losing ourselves in thanksgiving

When I complain, I'm so big, my problems are so insurmountable, my weaknesses irremovable.

When I look up at my Father's hands, I become a small child with open hands, joyful heart, my problems are not to be fretted for because He knows all and gives all I need, gives all that is good for me. My weaknesses don't matter because I know He is strong.

Things I'm thankful for.

.salvation. I am nothing without Christ, He is all my righteousness, all my joy, and all my peace

.the incarnation-that God of the world, the creator came into this messy world, took on flesh and is able to redeem us and able to understand and comfort us

.the body of Christ, in Omaha, Cement City, Hillsdale, Lancaster, Louisville, Cleveland, all over the world. Along with this, the sweet fellowship that bonds us all together whether we've known eachother one minute or 6 years or never met.

.my wonderful, big, crazy family and my dear amazing mother who loves me

.my sweet job, and my wonderful coworkers-we have an incredible team-I love working with people who care about what they do

.tea, and coffee :)

.dear new friends, and deep sweet steadfast friends from over the years.

.heat in our home, clothes to wear, and food on the thanksgiving table

These are all gifts of love from my Father's hands, blood bought gifts.

In the dance of death unto life

Today I am taking a moment to breath in and enjoy God's beauty in creation and creativity. It's something I honestly don't do enough. Sitting on the porch of our sweet house, I catch myself in rapt attention to the shedding, burning golden tree across the street as I read Little Gidding by T.S. Eliot. I don't pretend to fully understand Eliot and I know he takes multiple rereadings but I just love his insight and his way with words even though they slip, crack and break to him. His grasping and straining for the right words to aptly describe life is beautiful. This passage caught me.

" the conscious impotence of rage

At human folly, and the laceration

Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.

And last, the rending pain of re-enactment

Of all that you have done, and been; the shame

Of motives late revealed, and the awareness

Of things ill done and done to other's harm

Which once you took for exercise of virtue.

Then fools' approval stings, and honour stains.

From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit

Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire

Where you must move in measure, like a dancer."

Perhaps it caught me because what Eliot is saying resonates with what I recently have been reading in Proverbs about the deception of our own hearts...

"The purpose in a man's heart is like deep water,

but a man of understanding will draw it out.

Many a man proclaims his own steadfast love,

but a faithful man who can find?"-Proverbs 20

Perhaps it is because what Eliot is saying resonates with what I see in myself. I know far too many things have I done and still am tempted to do for "virtuous" reasons which are selfish, rash and ignorant.

But I love the hope in Proverbs, in Eliot, in the gospel.

I want to learn from them and be holy. I want to remember that the refining fire is able. Able to delve into our deepest parts, reveal and scourge those ugly half-hearted motives and bring to life dead, unable, foolish hearts.

For those He kills, He makes alive.

In my end is my beginning.

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.