This is where God is. In the present. I AM–His very name…
Make every moment a cathedral giving glory…
And it is eucharisteo curving the moment into a cupola of grace, an architecture of holiness–a place for God.
Thanks makes now a sanctuary.
~Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
Monday went by in a whirl. A zillion things kept me constantly diverted, and never once did the thought enter my brain that Monday was to be my day of Multitudes, the day that I slow down to savor the moment, the day that I give thanks for the little, and God makes it more than enough…just as He did so long ago, with a few loaves and fishes. And when Tuesday came, and I realized my oversight, I thought to simply wait until next Monday.
Today I realize that there are so many, so very many, morsels of glory invading my life, that I cannot wait. It is full, this life of mine. Full of too many moments unrecorded, unremarked. I need to express them, to give the thanks.
dimness punctuated by tiny clay lamps, their wicks drawing brilliance up from olive oil
rolling back the hurry of today with a Hebrew greeting of peace
the sweet tastes and textures of sharing a meal with other worshippers as He once did
strawberry marble cheesecake for my son’s 16th birthday
remembering how recently he was a round little baby with an infectious giggle
my daughter’s breadsticks
a long-cluttered room put in order
new homes for straying books
the satisfying crunch of a comb binder piercing papers, making holes that will enable unity
a science experiment that captivates the entire family
the squeaky slickery feel of cornstarch
a read aloud that sparks fascinating discussion
returning to my old friend Fenelon
a book that keeps reminding me what is important…that I may never be able to loan out
a sign above my mantel reminding me of friends, even when they are far away
the story of Esther and Purim
homemade coffee ice cream
beans of all colors forming a calico riot
the brilliant orangeredorange of coals in the fireplace
a festival of paper airplanes
standing dwarfed between my two sons, marveling at their tallness
sunlight splintering into scintillating shards on ice-encrusted branches