Thanktification

"Every Knee Shall Bow" by J. Kirk Richards

My children all lisp the letter s. I think it’s because we read so much scripture. Lydia says “sanctification” thanktification. A fitting word of the day. The process by which existence is rendered sacred through gratitude—thanktification.

The Spanish word for thanks is gracias—literally, “graces.” Thankfulness is one of the loveliest attributes, the most gracious. And we receive grace for grace. Blessings for thanksgiving. Grace upon grace.

Today and every day I am grateful for the infinite grace made graspable through Jesus Christ. That broken things may be mended. My friend Brandon—who I wrote about yesterday and whose second grade teacher’s love saved him from the small hell his parents created for him—tells students that things can change, people can change, but not by themselves. They need an outside power. Divine means of help or strength. As a teenager, once his life had been reclaimed by astonishing grace and he had been adopted into a real family, he one time saw his mom on the side of the road. He said her face was melting away from meth abuse. His friends made some offhand comment about this ragged and shabby woman, and he told them it was his mother. He stopped to pick her up and after a painful conversation he dropped her off in government custody, hoping against hope for an outpouring of grace for his mom.

After not seeing his father for years, Brandon went to the mental hospital where his dad was staying. He had destroyed his mind with drugs. “He was like a three year-old,” Brandon says. After a few minutes of helping his dad remember who he was, his father brought him a worn t-shirt and a small bag of beans. “I’ve been saving these for you,” he said, “for five years. I wanted to give them to you for Christmas.” Brandon said that his heart cracked and he felt grace heal his hatred for this man who had destroyed his childhood. He forgave him. He loves him. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him all creatures here below. Praise Him above, ye heavenly host. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

septembereleventh

I wasn't alive during the Holocaust, and as a child I wasn't aware of the Rwandan genocide. But eleven years ago I was a 20-year-old missionary in Mexico, and I remember the sinking feeling I felt as I watched an airplane smash into a building full of real people with real lives, real families, real hopes. Today I mourn man's inhumanity to man. I mourn the cruelty, the thoughtlessness, the violence, the hatred.

I mourn the difficulty we have seeing that every human being is worthy of honor, of love, of compassion, of respect. I don't know how we fail to see that people who think and feel differently than we do still think and feel, that their lives matter as much to them as mine does to me. Life is sacred. Humanity is holy.

Today as I mourn, I determine that I will be kinder because of what I remember. I decide that my sorrow will not turn to hatred, to vengeance, to violence, but rather to love, to forgiveness, to friendship.

Today I want eyes to see the hidden sorrows that surround each soul, I want ears to hear the silent cries of the oppressed, and I want a heart that responds with a willingness to give of myself to help alleviate pain, sorrow, fear, hatred. Today I choose love.