when you open your hands to what is

It falls unexpected in October.

A snow white whisper hushing the trees burnt all red.

She stands at the window and I watch it fall behind her, her at the glass and the flakes so soundless, heaven on white wing.

And I don’t expect it, in a room full of women and flashing laughter, the way she turns and says it quiet —

“My daughter is dying.”

Sometimes grace is the way a moment unfurls into wing and something of God flutters near.


I step closer, step in, try to catch all this falling down.

Is there really anything to murmur except to just come close and stand with someone?

She says it straight out and clear —  “It’s been a gift.”

That when the diagnosis came, the doctor said terminal and only a year more, at the most five — but then the unexpected, this wild grace of ten.

How she once sang like a bird, twirled in her four-year old spin, and then the years of slow regression, the walking giving way to the wheelchair, the songs giving way to loss of words, and now, the end, giving way to infant beginnings.

It’s kept us always living just in this moment —  because we know today is the last like this.” Sometimes you know you will never forget the way the light burns in someone’s eyes.

She’s a flame in snow.

“Just always so grateful for every moment we’ve been given.”  It’s falling straight down behind her.

I reach out, just to touch her shoulder and she’s radiant and the truth lands here in the open hands:  Giving thanks to God is what ushers one into the very presence of God. And this is why He asks us to always give thanks.

He comes to those with the open, grateful hands.


In the morning, the white-laced water begins it’s melt, the days all vapor.

Her testament, it remains and I remember, the way she flashed grace in snow, one fading moment after another, and I want to burn thanks right into me.

In the morning light coming up from the east, it’s clear —  everything hanging on the trees, all that is left, all the leaves —

Still all in this open flame of bare, ardent praise….



It is in the process of being worshipped that God communicates His presence to men

~ C.S. Lewis

#2781 – #2786 of the One Thousand Gifts that never end…

the way she sparked glory in snow

women — exquisitely, soul-beautiful women

the Farmer’s gentle emails

each woman carrying a God-story that always remains

these days of crazy grace

this moment

and taking nothing for granted but everything with hands of open thanks


kaileaves.button onethousandgiftsbutton
the book button


Free Printables to wear the habit of Joy

October’s Free Gratitude Calendar

Picnik collage

Write down 7 gifts, 7 days of the week, 1 sheet of paper :

(folding instructions for booklet here)

Picnik collage

Will you join us? And happily change everything by keeping your own crazy list of One Thousand Gifts? Please, jump in, make your life about giving thanks to God! — 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 in our refrain of thanks by sharing the community’s graphic within your post. Give thanks to the Lord! His Love Endures Forever!