By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
“In everything give thanks.”
Those ancient words are a tall order this year.
Resentment tries to wedge in between them, dragging in excuses, arguments, and reasons for why we really don’t have to be thankful for everything. Maybe not anything. After all, this was 2020. What went right?
Some days it’s hard to come up with an everything/anything list for thanks when the craziness whirls, dreams fade, and expectations shatter.
But I’ve discovered that this thankful-thinking really works. Especially if I don’t start with—or wait for—my feelings.
It’s not about feeling grateful, it’s about being grateful. Feelings don’t really have anything to do with it.
Not that we should look heavenward and snipe, “Yeah, God, thanks a lot.”
Um, no. Rather, we have a choice. And since our reactions and responses are probably the only things over which we truly have control, why not choose gratitude?
We can start small.
Give thanks for the hot coffee or tea in your cup each morning.
Give thanks for the cup.
Or the glory of changing seasons.
Indoor plumbing. (Seriously, think about it.)
The Bible we read, whether pixel or paper.
Clothes to wear. Food to eat. Breath in our lungs.
The fact that we’re on this side of the grass and not under it.
What about God in all His goodness?
His presence in our lives, His ear to our heart.
His sovereignty – which means He is right there with us in our distress, suffering, or joy.
The posture of my heart makes a big difference in how I go through a difficult day. If I’m full of gratitude, I’m more at peace, and it affects those around me.
“In everything give thanks.” Ancient words, yes, but wise.
Whether I’m sitting at the family table with loved ones at Thanksgiving or on the sofa by myself with a paper plate on my lap, I think I’ll make that directive my main course this year.
In everything give thanks … (1Thessalonians 5:18)
Grateful to be on her way, Etta watched familiar countryside rush past the window. Anxiety vied with that gratitude—anxiety over the unknown into which she hurtled with each repetitious clack of wheels on the rail. She was leaving behind all she had ever known, heading for what she’d never imagined. Still couldn’t imagine. Had this been a foolish decision? ~Mail-order Misfire
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(c) 2020 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.
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