This week I started the project I have longed to do since January. I finally cracked open the navy blue journal, pages crisp, unsullied. I lifted my favorite fountain pen, sloshing with blue Waterman ink--sea blue, bright with promise.
And so I began. I touch shining brass nib to the pure whiteness, following sepia lines that keep me straight. And I wrote the thanks, committing each numbered expression of gratitude to the page in my own penmanship.
Since I started this journey, I've dutifully copied and pasted each Monday's thanks to a Word document, then printed all, stark black against glaring white. When I saw Ann's own journal, written by hand, I wanted my thanks to be in my own writing as well. I wanted to take that final step of ownership--making these thanks even more mine.
Because of arthritic hands, I can only recopy ten thanks per day--or hands swell, ache, throb. The work will be slow, spread over many, many warm, summery days. But each time I sit to write, I focus, remember, thank again...gratitude rebirthed, reborn, all anew in royal blue as I nod my thanks, knees bent, to the ultimate Royalty, the King of kings.
So here continue the thanks, the gratitude written into journal as well as electronically inscribed in blog and Word doc. On the page, it takes a breath, truly lives, in slanting hand, pain-worn and rightly earned.
The price can never be paid, but it can be acknowledged.
Joining again with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, over halfway along the journey to One Thousand Gifts....
Thankful to God this day for:
561. ...slanting rain, nearly three-quarters of an inch, suffusing thirsty ground
562. ...flash and crash of lightning and thunder, shaking windows in their frames and forking gray, electric skies
563. ...the quiet of writing in vacant house, silent with neighbors on vacation, creativity flowing in tranquil coolness as their cat rubs against my legs
564. ...snapdragons bright, reseeded from past years, always reborn without gardener's effort--every bloom an unexpected gift
565. ...returning to 365 photo-blogging, marking days by truly seeing gifts through small, point-n-shoot lens
566. ...beloved dachshund healing at last after winter paralysis from ruptured disc; sheer delight in Dashwood's bright-eyed wellness
567. ...whirr of stationary bicycle as I read from Kindle--strengthening legs and improving health while engrossed in new stories
568. ...chime of cell phone, reminding me to pray Divine Hours four times daily: in rising morning, in heated noon, in cooling evening, in drowsy night.
569. ...giggle of kids over sheer silliness, laughter enveloping the family at dinner table
570. ...the jotting of gifts in blue-bound journal, thanks in slanting script, ink staining white pages with cerulean words ruled straight
So I continue to write thanks in my own penmanship, making gratitude all-the-more personal, all the more mine. I own this journey, this journey that brings me ever closer to the heart of the Giver of Gifts.
Writing the Gratitude,