I wrestle her. She seems to outwit me and break the rules by trying to choke the life out me. The breathing, living hope sputters for air and she comes again with her steely grip. The dogged determination I have to hold hope, to win this battle over creeping discontent, to find things to be thankful for. She comes at me with running force and knocks the wind out of me. I come up with breath of newly dawned day, and whisper a begged plea.
I push her out the door, out with the cat food. She grabs hold but I push her hands off. No strength of mine, this battle I cannot win. "Mercy, Lord, mercy. Grace, Lord, grace. Double doses today. I need them." I swallow them like a starving man half gulps down his meal without chewing too much. This medicine, this food, it satisfies. Give thanks, eat and it is more than enough.
Little boy hands reach and touch blue frog, little boy body creeps backwards across the kitchen floor and bumps into legs that tower over him like the great granite pillars. He touches toes, and continues his trek, scratching tile grout along the way, collecting treasures with his excited eyes. "He isn't mine," I remind myself. He's like a new library book on loan to me. His long fingers explore, little replicas of mine, tiny little wrinkled knuckles.
He tells me it is a heart posture, this learning in all things to be thankful. It is more than a prayer whispered over a meal. The life attitude that everything I have I do not own, and what I have is pure gift. A gift, what we have been given, when our eyes choose to see what we have not been given. A gift, when with camera like clarity we choose to focus on what we have and the background becomes blurry. Stewards of life, of joy, of hope and what we've been given. We'd like to package things up, and put a number on them, file them away in place. But life is a conglomeration, a book that bleeds ink page to page that describes what we have relates to stewardship and relationship. It isn't the ten percent we give, it's the hundred percent that we have. And we unpack these little boxes, and choose not to live a sham.
And yet, some days I still wake up wrestling with her. With trembling, hungry hands I'll drink this overflowing cup I've been given. It spills and satisfies, reminding me of the more-than-enoughs and the abundantlys. Today, that is enough.