tomorrow is thanksgiving. and so even as i am definately in an advent state of mind, pleading for God to come and shed some light in the dark corners of my own life, i also am aware that i truly have so much for which to be thankful. and so i meet God in this little paragraph of prayer, if for no other reason than to say "thank you."
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THANK YOU, o great big mysterious God for this enormous gift. this beating heart and these moveable parts. the way my chest draws breath, and the way surprises take it away. the hope that is part of something much deeper and older than this skin and skeleton and yet rises up in me at times with the quiet strength of water and the consuming fury of fire. thank you for the physical, for the cold firmness of earth, the sweet smell of the seasons, the music of the wood and gut stretched across each day like a canvas, the spilled and spattered palette of color covering the universe, and the ability to take it all into my mouth, to ingest and digest every part of this wild world--just to taste and see. thank you for the emotions and the mystery in the way my son simply singing can break this beating heart into a million little God-pieces, overcome with joy and right and good. for the way i can discover home in relationships - a function for my form in the context of connecting with all these crazy people you've created. thank you, too, for the ability to break: to feel another's pain and be fully alive in it. thank you, o lively one, for this enormous gift - for life and for the joy you take in it. thank you.
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THANK YOU, o great big mysterious God for this enormous gift. this beating heart and these moveable parts. the way my chest draws breath, and the way surprises take it away. the hope that is part of something much deeper and older than this skin and skeleton and yet rises up in me at times with the quiet strength of water and the consuming fury of fire. thank you for the physical, for the cold firmness of earth, the sweet smell of the seasons, the music of the wood and gut stretched across each day like a canvas, the spilled and spattered palette of color covering the universe, and the ability to take it all into my mouth, to ingest and digest every part of this wild world--just to taste and see. thank you for the emotions and the mystery in the way my son simply singing can break this beating heart into a million little God-pieces, overcome with joy and right and good. for the way i can discover home in relationships - a function for my form in the context of connecting with all these crazy people you've created. thank you, too, for the ability to break: to feel another's pain and be fully alive in it. thank you, o lively one, for this enormous gift - for life and for the joy you take in it. thank you.
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