(with return of our internet server, I whisper)
They were happy tears but he didn't know that, in from morning barn chores and those mama sows, finding me in front of the world's flickering screen.
Those man hands stroke my hair and that always gentle whisper brushes my ear, "You sad?"
And I shake my head and the words quaver, hardly knowing their way.
"My aunt once took me to Roy Thompson Hall. I must have been fifteen, this wide-eyed girl from the country, in the center of the arts and cosmopolitan Toronto. She had tickets to the Toronto Symphony Orchestra." I nod towards the screen.
"But this giving thanks is grander."
I look up into the kind eyes and the heart, it trembles. "Their voices, all giving praise, all giving thanks, all doing glory and it's like standing in the crescendo, in this swell of worship, this upsurge of holy, holy, holy and the breaker crests and sweeps away."
I've lost him in my brimming waters.
Such people! Such a God! Voices giving thanks for pain and hard times and for fine, good men, a Cross, love they birthed and wombs that didn't bear but hearts that did, for broken down bodies but spirits that can't be cracked and eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, but surely this is to touch the quivering strings and feel song of heaven.
The heart resonates.
Heaven is the unending praise of His name and we could sing now.
If there were but 10 days in a week, I'd write each of you beautiful people and stutter out gratitude for how you mentor and teach and minister and bless and I'm warmed in the light of Christ that radiates from your letters and lives and love. My off-tune voice joins your choir of God-praise and I whisper thanks for you.
If you'd like to sing His praises, or hear the most soaring melody of worship, the symphony plays on.
Photos: beautiful Giving Thanks hurricanes on our table here... 25% with the code INTHANKS
125x125-30days.gif)