Thankful

If you read my last blog post, you already know that I am reading this book by Ann Voskamp called One Thousand Gifts.  It is messing with me.  I mean seriously messing with me.  Getting under my skin, deep under my skin.  It is changing the way I think and breathe and live.  I have read it through twice and I'm on my third time now.  I cannot recommend it highly enough.  I am also keeping a gratitude journal.  Not one of those thankful to the universe ones that Oprah made popular years ago, but a thankful to God for every last breath kind of one.  To God.  The Great I Am.  And yes, for every last breath.

A couple Sundays ago I was having my quiet time in the bathtub early in the morning, like I usually do.  My devotional had me in Psalm 139 and I read:

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
      you formed me in my mother's womb.
   I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!
      Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
      I worship in adoration—what a creation!
   You know me inside and out,
      you know every bone in my body;
   You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
      how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
   Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
      all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
   The days of my life all prepared
      before I'd even lived one day.

This passage was dear to me when I was pregnant with my little ones, but my youngest is almost five and unless God steps in and does a miracle, there's no more babies for the Joneses.  My immediate response was negative.  I thought, "Whoop-tee do.  I've read this a hundred times and it means nothing to me.  David certainly thought a lot of himself."

Did you hear the ingratitude?  It runs deep.  Deep.  Immediately, I felt conviction.  God didn't even have to say what I knew He was thinking.  I have never, not once, been grateful that He made me.  Most of my life I have lamented the fact that I was on this earth.  I have cursed the day I was born and wanted to die too many times to count, and although those instances are happening less and less, I was just there again last week.     

The thing that I find fascinating about God is that he's never done.  One of the interpretations of "I Am" is "The Ever Is-ing One" meaning always at work.  Always working out something good.  Always bringing about redemption.  In my humanness, I think that it's enough that I just don't hate myself.  But in God's God-ness, that's not enough.  He wants me to celebrate the day I was born, to rejoice, to be grateful for every last breath. 

On my own, I simply cannot do it.  I need God to do it.  On my own, I beg God to change me.  I ask Him why I am the way I am.  It's never enough for me.  I always want something else, something better, something different.  With God, I can simply enjoy the life He's given and stop begging for something I'm not. 

So today, I'm asking God for something else.  I'm asking Him to help me to be thankful for me, for life.  This body that I believe is so terribly flawed has carried and birthed three amazing human beings, has been a comfort to my husband through deep sorrow and times of joy.   My arthritic hands have prepared many loving notes, handmade cards, sewed many a project, cooked too many meals and treats to count, washed tons of dishes, have been folded in prayer and raised in worship.  My arms have comforted many.  I've been told I give a darn good hug.  My lap has held and comforted many precious children, most importantly my own dear ones.  My eyes have cried many tears of hurt, sorrow, shame, remorse, repentance, compassion, worship and love.  I've spent many hours on my knees in prayer for family, friends, loved ones, and believe it or not, even a couple enemies.  Although my lips have spoken too many things they shouldn't have, they've also spoken words of encouragement and love and wisdom.  My back has helped to carry many of my friend's and loved one's burdens.  My feet have paced back and forth with fussy babies.  My mind has prepared many lessons to teach a Sunday School class that I love.  And my heart has loved way too many people to even count. 

Maybe, just maybe God does know better than I do.  Maybe He created me on purpose.  Maybe He knew what He was doing.  And maybe I can be thankful for the day I was born.