Journal of Graces

This past Christmas I received the book, One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. A friend at work had recommended the book, knowing what flavors I like to read. Oh, the exhilarating thrill of words playing with each other, poetically, romantically, daringly. With each turn of the page excitement snaked up my spine. During Thanksgiving I penned about gratitude, deep breaths of gratitude, the winning type of thanksgiving that outpaces resentment, the Roadrunner racing for joy. Ann Voskamp's story has deepened my inner hunger to live gratefully. Joyfully. I am on the move, taking the dare. I dug into a bottom drawer, fished out an empty journal I had laid aside years earlier, simply because it was too beautiful to use. What better place to start! Clicking my favorite pen, I opened to the first blank page. #1. beautiful journal #2. On-Point pen. I inhaled a fragile appreciative breath. #3. fresh brewed coffee. Oh, the possibilities. The hunt. My eyes dart, searching for gifts and graces, for the not-too-appealing gifts, back to graces. Truly, I am an amateur at this discipline of gratitude. But I have a hope, a burning desire. That by the practice of naming graces, gifts, writing them down in ink, I might have a greater chance at releasing my inner resentments, fears, and yes, my pride. Like Henri Nouwen said: "resentment and gratitude cannot co-exist" It isn't that difficult. The naming. #4. full moon rising. #5. babies tiny teeth. #6 cold medicine. With each stroke of the pen, this thing, this gift, becomes illuminated, magnified, appreciated. Isn't that what this is all about? This life? To learn to receive what got lost in the first place? To disinfect the old wounds and pain with God's joy? #248. seagull winging it over winter waves. Like any amateur, it takes practice. #249. swoosh, swoosh of windshield wipers. But if I linger in the moment,  in each stroke of the letters, the seeds of humility sprout, and the eyes of my heart grow wings of everlasting joy.