Gratitude in the dark.

Gratitude.

As I reflect upon "gratitude," and the times in my life that I have been overwhelmed by gratefulness, what strikes me is how those profound moments--the sacred ones that have really stuck with me, are not these extravagant, mind-blowing moments; but instead, are quiet and simple and often arrive not when I feel that I am in a "comfortable" place in life, but rather when I am in the dark.

One of these moments that I will forever treasure as long as I live is the way that my firstborn looked into my eyes when he was brought up to my chest at his birth. The first words I heard the Doctor say after delivering him was "this baby has a little cleft lip!" Those were shocking, unexpected words to hear, but then there he was--this perfect, beautiful baby boy in my arms, with these piercing big blue eyes with a trusting love that looked straight into my soul. I don't even remember his lip, just those eyes, and the way he stared into me filled my heart to overflowing with gratitude for the privilege to be on the receiving end of something words cannot even give justice to.

I feel that gratitude when my hardworking husband says "I got her," when our baby chirps early in the morning and we are both tired and groggy and not ready to start the day.

I find gratitude when I stop and marvel at the intricate, delicate beauty in the smallest of creatures that Kai drags into the house from the garden--often in my favorite coffee cup or wine glass.

I hear kindness in the voices of my children as they play when I'm still enough to listen. When I look beyond the mess, I can hear the laughter and feel the joy with which they create and imagine and play and it gives me immediate perspective.

I am often filled with gratitude when I watch the sun rise after a long night up with a sick or teething child. When I choose to open my eyes to the vibrant colors that streak across the sky and marvel at the greatness of the God who painted that sky for me, on that morning, I am grateful for another day to see, to rock, to love.

When I get outside for a hike or a run under the warm winter afternoon sunlight and listen to the birdsong singing praises of joy to the author of life and beauty in the midst of any circumstance, I am filled with gratefulness that I really do have everything that I need; and like the birds, have plenty of things to sing about.

Gratitude is often uncovered by a little voice saying "I love you, Mommy" in the middle of a mess or hectic morning.

It is found while singing to a sink full of dishes.

I see it in my weathered, strong, hands that cook, scrub, hold tiny fingers and fold in prayer.

I hear it in the whir of my washer and dryer that does loads and loads and loads of laundry.

And it was embraced by the light of a battery operated bulb, beneath a cave of worn, cozy quilts with warm little bodies reading book after book when many of our everyday luxuries were suddenly stripped away by a violent wind storm. During those cold, dark days I felt warmth in togetherness, I could hear beauty in the quiet, I saw hope in the kindness of others and stumbled upon gratitude in the dark.

On this Thanksgiving eve, I reflect upon that gratitude that comes to us in the dark. On that light that slices through our deep valleys and illuminates the goodness and beauty that are actually right in front of us--just brought into focus by our will, determination and desire to see it.

May your Thanksgiving be filled with reflection for the simple joys that we often rob ourselves of in our own busyness, and may your hope be found in the unseen--like gratitude in the dark.