Leftover Turkey Sandwiches and Other Such Nonsense

The scent of sweet potato and rosemary is wafting through the house tonight - I'm making baked sweet potato fries (which I will enjoy with Vanilla Honey Chamomile tea, thankyouverymuch).  The smell reminded me of yesterday, Thanksgiving, and how I probably should have sat down and written a little something about what I'm thankful for... because I'm a blogger, you know?

...But then I sat here, staring at the blinking cursor on this very large, very grey page, and I thought, Am I really going to write one of those run-of-the-mill Thanksgiving posts?  I'm so thankful for my family and my friends and my house, blah, blah, blah.  (I mean, I am grateful for those things, but who isn't?)

So I decided to do something a little bit different.

...which, let's face it, might end up being not that different at all.

All I could think I wanted to write about is how gratitude changes everything in my life.

Gratitude has given breath and life to the joy that I cultivate.  Gratitude is the bellows that stokes the fire of passion and excitement to my every day.  Gratitude gives way to the glorious yes! of my life.

Even knowing these things, even feeling them down to the immaterial elements of my spirit, mustering gratitude sometimes seems to be a heroic act beyond my reach.  At times, gratitude seems something Godly and distant.  And while I often admire its Godliness, I never, ever acknowledge its distance, for - if I choose - I feel its ever present closeness... like it is perpetually sitting on the tip of my nose and I just have to choose to fix my eyes a certain way so that I might glimpse it.

Gratitude is the lens which opens this dark and dreary world into something much more heavenly.  Gratitude forms the walls of the temple within.  My worship is nothing without the gratitude that supports it.

I sat, yesterday, with a smile on my face as I peered through a jungle of candlesticks, gravy boats and fizzing Martinelli's bottles, observing a family that has made excellent practice of gratitude.  Not only do they love one another (because familial love is often not a conscious choice), but they are so grateful for one another.  It was beautiful; gratitude - not mere love - changed the tenor of that home.

I hope that we will each determine to grasp that benevolent creature, gratitude, and welcome it into our hearts with more fervency.  I hope that we will not detain ourselves from this gift for another year, until another Thanksgiving marches into our attention.  I hope that we might play architect with our inner selves and make gratitude the very beams of support upon which we might erect our holy of holies.