Gratitude Journey

     Plenty. My life demonstrates one filled with abundant blessings. My Pepsi One can overflows. And I'm not talking about my tendency to spill.

     On Thanksgiving, I want to direct my gratitude upward, beyond the textbook stories of harmony and peacemaking between the Native American tribes and the pilgrims, beyond the beginning of a nation that has generally blessed me, but hurt others. I want to direct my gratitude above the human-created ideals. To the Maker of the Universe, the Lord of my life.
     In his sovereignty, God could have made me the same person from the start, and placed me in an entirely different situation. But He didn't. He put me in this life, rich with friends and necessities covered, and in a safe neighborhood. He gave me a husband that worships Him, and us three healthy, precious children. He is the God of grace beyond comprehension.
     In her book, Radical Gratitude, Ellen Vaughn, explores countless stories about people who remain thankful, or find thankfulness again, through and after sudden family deaths, captivity, persecution, rape – and everyday life.

As a great friend of ours has said, a thankful heart gives a greater sensitivity to beauties both divine and mundane. He often finds himself sitting still in the moment and looking at what's around him, processing it all with different gradations of appreciation, but using the same word throughout: “Oh, Lord! I love my family. I love my house. I love the sky. I love this cup of coffee. I love You! Thank You!”

That's not only gratitude, and love, and worship. It's called joy. Radical Gratitude, pg. 205

     Granted, it's not always easy. But I believe to start the habit, I can record thankful thoughts in a gratitude journal, and when complacency, tragedy and difficulty enter, perhaps I can find thankfulness anyway. I do keep a gratitude journal, irregularly, and it is a good practice.
     Vaughn relays a truth, though, that Chuck Colson, founder of Prison Fellowship, emphasized to her. Gratitude is not at all a spiritual discipline, it is, in fact, the response of a believer to the Spirit's work. In turn, Vaughn says, if grace is the gift of God (which it is), so too is the gratitude that grace creates. I want both. Please, in Jesus' Name, Lord, give me an overflowing of both.
     In my life, I've experienced loss of friends and family. Disappointment about goals and prayers God has answered, “No,” or “Not yet.” Frustration with myself and others. Anger about injustice. Wounds. Grief. (And I confess to dishing out these, too.)

Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you who belong to Christ Jesus. 1 Thess. 5:16-18

     Lord, That's a tall order. I can't do that without You doing it in me. Please, please help. I know if you give me a heart of gratitude, you'll also be giving me a heart full of joy. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

Helene's Thanksgiving '10 Gratitude List, Abbreviated
A phone call this week from a friend who I had not spoken with for about 10 years. For younger church friends who let me cuddle their babies, and get my fix. My women's and couples' small group friends. Children's ministry at my church. Sisters. Family. Great tunes that bring back fun memories of high school. Pepsi One. Chai. Laughter. . . .



©Helene Bergren. All Rights Reserved. 

Missed Sycamore Shots

Sometimes my photo expeditions just fail.

On Saturday at my parents’ farm, I  walked out in front of the house to capture some views of the little pond, about 100 yards from the house. 

The tall grasses rustled, and my stomach did that tightening thing where I might think supper didn’t agree with me, while my heart lub-dubs like it wants a pacemaker. Really, it’s just fear.        

Too riled to get any closer to the tall grass and lurking cougar, bobcat or nothing except the wind, I snapped a shot of the pond with a power pole’s guy wires in the foreground. Lovely. 

Deciding to capture a photo of the beloved sycamore tree in the back yard, I traipsed closer to the house, and its safety.

In my fear and shakiness, I snapped closeups of leaves, crisping at the edges with the telltale signs of autumn. They span the width of both my hands. Nice shot? No, blurry. 

I shot between the overhanging branches, through the sort of splotched yellow and tan-gray of sycamore bark, beyond the aging and now grassy livestock lots, to the outlying, low-lying bottom fields. What a scene. But, not to be idyllically captured.

Disappointed, on the drive home, I thought about if I turned an oh, well moment into a bit of unnecessary sadness. My favorite tree. I wanted to capture it. Yet, I know I’ve missed other shots, and I can laugh at myself over this.

But. My mom gave me my old Creative Writing class Critter Sitters folder from high school that day. In my office Sunday, I thumbed through the pages, and was delighted to find much precious work from my senior year.

And a sweet surprise, not a coincidence, a God-orchestrated discovery.

In my legible, but not artistic, cursive, I found a poem about the sycamore tree. What a smile that brought to my face, and my heart.

A two-fold gift, from my generous, kind God. In addition to the poem itself, I received confirmation and understanding of why missing that shot brought me a touch of sadness. My attachment to and appreciation of that tree truly is woven into my history.

Not very many kids of the 70s and before who sang the ‘Zaccheus was a wee little man song,’ actually played under a sycamore tree. Not all of them pretended he was in their trees in their backyards, and Jesus was right there calling Zaccheus down to invite himself over for a little din-din. But I did, often.

God gave me a gift in finding that poem  — immature and unpolished as it is.

God is in what may seem like little things, minor happenstances. And that’s good for us.



©Helene Bergren. All Rights Reserved.

                   (Poem posted in a separate blog entry.)