What, ever , is meaningless?
Nothing. I dont believe in coincidence. I believe in the Plan-God.
Tonight, Thanksgiving Eve, is always a Wednesday. And Wednesday is ALWAYS youth groop in my family. Homework or not. Busy or not. It is mandatory. It is a reflex. It is a breath for the middle of my family’s week. We NEED it, because we ALWAYS need more of God and sanctified fellowship. Last year on Thanksgiving Eve, it was just Sidecake (my sister) and I with our youth pastor and his wife in that room with the multichromatic grey-black-white room smitten with chalk.
So tonight, all one- two- three- nine of us were seeking Him. Deepest night of the year, closest night of the year. Most wonderful youth groop each year. Daring each other to be thankful and write down 50 things we were thankful for each day, from today to next Wednesday. A friend suggested these numbers from my Eucharisteo journal.
1) Butter on small eyebrows
20) Funny teacher’s response
993) Waiting outside of church, “Centuries” comes on
8) Big sisters flying to catch stray balloons
808) Life Hack #1: Know God
These numbers. Just the beginning of 1000 gifts. 1000 things I see, find the hand of the Moment God in. Like a love dare, but this one is a thanks dare. A joy dare.
I want to get to 10,000.
I dare you to write fifty things you are thankful for. Just today. Right now. Find them in one sitting. You certainly have enough to be thankful for, and if you don’t have the time to be thankful for them, then you have no right to have them.
That is a dare for you.
Today, I am thankful for :
- Depression fought weak.
- Humility stinging deep
- and Dorcas’ ring Cor.
- As her eyes searched
- and Club’s mind seekd
- both they to disprove the secular
- and make it sacred;
- moment like a beat
- pounded percussion sazzle
- deep wood-box banging truth
- and worship for few
- ascribing depth to shallow
- Mockingjay and Krampus
- because we know there is more more
- deep down far once a year
- into the one little flake of snow falling only heere and NOT EVER there
- and those Diamonds are only hidden,
- not destroyed
- on Thanksgiving eve
- we hunters of the dawn
- during the redsky blizzard
- outside and inside and around heere world
- only to end in that Hebel
- which brings back around to that one circle swirl
- much like those leaves fighting brooms
- and spinning centrifugal childish
- assaulting Child-boy to work into tears
- Because it is stronger
- to be a woman with grace
- rather than force
- eating our words,
- humble pie mouthfuls
- Seeking first in dawn
- new mercy light shimmering bold soft
- and i am a child of it.
- “Those whose joy is morning sun
- and those suffering through the night”
- Daughter of the Morning
- And those cracks in the tile floor
- offset by ceiling beams
- lovingly grouted and lovingly grounded
- to try our patience
- never wood
- always sponge-knees and squeak-bleach
- as we clean the dust from the low
- we become low Dust
- as He was, and joy comes
- for in the low, we see Him
- Like Manatees from Mannatech boxes delivered
- we are New Creations morningly: Children of the Dawn.