12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY SEVEN

“Give thanks to the Lord for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.”

The phrase happens at least 5 times in the Psalms and once in the book of First Chronicles where some of the praise psalms are repeated. It was obviously a repeated theme for the poets and songwriters (and kings) of the time. I wouldn’t adequately experience a renewal of my grateful heart this season if I did not focus time on to Whom we give thanks. The truth of that phrase deserves repeat play in my own mind and heart as well.

There are many things in this life that belie the goodness of God. We all know of those things. We all experience them. We all read of them and watch them on the evening news or the latest website post. We may each have experiences engraved in our thoughts that suggest to our hearts, “how can God be good in this?” “How can my ‘good’ God allow this?”

Indeed God more often gets the rap for a faltering goodness — one that cannot seem to stand up to the realities of this world. For an elitist goodness reserved for the holiest of citizens, bargained by the saintliest of deeds. For a lobbied goodness paid as penance for life’s unbending guidelines. For an ill-conceived goodness sometimes spent on those deemed undeserving and withheld from those waiting.

But, that’s not the God I know. I’ve had all those thoughts. I’ve been there. In some ways I am there. And still I have to admit that’s not the God I know. The Bible teaches that both good and hardship come from God’s hand. Both smooth roads and rocky ground. Both abundance and want. He governs it all. He bestows. He allows. He shields. He exposes. The scripture begs the question: How can we accept one without the other from the hand of Almighty God? What criteria can we use to determine what may be labeled as His goodness?

How can we believe all we read and say we believe about this God without accepting His goodness in whatever seemingly faltering package it arrives. It’s certainly true; we often have a failing view. I’m not sure I understand much about the greater good or the unrevealed tapestry we are so often left to locate. What I do know is that recognizing the goodness of God sometimes requires an act of will. It acknowledges that IF I believe in this God, then it is a necessary truth that He is good. What makes it easier to accept? Thanking Him for what we know is good. And thanking Him for His own inherent goodness.

“Give thanks to the Lord for He is good.”

I’m thankful for this truth. I’m thankful for the encouragement to believe and embrace it. And I’m thankful that through this gratitude, I’m better able to understand the second part of that phrase — His mercy endures forever. That is good. Through all the confusing times, bad choices, mis-spoken words, tough consequences, wrong attitudes, failed attempts, and broken paths — all the humanness — His mercy endures. That is good. For all the experiences in this life that seem good, we can thank Him. For all the experiences where we can’t fathom goodness, we can rest in His mercy which endures forever.

Thank God.

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY SIX

Well, on Sunday I started out this week wondering how in the world I could muster the mindset to think about Thanksgiving. How I could make room for gratitude in my heart and mind. Now that I’m midway through this annual 12-day experiment, I can’t imagine what made my heart so reluctant. This week I’ve come from a heart struggling to silence the echo of emptiness to one that is practically bursting with blessing.

It’s been quite an unexpected week.

Some of this change of spirit has come from consciously drawing my attention to blessing. When that happens, it’s pretty easy to see how gratitude could consume me. Blessings are just so good. And when I suddenly open my eyes to how many of them there are in my little life, that little life becomes so much bigger. Yes, paying attention is a pretty effective way to up the gratitude quotient.

But this week it’s more than that. This week some things have happened that unexpectedly brought that idea of reclamation from Monday’s post into much broader focus than the Pile allowed.

Scorched earth. It’s disappointing. It’s intimidating. And it’s deceptive. Some situations just give us the feeling there is no turning back. That despite our best efforts, this ground won’t produce again. And then there are those moments that let us see more clearly. That let us see that what seemed scorched earth is actually meticulously plowed and tilled and ready for new growth.

I recognized two of those situations this week. A business relationship seemed lost to opportunity, producing confusion, disappointment and questioning. A financial struggle seemed an insurmountable mountain to scale, producing frustration, worry and resignation. Both looked like scorched earth. But this week I saw both situations reclaimed. And I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the incredible impact of small steps.

Small steps seem like going nowhere sometimes — a vicious process of one step forward and two steps backward. Progress is so hard to discern that stopping seems to be the logical choice. But the blessings of small steps and small things and small choices sneak up on those seemingly scorched situations. They till the ground for new opportunities in slow and simple ways so that it is ready for the seeds that invariably come.

Small acts of responsibility like paying debts quickly — whether financial or emotional. Small acts of humility like taking the high road — resisting the urge to say “I told you so” or assign blame. Small acts of compassion like extending an undeserved blessing — choosing ways in what we speak or do to say “I wish you well.” Being intentional in those small areas can seem a futile investment when the earth looks barren. This week I saw the re-seeding of some of those barren plots. I’m blessed. And I’m grateful.

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY FIVE

I’m beginning to get excited about Thanksgiving week! This year we’re forming a new tradition. I don’t know if it will stick, but it harkens back to Thanksgiving holidays I remember from my childhood.

This year, my kids and I are spending a week at our family farm for Thanksgiving. Little Drummer Boy is out of school for a week. Bug and Baby Girl’s preschool is closed for half the week, and I’ve already mentioned the blessing of working in a way that allows me to go mobile and cater my work schedule to the needs of the rest of my life.

The plans began in October when we were there for a weekend to celebrate my birthday. Actually I guess they began several weeks before that when I was fielding nightly questions about when we were going to “the farm.” The birthday weekend trip which we call the “Busy Bee Birthday Bonfire Bash” (you can thank my mother for the alliteration) has gained quite a following with the boys. They are old enough to recognize that it’s a tradition and that there’s a red wagon at the farm to pull or ride in. And a tractor and pastures and gravel roads to walk and a gazillion rocks and leaves and the occasional lizard to explore. They are old enough to remember last year’s bonfire which cooked our hot dogs and s’mores. After this year’s shindig, I think Baby Girl has formed her own memories now. At least she’s formed her own ability to ask for the umpteenth time when we’re going back.

So, we’re going back to the farm for Thanksgiving. It’s the first time I’ve spent the holiday there since I was in high school. The place has many memories for me. Many moments that seem to ground my life. My mom grew up there. My dad farmed there. My grandparents lived there. None of that is happening anymore, but the power of the place for me hasn’t changed. I spent many weekends there and somehow had the concepts of family and fun and celebrations and holidays and living better sewn into my fabric there.

It’s different for my kids. They have their own grandparent’s house to visit. For them, no one lives at the farm. There aren’t as many cows or people driving by. We’re not there every weekend. For LDB, Bug and Baby Girl, it seems to exist just for them. To wait for their arrival. Which it kind of does. And which it maybe did for me in a way.

The farm at Thanksgiving was a tradition for me. An old one. One that was a tradition for my mother and my grandmother. This year, that tradition becomes new for MY sons and daughter. And I think that’s pretty amazing. More amazing is the thought that this year’s new tradition wasn’t my idea. It was Little Drummer Boy’s. It was his heartfelt desire to stay longer during our weekend visit last month that prompted his eager suggestion that we should come back for Thanksgiving. And it was all our collective recognition that this place has a new meaning for a new generation that allows us do this holiday thing differently this year.

I’m sure next week along about Day 10 or 11 I’ll have a bonafide “things I’m thankful for” list to share from the farm. Today it’s the anticipation of fresh air, contagious giggles, concentrated time with my sweet kiddos and the opportunity to make old traditions new. It’s the chance to weave some of the farm into THEIR fabric.

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY FOUR

Boy, I woke up crabby this morning. It happens to the best of us, and this morning was mine. This whole week, really. I mentioned at the beginning of the week that I’m running on empty. I am, and I think the tiredness, hectic schedule and constant brain motion are starting to leak.

This morning, everyone was moving too slow. Everyone was too loud. Or too quiet. Everyone was was getting their pants dirty or their crumbs on the floor. You’ll notice that none of the MOMMY’s actions were highlighted in this scenario. Yes, I tried to temper my language and my tone, and not many of those indictments actually left my mouth. Still, my thoughts were filled with total crabbiness — impatience, fatigue and annoyance all balled into one bad attitude. To top it off, it was raining. Rain in the morning means I get wet several times while shuffling the gang to their respective school rooms before I even get a chance to sit down for work.

Get out the horns and confetti, I was scheduling a pity party!

Then, it happened. As it always does. One of those sweet little ones I call my own says something that completely takes me off guard. A statement that lets me question who’s really teaching who in this whole parenting thing. This time is was Bug.

“The sky is sparkling!”

I was buckling him into his booster seat to go to preschool. He was talking about this and that. (Bug always has a tall tale brewing.) Then he stopped mid-sentence and came out with “the sky is sparkling.”

The sky I was looking at was dappled with clouds and raindrops. It was sluggish at best with only a hint there might be sunshine somewhere in the forecast. For him, it was sparkling! It made me smile. It made me shake my head. At myself. It made me giggle. And stop. Overwhelmed by the sheer amazing experience of knowing these three little hearts. It made me tell him, “I think YOU are sparkling!” That gave him a turn to giggle. And give me that look like “mommies say the darnedest things.”

Consider my view shifted. This life is filled with sparkle. If I’m willing to see it. To be blinded by it.

Guess what? Life happens. To everyone. Lack of sleep, crabbiness and all. It happens. Thank God. Way too many projects scheduled for work today. Too few hours of sleep. The pressure to fit everything in. Kid programs and parties and special lunches all requiring my attention. A brain filled with so many details I’m certain it will burst and lose them all. All that busy-ness. Each moment seemingly filled with something. But it’s filled! It’s evidence of fullness. Of blessing. Of the the incredible value of each child (and client) requiring my attention. It is blessing. If I choose to see it as such. If I choose to be blinded by it.

We all have a saturation point. We all have the burden of ensuring that our own commitments reflect the value we really want to glean in life. But, today I’m thankful for the reminder that busy-ness is reflective of blessing. This busy-ness comes from an effort to give everything I can to make these experiences meaningful. To go the extra mile to be there. To be present and accounted for in this quickly fleeting season. And as I weed through a list of tasks and commitments that perhaps can’t all be done, this reminder gives me the ammunition I need to choose. To determine what will sow the most blessing. The most sparkle.