Gratitude — if it were a color, which one would it be today?
When I spotted this Japanese Maple seedling, its assertive color stopped me. Tree bling, albeit a little tattered at the edges. That the earth offers this rich, saturated hue delights me. It matches my mother’s favorite Christmas dress, worn yearly throughout my childhood.
Then there’s the seedling’s shape: flamboyant, open. A diva seedling. Botanists use the word samara for this winged shape. I like how that sounds, rolling off my tongue: Sah – mar’ – ah.
Notice the built-in transportation. When the stem lets go, the samara spontaneously whirly-gigs through the air.
Each seed has its mission: develop; break free; generate life
The longer I look, the more I see and the more I am moved by detail. Symbol. Potential applications to daily life. Insight develops. I need these small pauses. The wonder I absorb leads me to gratitude.
And being grateful defuses my fears when circumstances overwhelm me.
Last Sunday our bulletin featured this quote, by M. Craig Barnes:
Christians will always live carrying in one hand
the promises of how it will be
and in the other the hard reality of how it is.
To deny either is to hold only half the truth of the gospel.
Gratitude aids the balancing act—especially these days. Post-election, I’m grieved by how people are treating each other. How will I respond? How do I avoid becoming jaded?
Break free
For starters, I go for a walk every day, which often reminds me of the two years I used crutches, wheelchairs, and electric grocery carts. I don’t ever want to take mobility for granted. A walk triggers gratitude.
I also try to view my surroundings with new eyes. No matter how troubled I feel, creation offers unspoken, easy-to-miss invitations that stir me to give thanks.
Generate gratitude, generate life
Some days I need help—especially when there’s bad news, less daylight, dreary weather.
This little game (try it in a waiting room) helps:
Number 1 to 100, onscreen, or on a piece of paper.
Without stopping to think, quickly fill in the blanks. Yes, all of them.
Somewhere around 60, things get interesting.
Did I know I was grateful for brakes?
Glue sticks
and dental floss
Mercy
Wishbones
and windows
Forgiveness
Spices
and wide-tooth combs
Even changes
Why bother?
American theologian Jonathan Edwards called thankfulness for blessings “natural gratitude.” It surfaces easily, effortlessly, when things go well.
On days I can’t muster any, I ask God for a radical transfusion.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation,
by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving,
present your requests to God. Philippians 4:6
In his excellent book, Breathing Under Water, Richard Rohr tells us: “Life is a gift . . . every day. In my experience, if you are not radically grateful every day, resentment always takes over.”
Don’t want to go there.
Researchers tell us gratitude promotes relational harmony and personal well-being, both physical and psychological. It boosts a sense of belonging. It improves our sleep and strengthens our immune systems. And here’s my favorite benefit, so relevant amid our nation’s current uncertainties: Gratitude enhances empathy and reduces aggression.
Even if it starts small, gratitude by its nature expands, eventually pierces even the roughest terrain.
Philippians 4:7 goes on to say: [having asked and given thanks] the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
What color is your gratitude today, and why? I’d love some inspiration for long winter days ahead . . .
My gratitude color is gold. I am trusting in the God’s word that trials purify our souls. Dross removed hopefully. And the gold of Christmas coming soon.
And all the chaff burned away. How beautiful your testimony, dear friend, and lasting.
Such a beautiful post to read this morning. I am going to save it so I can ponder your words that stirred me throughout this somewhat stressful day. Thank you!
Carol, Happy Thanksgiving to you, my friend! May the peace that thoroughly supercedes our wildest hopes and understanding heal and keep you amid the stress. So glad to touch base with you this morning. I’m off to peel potatoes before the crowd arrives.
Hello Dear Friend of my heart, and Happy Thanksgiving to you and your kin! For me, the color of gratitude is the subtle, ever-changing color of mist and fog as it thickens and thins against the conifer fingers in the early morning brightening of the sun. It’s a good thing to wake up and take stock of the beauty before even touching feet to floor. In the brightest nights, I try to block out the light that peers in through this oversized bedroom window, by tossing and turning, churning the covers and pillows in a way that creates clefts of darkness to rest my weary eyes. After some deep sleep, (perhaps even — dare I hope?– dreams!?!— the joy always comes with the morning light… The colors. Thankful for each new morning and the promise of a new day full of wonders, grace and mercies to fill me with gratefulness and inspiration. ❤
Happy Thanksgiving Eve, dear Pacia, I’m recalling that magnificent window and imagining the moon and starfields that often keep you awake. Your description of that almost-alchemical morning mist wreathing trees both fires my imagination and quiets my senses and sensibilities as I read it this morning. You are a gift to me. Blessings on you and your family as you celebrate tomorrow (and prepare today!).
Hi Laurie, thank you for refreshing grace and hope filled courage in the hard places!
“The longer I look, the more I see and the more I am moved by detail. Symbol. Potential applications to daily life. Insight develops. I need these small pauses. The wonder I absorb leads me to gratitude.”
My colour for gratitude is the first blush of dawn. That thankful list really makes us mindful of the things we forget to be thankful for!
Blessings dear Laurie xx
Hello, sister-poet. I’m grateful you found refreshment here. You offer so much, to so many. With that daily “dawn outlook,” no wonder your creativity deepens, then brims over.
Your phrase, “the first blush of dawn,” stirs me. It’s not often I’m awake to see that blush, but having read your words, it makes me want to rise earlier.
“Tree bling.” I love that.
My gratitude color today is green. A ripe avocado bought today and ready for tonight’s meal (which is late because my husband is caught in traffic.” Green leaves on trees and shrubs. Palm trees waving in a warm breeze. Just a tinge of green that I’m missing the first snowfall at home–and a lot of guilt that I didn’t. 😉
Hi Sandra, what a treat to see you here! Thanks for stopping by. You must live near the right stores if you can buy a ripe avocado. I have to buy and wait and often they turn to mush because I forget to check on them. May that buttery taste delight you both as you sit down to feast in paradise.
Hm. Thanks for asking! It is nut-colored. Pecan.
Grateful today for the food-savvy friend who has fielded many of my “Is this still safe to eat?” questions and who suggested that local woodland creatures wouldn’t turn up their little noses at the year-old pecans I found this morning.
Grateful, too, for the reappearance of the bulk nut displays in the grocery, which always feels festive to me; and that this store, unlike the one where I shopped the last few years, keeps the nuts separated in their own bins, so if I want pecans, almonds and filberts, I don’t have to pick around the walnuts and Brazil nuts.
And the nut-colored skins of some of the trees, allowing me to see more of the river now that they’ve shaken off their leaves.
Later tonight, the nut-brown tea I’ll drink.
And thank you for this, friend. Grateful for you and your way of seeing.
Laura, you’re making me hungry! Pecans, yum. I don’t think they ever last a year at my house. 🙂 I’m full of grins at all the senses you’ve stimulated in me via your gratitude. While reading your words, a memory slipped out: my mother’s two-section satiny-smooth wooden nut bowl, built-in handle across the divider, one side for shells, one for her favorite nuts (she would have liked your orderly Pittsburgh bins) and then all those cunning metal tools to pry out the meats.
Wishing you a rich evening, my friend!
Oh, dear Laurie, today I immediately think of PERIWINKLE…. it is my favorite color on you 💖 I’m SO grateful for all your labors of love here, this page/place of rest and hope. HAPPIEST Thanksgiving dear one!
Periwinkle, my favorite!! Thanks for being a faithful reader, dear friend. And may your Thanksgiving celebration delight your spirit as well as your senses. Love you!
As always, Laurie, your lyrical posts resonate deeply, and I’m discovering more points of commonality with you…. like saying thank-you every time I walk around the block!! How could I have ever taken ambulation for granted? but I had, until I was flat on my back for nearly six months, and not walking well sans excruciating pain for a year after difficult foot surgery. (God supplied amazing healing). I’m so very grateful for His literal gift of walking . . . and for blessings too numerous to count in my spiritual walk. The color of my gratitude? I think of it more as transparent… having clear eyes to see miracles and beauty everywhere which elicits my praise and gratitude to God. When my eyes are foggy or blindfolded, it’s then that my heart closes in discontent and ingratitude. Oh, for transparent eyes to see the colors of beauty and blessing all around me.
Thank you for this beautiful sharing. This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for having discovered you and your lovely work. Later, I’m totally deluged!, I will respond to an email from you and tell you more about Iona. Forgive my lack of response…not from disinterest whatever!
Love
Lynn
Lynn, fellow pilgrim, hello. And welcome back. I will look forward to hearing more about your time in Iona (no hurry, share when ready).
I had no idea we also shared the Sisterhood of the Wounded Foot—but hasn’t it left us richer, more agile in spirit, more attuned to simple graces?
Love this! “The color of my gratitude? . . . transparent… having clear eyes to see miracles and beauty everywhere which elicits my praise and gratitude to God.” Can’t help imagining that transparency with an opalescent shine, lithe and light as a soap bubble.
Happy happy Thanksgiving to you!
AH, love that buoyant soap-bubble image–and I used to love “doing” the dishes. You’ve reminded me of how immmersing my hands (albeit gloved) in silky suds became to me a personal cleansing, altar-time washing all things new. I enjoyed the task while simultaneously listening to the wisdom (and wit) of Elisabeth Elliot. I did this for twenty-four years, because we lived in an old house, sans dishwasher (unless you count me)~! Yes, I truly learned lessons of humility and dependence upon the Lord during that difficult season of foot-woundedness. And didn’t your experience remind you of Him, who was wounded for you (at least I felt that way on some miniscule scale. For who can fathom the depths of His suffering)? Pilgrim. That is a word worth exploring. I have a feeling I’ll know far more after my return from Iona (although my daughter reminds me I have always wanted to have a bagpiper at my funeral, and I’d already be in place!) This pilgrim is praying for survival! Bless you, Laurie, for this kind and beautiful response. Now that we really do have a dishwasher, I’m thinking I need to go buy a bottle of liquid bubbles and blow!
L.
Lynn, my mother once told me a story of a blind lady who got her sight back, how the first time she washed her dishes, she was absolutely agog over the bubbles, played in the “silky” dishwater until her fingertips pruned up and the water went cold. (I think she was trying to, ahem, elevate my attitude about chores. 🙂
And yes, I thought many times about the wounded heel mentioned in Genesis, and the terrible terrible nails piercing Christ’s feet, and I searched out scriptures that mentioned feet. There are so many! If you paged through my bible, you’d see cartoon feet drawn into the margins wherever a foot-verse especially struck me.
So your trip to Iona is upcoming. I will pray you not just survive, but thrive! Wishing you wings for your feet as you walk those shores.
What color is your gratitude today? I don’t think I can name a color, maybe soft pink like a newborn, all hopeful around the edges. (In a waiting room as we speak, beginning a journey towards recovering my husband’s hearing.) I’m thankful for 5th floor windows and friendly caregivers.
Oh Jody, what a marvelous description of gratitude plus hope. May the doctor zero in on the best solution. I’m so glad you have windows while you wait, and gentle company as you launch the restoration journey.