Skip to main content

Giving Thanks

An ancient wise woman, Julian of Norwich said, "The highest form of prayer is to the goodness of God... God only desires that our soul....clings to His goodness. For all of the things our mind can think about God, it is thinking about His goodness that pleases Him most and brings the most profit to the soul."  The gift list is thinking about His goodness - and this, that pleases Him the most.  AND profits our own soul and I am beginning, only beginning to know it.

If clinging to His goodness is the highest form of prayer, then this seeing His goodness with a pen, with a camera shutter, with a word of thanks, these are the most sacred acts conceivable. The ones anyone can conceive, anywhere, in the midst of anything.

Ann Voskamp's book 1000 gifts, focuses on giving thanks.  
Echaristo means to "give thanks."  

Consider this.   The Eucharist, communion, IS thanksgiving......
At anytime, anywhere you can partake.....  In giving thanks, you commune with God.  And God inhabits the praise of His people.


So what about the "BAD" things???

I, like you, have thanked God for so many of the good things in my life.  But when was the last time that you thanked Him for what,to us - from our limited perspective, appeared to be the"bad things"  If God is omniscient, omnipresent & omnipotent then don't you think He knows what He's doing? 

Think of a time that something happened that appeared to be bad, but in retrospect, turned out to be completely "other" than what you expected -good or even great.

You lost your job, yes, the one you hated, that demanded too much and gave too little.  You struggled through & somehow made it. You saw God do wondrous things with the little you had, your family spent good times just being together, then the call came and the job you'd never even dared to dream of was offered to you.  Was this good or bad?  It is either one or the other but it cannot be both....

Maybe you didn't get an offer of your dream job, but you lost the house that was sucking you dry & now that you are out from under it you don't have to consider getting a second job and you're now able to pay the rest of your bills AND this new little rental requires less time & energy so you take off for the beach since it's a lovely day.

How would our perspectives have changed if only we'd have given thanks to begin with?  Maybe we wouldn't have missed some of the blessing in the little things.  Maybe we wouldn't have worried so much or even at all.  Maybe, just maybe, we'd have lived in each moment instead of wishing it away for a tomorrow we weren't guaranteed.  Maybe we'd have gleaned all the goodness of each day, each moment and it wouldn't have been good or bad. It just would have been.  (that is a word for me right there!)

It's easy to talk finance & stuff but what about when you're staring down the barrel of terminal illness....  Could there possibly be anything good in the midst of such a storm?  Let us see....

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
    neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Thanksgiving is an altar upon which we are raised above our circumstance and given an eternal perspective all the while we take in the Glory of the Son.


  1. Wise words. He is deserving of our tnks and praise.

  2. Oh, how often I forget to do this. I think you have the makings of a devotional book here my friend :) I've been looking over some of your previous posts. You are a very gifted writer and our loving Savior shines through you and your words.

  3. Beautiful words & sentiment, and so very true. I know in my life as I look at what has been the "worst of situations", it's been through them that the Lord has brought the very best or the true desires of my heart. Thanks for sharing this at this very time....this is a reminder of more current "situations" in my life, not only to remember those "altars of remembrances", but also trust what will come out of recent sorrow and loss.

  4. Guilty in the first degree of not living in the moment. Of NOT considering that through the "bad" things God will create GREAT things. So in need of this reminder.

    God's light shines through your brokenness and the prism of His love shines through the cracks in your pitcher so beautifully, it's like a Kaleidoscope of God's love. Smile, my girl. It's the biggest crack you have (well, that we want to see) and that's when He lights up the room. :-)


Post a Comment

Did something touch your heart? Please share about it.

Popular posts from this blog

When the pain get too big

There are times when the heartbreaks of this life collide with our weakness and the pain gets so big that even breathing is hard.  It’s like being dragged under by the surf and tumbled over and over until up is down and you’re dragged along the bottom and raw wounds meet with salted surf and the searing pain of it is only a faint echo of the pain within your soul and you gasp for breath and flail helplessly, like a rag doll, until you’re eventually released upon the shore coughing up the brine of your own tears… This is where I have been. Literally on the verge of tears at every moment.   Memories, regrets, sorrow, missing, aching, loss - churning, growing to tsunami intensity threatening to overwhelm.   Today I received a devotional from a Jewish Messianic site challenging us regarding the Sabbath.   Oh, how my soul yearned for it.   A Sabbath, a rest.   But the to-do list haunted and I headed to the shower to start the day.   All the while rest was beckoning to me…   What h

It matters not

It matters little who I am. Each one of us has a story to tell, a life filled with love, loss, heartache, joy & laughter.  I am just a busted up pitcher.  Yes, the image that came to your mind - whether one you pour iced tea from, the one with the chip on the lip so it spills as much down the outside of your glass as gets in. Or the little creamer pitcher your gramma had in her hutch, the one with the broken handle that has glue globbed on it's listing side.  Or the one that you pour oil with, the one with the faint crack you overlook because you never think to replace it while you are shopping.  Oh, or maybe it's the purple plastic juice jug that hit the heating coil in the dishwasher... melted a hole an inch from the top but you never fill it that full anyway. No matter what image came to your mind, that's me.  The true value of a pitcher is not it's appearance or even its purpose but it's what the pitcher holds that is precious.  The sole purpose of the p


Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure"-- for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints. [Rev 19:7-8]   We’ve all been to weddings. Everything focuses around the bride. My favorite moment is to watch the groom as he catches the first glimpse of his bride, he’s overcome by her beauty – she’s prepared herself specifically and especially for this day.   Now imagine, how does the bride of Christ prepare herself to be radiant for her beloved? Righteous deeds, good works… As I pondered this passage and how it applies to this season,  I heard “Un-becoming” . I sense that this season we are in is a cleansing period, a time of preparation.   UN   becoming who we’ve become; busy, weary, anxious, overburdened, chameleon – being who others want or expect us to be. Lost, depressed, frustrated, needy.  And instead, shed the shackl

The Cost of Freedom

  Memorial Day I once thought I understood the cost of freedom. I’d heard the family stories, my momma named for her uncle shot down over France, I’d been to the parades and ceremonies, could repeat great quotes, I’d seen the movies…   But then a few years ago I walked among the names – name after name after name, reaching far, even unto the horizon;  and the faces of sons and daughters and mothers and fathers – determination in their countenance, fear in their eyes, aged beyond their years.  One caught me as I walked by, gripped my heart and dragged me up close. He stared at me, wanting me to see, wanting to be known. Though his lips unable to speak it, his lifeless eyes told of the horrors he’d seen, the death he’d lived, the life he’d taken. He was just a boy, once full of life, now, full of death. He begged “Remember me.”  And through tears I vowed I would never forget him. Him without a name, an ordinary face – just one among many…  And then I stood, in reverential silence as mirr