The house is still, and those most precious to me are sleeping soundly, nestled in the warmth of their beds. Pup, too, is fast asleep. As I move softly in the early dawn to kiss sweet foreheads, pup’s gentle snore offers reassurance that all is in its rightful place. Rain had poured through the night, but now, as daylight breaks, the sky offers a vision of silver-white touched with tempting hints of soft pink. I step outside, and the air is clean and thick with heavy dampness. It is, once again, a gorgeous day. I smile more deeply, warmed from my inside with the thought that it is also Thanksgiving, my most cherished holiday.
Lemon tea steamy and inviting, I sit down to write my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I shiver involuntarily–not from cold–but with intense gratitude for what has been bestowed upon me. This day, of all days, I feel to my depths that I have more in my world than I could have hoped for in my dreams. Posh material items rank low on my list of necessities; most of my prized possessions are precious items that would be meaningless to others. It is the vintage photographs of my mother, the wide-eyed portraits of my sons, and the snapshots with friends that are dear to me. Charmingly lop-sided gifts of handmade pottery, notes of love, seashells collected on ocean forays, and drawings created by willing, tiny hands–these are the most delightful treasures that grace my walls and tables. Yet treasures and pleasures aside, I have been blessed with every necessity I could possibly require. I have splendid health–with both willing, able body and mind that allow me to work with joy. Extraordinary friendships and family, both old and new, enrich the landscape of my life. I think on the gifts within my spirit, my abundant love, positivity, and resilience. I realize my good fortune in my very bones; there are many who have not a fraction of that which is priceless to me. Again, that shiver of deep gratitude washes through me and over me.
It is not that my life has been easy, for it has been filled with difficult twists, turns, and stumbles. I’ve walked (and, sometimes, barely crawled) through great sadness, turmoil, and pain. In one fashion or other, I’ve known some version of the wounds carried by the clients who walk in my door. And that, I believe, is the source of my insatiable desire to help others. There is some light, some intense flame within me, that will not be put out; it demands to survive in order to shine for others. Possibly, then, this is one of my greatest pleasures–both a gift and a deeply felt responsibility.
As always happens when I write, I find that time has scurried by. I gaze out the window and notice the mist lingering at the tops of the fir trees. The sky has blushed more fully, a pink hue cast upon the backdrop that is now powder blue. A hummingbird–unseasonably active–flits by and disappears into the stand of trees. I am behind on my morning tasks; there is wheat bread to bake and apple pies to create. And for the hands to prepare them, the Divine that has given such abundance, and the friends and loved ones to share with…for these I am truly thankful.