It's never hard to come up with things for which to be thankful, but it is often a challenge to think of things that would possibly be of interest to anyone besides myself. After all, you can only get away with dragging out photos of the grandkids just so many times before people start to cross to the other side of the street when they see you coming. That's why I try to look at things from a bit different angle, and try to express it in a different way.
Then there are those times that God just smacks me in the face with gratitude fodder. Today is such a day. I had the privilege of swapping texts with a good friend who is hospitalized. Yesterday I sent him the lyrics to the old gospel song, "Day By Day And With Each Passing Moment." It seemed to fit his circumstances, and he wrote back about how much he appreciated some of those old songs that we don't hear much anymore. So I am grateful to have grown up in an era when those songs were all we had. They were sung deep into my soul as a teenager, and while I appreciate many of the newer songs that have come out in recent years, I have the privilege of having feet planted firmly in both worlds; something my kids and grandkids don't have. It may not actually be the case, but I feel like the musical well from which I draw is deeper. I know it hasn't yet run dry.
If that weren't enough, just a couple weeks ago I was lamenting a vintage bass I missed out on. Now it looks like I'm going to have to choose between a vintage instrument that will need a slight bit of work and a quality modern bass. The vintage bass is in New Jersey, while the modern one is much nearer, outside Columbus, Ohio. Decisions, decisions! Linda has been quite patient with me, and has acquiesced to having one of these monsters sitting in a corner somewhere, but I do think I'd be crossing the line if I came home with two. Isn't God good to give us choices?
Lastly, tonight I am thankful for sore muscles. I've spent the past two days cutting wood, first the tree that came down in our creek, then tonight, helping our son Nate with some of his winter wood. Between bending over to cut up the logs and picking up the blocked up sections and throwing them on the growing pile, I don't think there's a single muscle in my back that isn't shouting, "Are you crazy!!? What do you think you're doing to us?" At least I'm able to do, and for that, I'm thankful.
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