Greeting people on Sunday mornings, I’m fueled by thankfulness for their presence.
A good pastor looks for the sacred within the ordinary.
"Write down one thing you are thankful for," said my friend. "Just one."
I should have known better. Grandma had nine decades under her belt of doing things her way.
"I've learned a lot from working with trees. More important, I've worked with people on imagining how to love each other."
In America, we cherish the inalienable right to have things our way.
How is thankfulness engendered? By giving thanks in all circumstances.
Be humble. Think of the imagination of God that brought creation into being; there could have been nothing.
Peter Leithart’s book can be seen as one long act of ingratitude. Sometimes, he seems to be saying it is more blessed to reject than to receive.
I cherish Thanksgiving for its cultural institutionalization of the practice of gratitude. And because there are no gifts and few cards.
To build stronger communities, we need to get in the habit of recognizing what undergirds our relationships. We can't afford to take it for granted.
The only rewards that matter can’t be earned.
There are moments when you just know what’s coming next. No one has to confirm it for you; the feeling in your gut is confirmation enough. After I lay on the ultrasound table for two minutes, the technician left me alone while she went to find the radiologist. I knew I was in trouble. No one had biopsied anything. No one had uttered the word “cancer,” much less “lobular invasive carcinoma,” but I knew.