two words that changed everything

The other day I asked Austin what he thought of the name, Autumn. I think it’s just lovely due in large to the fact that its synonymous with fall. I haven’t gotten to experience the crisp bites of autumn air in it’s season’s entirety for years, so I get soft butterflies in my stomach when I can smell the changes and feel the shift in my bones. I’ve noticed the orangey hues are beginning to pop in our neighborhood’s oak trees, and today I slipped on my tan boots, more to look the part of fall than to participate in the practicality of it. It’s a glorious time of year, filled with a bittersweet feeling of what’s to come and a heavy heart of gratitude for the satisfyingly- sweaty summer months.

So in the name of fall I thought I’d share a pre-pumpkin, pre-turkey disclosure of what God has been doing in and through my own heart. Simplicity at it’s finest, but challenge at it’s most profound.

Two words. Thank (and) you.

Everybody has his or her ‘thing’ and mine is my back. It’s testy and moody and decides for itself when it’s going to rock a yoga class and when it’s necessary to wake me up in the middle of the night. Lately, there have been spasms and episodes that have taken me back to the pain I felt right before my back surgery in 2006. I get scared; not as much for the pain but for the process of the pain… the unknown, the setbacks, the yatta, yatta, yatta.

Because there are people out there that love me, I was able to get a massage this past weekend. It was then that it dawned on me that I have been living in a discontented, self-pity trap when it comes to my back. There is no room for God when I’m too busy picking at, fussing about, or criticizing what he created. So, I chose to do something radical. I chose to thank God for my back. I thanked him for the years I’ve been able to be active, I thanked him for doctors that have made it better, I thanked him for the pain that causes me to rest, and above all, I thanked him for my back's incredible limitation. ONLY in the limits of my back am I reminded I’m not invincible, I’m desperately broken and I’m unavoidably needy. I'm the desire of an invincible Lord, broken by my fallen nature and needy for his renewing mercy. All while I was lying there, prayers of thanks filled the room and brought a couple tears to my eyes, which, now that I think about it, probably deeply worried the technician.

I’m finding that with every passing thank you the discontentment I feel about myself, my relationships, and my life’s course, are gently being replaced with a pure and holy contentment for the life I’ve been trusted with, the people that surround me, and ultimately, the God that I pursue. This kind of contentment can only be found in gratitude and it can only last when I take the time to audibly, repeatedly say… thanks... that was a gift.

Often, I find myself being consumed by my past or feeling anxious for the future. And usually, when these thoughts are prevalent, God feels distant, my days seem to blend together and I second guess myself or my worth.  Freedom comes from finding something (anything!) to be sincerely thankful for in every moment. IE: the colorwheel of the flowers bunched together at Trader Joes, the book of Psalms, the work God's done through past wounds, Oreo cookies, quiet moments, or that crazy feeling of knowing I'm living and walking out an answered prayer. 

Thanksgiving is still yet to come, but thanks is giving me much to dwell on until then.  So, as I thank God for readers that somehow deem me worthy of being heard, I invite you to pray your first, second, or 7000^th prayer of thanksgiving to a God from whom all blessings flow.


For now, pass the pie.