Today, I am thankful for the beauty that holds me.
The marbled sky at dawn, brushed with colors no hand could mix.
The wind that carries the scent of snow before a flake appears,
reminding me that change is already on its way.
The gentle rise of drumlins embracing the lake,
as if the land itself has learned how to cradle what is precious.
A squirrel’s wild joy as it spirals up the trunk
of an ancient shagbark maple—
testimony that even what is old can be playground and shelter.

I am thankful for time with family—voices and laughter
folded into the corners of my memory like warm fleece.
For friends whose remembrances arrive like unexpected postcards,
proof that love can cross miles and generations
without losing its strength.
For the steady touchstones of affection
that remind me where I came from and to whom I belong.

I am thankful for breath in my lungs,
for the unhurried minutes that open the door to writing,
for purpose that wakes with me each morning.
And I am deeply grateful for the way God continues
to work in the hidden places of my heart—
clearing away what I no longer need,
making room for the life He is shaping in me.

Gratitude, I have learned, is not simply a polite gesture offered
once a year around a table of abundance.
It is a slowing down—a deliberate pause to notice
what is already shimmering in the details of the day.
The pause is where joy hides, waiting for us to look up.
And when we do, joy does not enter quietly—
it floods, overtaking the spirit like honey on the tongue.

So let us pause,right here in this moment.
Let us lift thanks for the beauty that surrounds,
for the people who remind us that love is stronger than distance,
for the breath that carries this prayer.
Let us open our hearts to God’s work in us,
trusting that every clearing He makes is for the joy of what’s to come.

May all who are near, and all who are far,
be wrapped in the grace of a warm Thanksgiving memory—
one that lingers like light on water, reminding us we are held in love.