That I woke up this morning. That I was given another day to see God's grace at work as Christ continually pays the price of my daily sins—"Furthermore, every moment judgment does not fall on a society unresponsive to Him and unsurrendered to Him, or, in rebellion against Him, it is a demonstration of His grace," (Spiritual Hunger, Jerry Root)—Thank you, Lord.
That the water runs clean from my sink faucet to wash the food off yesterday's dishes. That when I swing the handle inward, a stream of bubble-infused water comes gushing out, cold or warm. That there's enough of it for all my dishes and the dishwasher and for Benny to leave it on outside while washing up his paintbrushes. That I have no fear of our water running out. And that I know where to find living water. Thank you, Lord.
That the piles of clean laundry on the back of the couch today means that yesterday I was fit enough to wash them, and that the washer and dryer are working. That I have a drawer for extra dish towels. That I have enough dish towels to last me all week. That people gifted me towels for my wedding and for Christmas and some merely because they thought I would like their style. Thank you, Lord.
For the huge pot of leftover Louisiana-style beans in the fridge with chorizo and roasted peppers and garlic. That it became the dumping pot for various other unappetizing-looking leftovers. That all the tastes melded together and complemented a plate of white rice sprinkled with Cotija cheese. That our tongues can appreciate it and that most of us kept it down. Thank you, Lord.
For the simple pleasure of wiping a surface clean of dust. For all our days that are like dust to the Lord, but even still who cares about every moment, every action, every thought and wish and detail because he values us equivalent to his own son's death. Thank you, Lord.
That each day was made with an evening and a morning, and that that space in between, which we call night, beckons us to stop, compels us to stop, forces us to stop actually. That for a few hours we are not called upon to do anything, to think anything, to crave anything, but to submit to the rest that God made from the beginning of time. Thank you, Lord.
That God has given me stewardship of this space, this home, these rooms with furniture and rugs and plants and curtains and lamps and tables and chairs and dishes. That I get to see to the care and arrangement of these things, and to decide by trial and error how best to create a space of cleanliness and beauty and order. That no one is threatening to take away my space due to levels of accumulated dirt or disorganization or disrepair. Thank you, Lord.
That I have the strength to make tea from our lemongrass stalks in the backyard and take temperatures and administer Tylenol and answer texts and turn on the TV. That someone long ago invented the television so that my children could rest while viewing other's masterpieces of watercolor and music and writing and acting. That someone long ago invented a keyboard so that I could list God's graces nearly as fast as I can think of them. Thank you, Lord.
Spiritual Hunger. Jerry Root. July 29, 2021. https://www.drjerryroot.com/post/spiritual-hunger
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