This is the get ready for Thanksgiving as a designated holiday writing. Yesterday was a tangled day for me. I have a certain structure to get ready for my days, not too rushed for an elderly woman. Monday morning I had to go check, check, check to be ready to walk out of the house for an eye doctor appointment, the slowest doctor I see. I have a first time with the note taking drop lady then am sent back to the waiting area while everyone else does the same thing I did. Finally I get my turn with the expert, hear her comments, and am sent on my way, a long time past mid-morning. Lunch of sorts and off to physical therapy which moved the day onward to mid-afternoon. I already had plans with a son for supper and to an organ concert with five U of Houston students. I literally was trudging on feeling like times from a childhood when my dad would move a pump handle with no result. Then I remembered. He would pour a little water down the pipe to force out extra air so the water available could flow. The priming water added to this very bland day was the surprise of an organ teacher I knew, the chance to encourage one of the students my son knew, and the overwhelming performance of the last piece that called for flying hands and feet to send forth a triumphant ending. I went home with my whole attitude toward the day pouring out in gratitude.
I woke up this Tuesday thinking of the first line of a George Herbert poem I had copied years ago, “Thou that hast giv’n so much to me Give one thing more, a grateful heart.” Truthfully, is the water not flowing? In reality, I need to move the negativity, so an abundance of noticing good can pour out. This very week, I’ve whined for rain, and it has come. The temperature has dropped enough to turn off the a.c. and lower the electrical bill. Tomorrow even promises to be that first moment of sweater weather. I will bake my offerings for next Thursday and once again the eaters will say, “No one can touch your rolls!” May I notice what around me needs a “Thank You!”
This week pay attention to your hand on the pump handle. Getting ready for company or to be company can seem more demanding than for it to feel like a gift bestowed, yet the gathering is not a sparse blessing. After many years, I looked up the whole poem, and the last stanza brought me up short. Pair it with the last verses of Psalm 100 and move from thank you to praise!
Not thankful, when it pleases me; as if thy blessings had spare days; but such a heart, whose pulse may be Thy Praise.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.
Psalm 100: 4 – 5
Let Me Tell Ya 