unlike the way members of my congregation tend to sit in the same seat each week as if their names are engraved there, though they are not. The experience is a like playing musical chairs and I cannot help but wonder who my presence will displace.

We are joined by two ladies who take chairs on either side of me while I sit facing my friend. After obligatory introductions are made I offer to return thanks to the One who makes every meal possible. To my surprise, the quality of the food is not exaggerated.

Conversation reveals that the lady on my left came to live at the center after her husband died. With the help of her daughter she made the move from her home in the country. Shortly thereafter her daughter became ill and passed away.

One of the most tragic experiences with which we cope in this life is loneliness. I’m convinced we are created to share life in community. The knowledge that you are absolutely alone is an unbearable weight none of us is meant to carry.

Moments listening to her story seem to provide a blessed, if brief, respite from the wrestling match with that formidable opponent. Within me there is a fullness of spirit not present when sitting down.

The lady to my right was born in Russia. She and her husband immigrated to the United States before I was born. He entered med school while she became a nurse. After years of preparation in California they became medical missionaries.

For years they help run a hospital in a troubled nation where people have limited access to medical care. She tells of the blessing of obtaining surgical equipment from departing U. S. forces which were superior to the crude instruments they’d been using. They worked diligently to obtain resources to keep the doors of the institution open.

They pursue this calling out of love for the One who made them and because of the great need of the people they served. Her story is related through a strong Russian accent and an even stronger sense of conviction. She speaks as if their service was the most important work in the world.

We are fortunate in this life if we find a reason for living that requires nothing short of the best within us. If that work also leaves the world a better place, then we are twice blessed. Life doesn’t get any better than that.

If I live as long as my friend on the left there will come a day when I will likely face the foe she battles. My prayer is that there will be someone who, by their simple presence, will bring a measure of relief from the weight of loneliness. In the economy of this life we are present for others with a hope that someone will be present with us when our time comes.

The new friend on the left reminds me of how causally I often regard the days given to me. My desire is to spend the limited time here engaged something significant. I’d like to finish this life with the knowledge that my best was invested and that others somehow benefit from those efforts.

Things are not always as they appear. Life is unpredictable. We mostly think of this in terms of the unexpected difficulties we face.

Life is also filled with unexpected blessings. On this day I am the recipient of an unanticipated gift through the presence of three women who accept me into the circle of their friendship. One thought comes to mind as I bid my gracious host goodbye.

Thanks for your persistence.

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