"Thank you for..."
Which do we learn first: “I’m sorry,” or “Thank you”?
This third part of my series on prayer is about thankfulness; like confession, it’s been a familiar concept since I was a little girl.
I can’t even remember the first time an adult asked me, “What do you say?” after doing something for me or giving something to me. I remember plenty about Thanksgiving: Mama using every pot and pan she owned—I think she would have dragged out a cauldron if she’d had one—to prepare enough food for a football team, all while the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade aired in the background. (After years of tweaking I think I’ve finally replicated her dressing—cooked outside the turkey, naturally—and her cranberry sauce.)
As I’ve grown older the list of things I consider Really Important has shrunk to a count-on-your-fingers level. But I’ve yet to fully plumb the depths of the things that remain.
Like gratitude.
On one level it’s so simple. You give me a gift, whether it’s a sparkly necklace or a box of Raisinets, and I immediately say “Thank you.” Maybe, if I’m really good, I’ll even write you a note. I’ll do the same if you grace me with a thoughtful gesture.
But what about Thanksgiving? I thanked Mama for preparing a feast, but who could I thank for the fact that we had food? Daddy worked hard to support us, but who supported Daddy? Who gave him strength for each morning and rest at night?
God, of course. Like saying, “Thank you,” recognizing His Goodness was an integral part of my upbringing.
Mr. Pettit and I took the same approach with our sons. I learned new lessons about gratitude even as I taught them, and developed a fresh appreciation for God’s provision. For material needs, certainly, but also for wisdom and patience and persistence even (and especially) when I felt I was hanging on my by fingernails.
When those little boys left the nest I had to come to terms with the fact that I no longer had control over their lives. Then it dawned on me that I never did.
We tried to guide and guard them, but we were never in control. God was.
God is.
And when I give thanks for another sunrise, for the breath moving in and out of my lungs, for the laughter of a grandchild and the warmth of my husband’s hand as it folds around mine, I acknowledge that God alone is sovereign. Omniscient. Omnipresent. Holy, yet ever-merciful. Ever-generous.
As a writer, I live a lot inside my own head. I create worlds with my words. And when I’m not playing make-believe I’m examining my thoughts like a miner panning for gold, wondering if I’ll uncover something worth sharing here.
I am never bored.
But I’ve learned that so much self-focus can easily morph into a type of self-worship. Nothing so obvious as a deranged soul wandering the streets, claiming to be God.
No, it is more insidious.
The danger lies in beginning to believe that the credit for a compelling story line or a deft turn of phrase belongs to me. That I can do it all by myself, thank you very much. I’m such a clever girl, after all.
That’s when the Holy Spirit gets my attention, usually in the form of a metaphorical kick in the belly. “Oh,” I pray, as shame settles over me. “I’m sorry.”
Slowly but surely I have learned that thanking God continuously—for a cool breeze, not slipping on a patch of ice, the email from a friend—keeps my focus on Him. Gratitude draws me out of myself. It turns my gaze outward, to the Source of my imagination, the Power behind my words, the Giver of…well, everything..
Yesterday was Good Friday, the day when Christians remember the death of Jesus on a cross. I’ve often wondered which was more painful for Him: the brutal torture of His body or the separation from His beloved Father as sin—my sin—covered Him like a shroud.
Today is Holy Saturday. Jesus’s disciples spent this day mourning the loss of their friend; they were adrift without their Anchor.
But we know how the story unfolded. We know that Jesus rose on Easter morning, having defeated death once for all. He offers abundant life to us here and eternal life in the hereafter.
And for that I say, “Thank You.”
Today.
Tomorrow.
And forever and ever.
A war memorial on Mt Srd, overlooking Dubrovnik, Croatia
