thankfulLast night was a feast with friends at Buca di Beppo—something I didn't expect I'd do or enjoy, considering my mood. But I went, almost detached and, with surprise, watching myself go. Then and now, it's as if I'm being moved by something, Someone other than myself, to peaceful and even joyous places, where I am both blessed and free to appreciate the blessing.
I'm spending today on my own, I think. I'd planned to do so in anticipation of struggle and sadness that's been associated with Thanksgiving for me in recent years, but yet again, there's more. I'm not drawn only to reflect morbidly on those things that have been hard. They are overshadowed by a sense of good. My Abba is working all things for my good, and though that's always true, today I know this. That's His grace, too. Even gratitude is something for which I can be grateful.
Pulling that bottle of wine off the shelf again today, I realize that I'm not the same person who put it there last year. It sits on my table and I keep glancing at it, wondering what it means now, or if I can even know. All I know is my life is huge. It's so much bigger than that bottle, so much bigger than this day.
My life is huge, and I am thankful.
