“Sanctification is simply the marvelous expression of the forgiveness of sins in a human life, but the thing that awakens the deepest well of gratitude in a human being is that God has forgiven sin.” (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest)
We cut the branch, skinny and winter-bare, from the tree in the side yard. We do this every November. The Thankful Tree.
The twiggy branch goes on the table, in a glass vase, and one of the boys cut leaves from construction paper in shades of red and brown.
And each night, at dinner, we all share something that we’re thankful for. The gratitude is captured mostly in boyish scrawl. By this time, late in the month, the branches are nearly full. Warm home. Enough food. Mittens. Grandparents. Brothers. Water. Coats. Clothes.
Each year a few of the items are different, and each year many are the same.
But tonight, as we gather around the table, and we share what goodness has come to heart and mind, I think about the difference in listing gratitude and living gratitude.
While I consider this, as the boys chatter and the paper leaves pass, I have a thought.
Maybe the key to living gratitude is looking at life through a lens of grace.
Really, the beautiful, more-than-I-can-understand truth of it is, I’ve been saved by grace. I’ve been redeemed. Saved from eternity without the Lord. Saved from hopeless–vast and dark. Saved, really, from my sins and from myself.
Jesus, I am so thankful for your gift of grace.
It’s not anything I could ever earn. Nothing I could be worthy of. Nothing that can be passed down to me from the faith of someone else.
It’s His gift.
A grace gift to me.
If I consider this truth, it will change the way I live. Breathe. Spend my money. Spend my time. It will change the way I look at people and the way I view the world.
Lord, let me live gratitude. May the grace you’ve given me be the outflow of my life. Let me teach my children to live gratitude, too…
The little boy to my left hands me a leaf and a black Sharpie pen. Soon we’ll take these leaves, and we’ll tie them to the branches of our tree.
“Your turn, Mom,” he says. “What are you grateful for?”
Where to I begin?
For by husband. My boys. My home. My health.
But mostly…
Yes, for grace.
