The Paradox Paper #37
The outcome of gratitude
Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you ate well next to people you love. And if not, I hope you had the best Thanksgiving available to you. Here’s a few words I wrote down in a brief moment of quiet Wednesday afternoon. As a reminder, the Paper skips December, but she’ll be back in January.
Welcome to The Paradox Paper, a monthly newsletter that honors the everyday paradox of a life with Jesus. If a friend forwarded you this email, click here to subscribe:
In this edition:
Thoughts on gratitude
A song for the winter
If it’s true that all good gifts come from the Father of lights, who is Himself goodness, then the logical (thought not always natural) response to that truth. Gratitude, and peace. If my Father is good, and the source of everything good, then I can relax. There’s no need to rush. He has all the good stuff, and He will share it with me, because He is good. I can breathe deep.
You would think the excess of stuff in my life would mean I’m just a gratitude fountain every moment of the day. In fact the opposite is often true. My over abundance, whether by shame or entitlement, blurs my vision of the Father’s care. Shame whispers, “Look how much you have! Why you? Why all this? Why not the woman who holds the sign in the median? Think of the kids in El Arado, sleeping in the dirt. Think of their mothers.” And I don’t say “Thank you,” loathe to bring extra attention to my inordinate privilege.
On the other hand, entitlement complains so loudly that gratitude can’t get a word in. We’re out of milk. The driveway is cracked. The floor is dirty even though I just mopped it. The dental insurance hasn’t processed my claim yet. One of the children has come down with the sniffles on the weekend. The din of life’s inconveniences is so distracting I don’t stop to think about the gifts of grocery money, safe driveways, cleanable floors, dental insurance, and parenting in a place where the sniffles will not take my child’s life.
But when I remember. When I stop to breathe and look and wonder, gratitude is there waiting. Gratitude banishes shame and anxiety. What I have is not a result of my scraping and grasping and hard work. It is a gift, mine neither to horde nor to ignore, but to share and enjoy. My shoulders don’t bear the weight of my life. It is a gift. Gratitude silences the constant grumble of the American Dream. Actually, I don’t need more. What is good for me has already been given. Given, not earned. It was not my worthiness or status or especially fine bootstraps that landed me here in this life of mine. It was the kindness of God, who gives because it is His nature, and does not wait for us to be deserving.
So what now? If I let the goodness of God shine light on shame, breathe out anxiety, silence entitlement, what then? Where does gratitude lead me?
A life with less shame, anxiety, and entitlement is certainly a better life. But I don’t believe the individual’s personal benefit is God’s only reason for commanding gratitude. It’s not just better for me, it’s better for the world. Because the outcome of gratitude—especially habitual gratitude—is generosity. If what I have is a gift, and the Giver is good, then I can unclench my fists. I may not be able to afford to help someone in need, but my Father certainly can!
I can afford to be generous, not because I’m a middle class American homeowner, but because my Father—the one who takes care of me—is the source of all goodness!
I can afford to be generous with my time. The Maker of Time pays attention to every detail of me, in every moment. I can look you in the eye and listen a little longer.
I can afford to part with my money. The Owner of All has already sealed my inheritance.
I can afford to share my knowledge. It hasn’t always been mine, and I don’t have to know more to be loved. The All Knowing One already loves me all the way. And you too.
I can afford to be generous with my forgiveness. The Judge of the earth has forgiven me. He’s kept track of all the rights and wrongs, and paid off all my debts. Why spend my energy holding yours against you?
When I give thanks for it—remembering the nature of the One who gives—I see that I can afford to share it. Praise God.
Hold the paradox. Don’t panic. See you in January!
-Steph
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