I know there is poor and hideous suffering, and I've seen the hungry and the guns that go to war. I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives.
And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic, I make a place for God to grow within me.
The whole of the life -- even the hard -- is made up of the minute parts, and if I miss the infinitesimals, I miss the whole. These are new language lessons, and I live them out. There is a way to live the big of giving thanks in all things. It is this: to give thanks in this one small thing. The moments will add up.
Thanksgiving-giving thanks in everything-prepares the way that God might show us His fullest salvation in Christ.
Gratitude's not a natural posture. The prince of darkness is ultimately a spoiled ingrate, and I've spent most of my life as kin to the fist-shaker.
Eucharisteo—thanksgiving—always precedes the miracle.
Is the height of my chara joy dependent on the depths of my eucharisteo thanks?
Remembering with thanks is what causes us to trust - to really believe.
Are stress and worry evidence of a soul too lazy, too undisciplined, to keep gaze fixed on God?
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