When I walk through a greenhouse, air humid with summer exhales under a dome of glass in a sea of winter, and I breathe deep.
The Farmer wanders aisles, his own green thumb itchy. Boys make plans for a million venus flytraps lining every room in the barn. I touch petals. I think how they are made of cells. All the small making all exquisite.
There is DNA in my fingers, that invisible stuff holding up kings, and there are atoms spinning out a universe, and babies have brought us to our knees, God himself humbling Himself to humanity in miniature, coming to bend and wash the dirt between the toes beads, the rim, the curved bottom of our stained souls. Do not disdain the small.
Significance is in direct correlation to smallness and life is leveraged by all that is little.
Hope leans over tulips.
I had told her, when Hope herself was small, that the world was so large that we couldn’t see it’s sphere unless looking back it from thousands of miles out into space. And then earth is just this perfect blue seed in an endless vastness.
Like a globe, life looms impossibly large only to us pressed right up close to it, but in reality, it’s small too, cupped in the hollow of Sovereignty. His eye is on the sparrows.
There are primroses and dwarf daffodils. I circle again through the orchids. Petals delicately unwrap things tied tight inside, things I keep forgetting. Breathe. Breaths, the very whispering of His name. Inhaling new mercies.
The yellow of all these orchids, so awake.
This is one small, complete moment. And I am leveraged, turned.
I knew a woman once who laid in a hospital bed begging God to let her go home to just wash the toilet bowls one more time again. I might not have been here. I might never be here again.
Beyond the orchids, there’s a cloud of pink blossoms, like embers opening into flame in white space, like Holy Spirit fire falling down, like tongues saying that the reward of the unhurried is the real life.
That is always the thing: to make a point of moving slow enough through life to really see.
There is a bench. I just sit. The pink buds all glow overhead. I am here! Breathe.
What does it take to make us grateful?
Funny, how sometimes it is only imagining loss that I can see my abundant reality.
I can hear the boys laughing. The Farmer and Hope are picking out a pot of gerberas. I am here for this and the world still rebirths everyday into little glories and what if this small moment marvel had never been?
On the way back out into winter, I lean over the heart of an orchid laid wide opened, small splendor of a thousand small splendors laid wide open every small moment, and I inhale.
I will memorize grace.
#2198 – #2218 of the One Thousand Gifts that I can’t stop counting… the small graces that has me memorizing His love
a ring found, daffodils in pots in January, his birthday,
pencil crayons on the van floor, scissors and papers and six year olds, memorizing Colossians,
friends, unfathomable grace of friends,
Ema with her eyes wide open, night snow glimmering in headlights, always finding marbles everywhere,
watching mama quilt, never alone, never alone,
early Saturday morning prayer meetings, being home to wash out toilet bowls,
communion and the taste of the bread on the tongue, the lingering and remembering and worship,
twisting back Hope’s hair, wearing prayer socks, women who brave tears together, then bend knees & bow heads,
an apple core in the laundry basket, illness that makes me pray & go slow & stirs me to not take things for granted,
remembering to breathe,
memorizing Grace right here.
For you, for you, for you:
A Gratitude Calendar for February….
Jot down every day the gifts from His heart to yours.
Number One Thousand Gifts.
Count the Ways He loves you.
And you beautiful, grace-filled people! You keep passing on the hope of joy right now and sharing the dare and you sent the book into it’s third printing since it released two weeks ago and landed it on USAToday’s bestseller’s list this week. (And if you were thinking that you’d like a copy for a friend at some point, there are bookstores offering significant savings today– and the best place to ask may be at your local bookstore where it may be on their shelves right now?) But what moves me deep is the grace of meeting you over at the Bloom Book Club … the grace that we could meet. Share. Encourage. Together Memorize Grace and give Him thanks. Walk together and He would lead us on. His story in you is the greatest grace. Thank you for sharing you.
(And if you have a MOPS group or a small group that you’d like to share the dare with,
email with your address and we’d count it a privilege to slip 10 bookmarks your way for you to share the dare to joy with friends.)
Today, if you’d like to share your own celebrating, your own marking towards 1000 Gifts of thanks — (please, jump in!) — just add the direct URL to your specific 1000 gift list post… and if you join us, we humbly ask that you please help us find each other by sharing the community’s graphic within your post…