One Thousand Gifts . . .

I'm spread out, three Bibles around me when I remember the toast under the broiler.

And weeks now my mind has been one track and I'm seeing my selfish ways.

I'm open to the book of James and I read . . .

And those who have reason to be thankful should continually be singing praises to the Lord.  James 5:13

It's a rugged and sometimes painful kind of Christian living this book of James reveals.  James was realistic and brave, crystal clear in meaning when he wrote.  Words of God.  Letters from God.  Written then to guide me now.  Chastise me now?  Yes.

I'd like to avoid the impact of James at times, his gutsy writing that reaches in and sees me real pulls out my messes and brings them to surface. I'm feeling like I'm holding my breath so I don't sink.  I'd rather stay on top and keep my messes below - hidden where they belong.

But I need to breathe.

I throw away the toast and start over.  So how can I wonder why about this small thing or these large things or anything else when God tells James to tell me that I must sing with praises?

Then I close my eyes and let God tell me Himself.

And

My gratitude list continues . . .

burnt toast

paint on the walls

spray paint on the hands

tears and his I sorry

second chances as I sigh and start gratitude over, and over, and over . . .

dirty faces

winter clothes packed away

dinner out when I'm too tired

free downloads

muscle relaxers

hearing Izzy read to Max

lunch with Donna

easy conversation

an empty dishwasher

finding all the mates to the socks washed

a lemon dream at two in the morning

fur lined boots and eighty degrees and he doesn't care and I smile knowing this will make my list

cell screen that lights up 'Janice'

My list, #'s 622-640.