Celebrate the birth of Christ with gratitude
St. Gianna Beretta Molla said, “The secret of happiness is to live moment by moment and to thank God for what He is sending us every day in His goodness.”
My family has a tradition on Christmas Eve. A candle is passed from person to person, and each takes his turn sharing what he is thankful for.
Of course, people can pass, quietly handing the candle over to the next person in line without sharing. Most people are thankful for their families, perhaps a new job, or a house, or baby.
It can be a panicky moment, waiting for your turn. “What will I say?! I only have 30 seconds, tops, and it has to be good!” Sometimes I find myself planning ahead so that I don’t get stage fright.
So, that’s what I’m doing now – planning ahead. It’s been a long autumn. The house has been full of sick kids and the “100-day cough”. I’ve been sick, with piled dishes and laundry, lost schoolbooks, and a leaky roof. How very easy it has been to put gratitude on hold. It’s not even self-pity all of the time. Sometimes it’s just plain, old, stinking reality. Life can be hard, dirty and tiring. It may not occur to us to be thankful in those rare, brief moments of inner silence. I know that my inner silence is only partially silent … it’s it’s mostly a whispering and nagging type of silence. “What’s for dinner?” it whispers. “When are you going to scrub the floor?!” It’s hard to say “thank you” when there is another voice competing for your inner silence.
So, like I said, I’m planning ahead. And here’s what I’ve discovered: I am blessed. My God is good, and He is faithful.
I am thankful for the faith my parents baptized me into. It is a faith of love, reason, goodness and truth. It promises me an eternity of happiness, and gives me a reason to live honourably. Knowing my flaws and weaknesses, it really is an act of mortification to imagine what type of person I would be without God’s grace.
I am thankful for my husband, whose selfless love seriously makes me shake my head. I cannot imagine having to live with me. But somehow he convinces me that it isn’t so hard for him. He is handsome, kind, generous, forgiving, helpful and never complains when I look gross. We laugh together and enjoy our family together. He also does dishes and rubs my feet, so, hey, obviously, I’m thankful.
I am thankful for a mother who loves me and spends time with me. We laugh together and get annoyed with each other. She has bought me ice cream, run baths for me, helped me with my babies and loved on my children. I don’t know many other kids whose mothers had their own stash of fake cigarettes and plastic pukers.
I give thanks for children who amaze me with their endless smiles and mischief, and an innocent desire to be holy. I am impatient with them and I raise my voice, but still they want my kisses. They are creative and beautiful and continuously shock me with their ability to do really weird and dangerous things before I have a chance to stop them.
And before my 30 seconds is up I will say that I am thankful for the chickadees that nested in my driveway, for vanilla milkshakes, for potty-training successes, for Sweet Georgia Browns, Gregorian Chant, a Heavenly Mother, for the smell of snow, chicken Caesar salads, a running vehicle, my cozy moccasin slippers, homemade soap, the Communion of Saints, yarn, ballet slippers, Michael O’Brien, my dahlias that grew into October, homemade soup, lion costumes, Lego churches, Jim Gaffigan and the gift of laughter, in-laws who are lovely, sweet old men, pasta, my thrift store boots, watching my daughter dance and sing along to Toby Mac, and the dishwasher I used to have.
I am thankful for the Fiat of a young woman 2,000 years ago, and her tiny little Baby, born to give me all that is worth being thankful for.
