Grateful

I've been thinking about gratitude a lot lately.

When I culled some objects and priced them for the shop,

I realized that what I keep

is usually in the category of

"receptacle."

The little bowl shown here is full of old slides from Peru.

Each one holds a story, an entire drama.

Example: a missionary doctor conducting tuberculosis testing.

One of the vivid memories from my jungle childhood is walking to church

at dusk with my mom and little sister.

As we approached the thatched-roof church,

we could see huddled figures just outside the doors,

coughing and coughing

dying from tuberculosis.

 So when I look at that slide, I see

the shift from death to life.

 I think life is much like that bowl of slides.

Some events are so beautiful.

And my pattern has been to be grateful

for the good, the lovely, the easy.

The pictures that are a pleasure to remember.

Here is my newest receptacle, a big metal tray.

I have no idea what it was made for.

It's on the coffee table (actually a piano bench),

and at present it's holding this stack of photos

and a book by Henri Nouwen.

I am a reluctant spender and finally,

after a year of wishing I owned it,

I bought this little book on Amazon.

Used.

Maybe the best $5 I ever spent.

These jars hold little stones from Lake Superior.

They are worn smooth by centuries of cold water.

Here is Nouwen on the topic of "lifting our cup to life."

"When we lift our cup to life, we must dare to say: "I am grateful for all that has happened to me and led me to this moment." This gratitude which embraces all of our past is what makes our life a true gift for others, because this gratitude erases bitterness, resentments, regret, and revenge as well as all jealousies and rivalries. It transforms our past into a fruitful gift for the future, and makes our life, all of it,

into a life that gives life."

I want to be grateful.

Truly grateful, for all of it.

In this season, I am holding onto this simple picture.

It's a reminder.

 The perfect receptacle

given by the One who calls me beloved.

It's all good.

"In the midst of the sorrows is consolation,

in the midst of the darkness is light,

in the midst of the despair is hope,

in the midst of Babylon is a glimpse of Jerusalem,

and in the midst of the army of demons is the consoling angel.

The cup of sorrow,

inconceivable as it seems,

is also the cup of joy.

Only when we discover this in our own life

can we consider drinking it."

(Henri Nouwen)

(The old black and white photo on the coffee table shows me and my little sisters in our house in Peru).