In Loving Thanks
They always asked—my teachers, my friends, my parents, that is, “Well, what are you thankful for?” I found that question most confusing. How could my little list begin to answer such a question? So I’d crowd the paper with the names of those asking, to insure their thankfulness for me and secretly whisper to my dog and horse that I was the most thankful for them. In a universe more easily spoken about through infinitudes than itemized lists, I have finally come to a place where I can answer that question with a sense of certainty.
I am most thankful for having sufficient time on this planet to reach the point, where staring into the face of my sixty-seventh year I can say without doubt, I am truly grateful for having the time I needed to realize that what once I called bad, I later called good. What once I called frightening, I later called instructive. What once I cried over, I later cherished for having experienced. What I am thankful for is being here long enough to know that every single seeming piece and part of life is just as it should be, and in that knowing I can relax and let it all in like the first warm breeze of spring, and laugh.