Sore Fingers

Tonight we had music team practice for Sunday morning worship. The set is a good mix of driving, upbeat choruses, majestic, theatrical anthems, and meditative hymns. This in and of itself is something for which I'm grateful. 

But the gift I notice tonight is the gift of sore fingers. 

It was the third time or so through a particularly energetic chorus, and my body was beginning to feel the strain that comes when one enthusiastically guitars (yes it's a verb) for over an hour. Dave was there on electric, and he tore through a riff with the overdrive screaming through the speakers, and I smiled. Peeping just above the top of the piano, I could see Dean's eyes, closed, his face uplifted, his mouth crying out what was in his heart, and I smiled bigger. It was an odd moment: to find in the middle of a rehearsal, a practice, a drill, this... rapture. This communal love of music and of God. 

Ordinarily I play with restraint at rehearsal, so as to save my energy and endurance for the inevitable sixth repetition of the same song. But at this moment I let loose. I laughed out loud a little, and let the music fill me. I looked down at my hands and was delighted to see how fast my fingers were moving, how easily the notes sprang from my guitar, how runs and harmonies were coaxed forth effortlessly by hands calloused from years of practice. 

And then we finished. The finale, a flourish of notes, and then I knew that of course that what I had done was not effortless. I had unknowingly committed a great deal of effort to produce that music, and now my fingers felt what had been asked of them. My right hand was so cramped I could barely let go of my pick. 

And I smiled. I wouldn't want it to be effortless. I wouldn't want to not have to try. Where's the satisfaction in that? My body is amazing, the things I'm capable of doing are incredible, and yet I have to strive to do them. I have to try, and try hard. What I am grateful for is that I can try. I can work hard and hurt myself in trying to produce something beautiful. I know that because there is pain when I finish, I can improve. I can work harder and grow more skilled and more calloused so that one day,  I can produce the same result without the consequence of pain. I can get better. And that is an encouraging thought. 

I love getting carried away in music. I love trying too hard, pushing a little too far, and making myself sore. I love being reminded that I'm good at something, and that I can, in time, get even better. And so I thank you, Father, for cramped hand and sore fingers. 

Funny Fat Dogs

The other night I retired to my bedroom at an irresponsibly late hour (as is my custom), and Maddie, my adorable albeit ludicrously overweight Black Labrador, followed me downstairs to snuffle at my door, as is her custom. Our pets spend the night in the part of the house that can be closed off from most of the bedrooms precisely because they tend to snuffle at doors. Most pets do. As it happens, my room is also in this part of the house. And Maddie, being the type of dog who needs to be around people, has taken to coming downstairs and spending the night on my bedroom floor. I like to pretend this is because I'm her favorite, but I have to concede the possibility that she might grace me with her presence solely because my bedroom is the only one accessible to her. 

This particular evening I was retreating to my bed feeling defeated, my spirits crushed by a spectacularly awful day. I slipped under the covers without taking the time to change, and no sooner had my eyes closed than I heard the thundering footsteps of my elephantine dog trying to descend the stairs without falling headfirst, imbalanced by her inordinate weight. I couldn't help but grin. Thank you, Father, for funny fat dogs.

For one cranky moment, I contemplated leaving the door closed and spending one night without sputtering snorts and grunts punctuating my repose, but then I heard her press her nose against the wood and start sniffing loudly, and I couldn't deny her entry. I rolled out of bed and half-crawled to the door to open it. Maddie came barreling in with even more enthusiasm than usual, and before going to her spot where I often lay out a blanket for her, drove her head into my chest and knocked me backwards. 

Overwhelmed by a long and discouraging day ending with this unexpected and unrestrained expression of affection, I succumbed to the happiness welling in my chest and lavished attention on my dog, petting her and wrestling with her for a while. After a few minutes, she quieted down and flopped onto the floor, though when I tried to get up, she shuffled towards me and put her paws on my legs to keep me down. I smiled, and stroked her head, and whispered, "I love you so much, doggie. Do you know how much I love you?" 

At this, she looked straight into my face with those big, brown eyes, then nuzzled her face deep into my lap and wagged her tail. My heart just about burst from the sweetness of that moment. 

I thank you, Father, for soft fur and hot smelly breath and thwapping tails and cold noses and unabashed affection. I thank you for creatures whose simple love reminds me of Your unfathomable love: unreserved, given freely and in spite of many shortcomings. 

Try Eucharisto

Like so many others, in reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, I am inspired to lead a life marked by gratitude to God my Father. To live a eucharisto kind of life. To notice the innumerable gifts he gives, and thank Him for them. I want to be enthralled with life, to fall in love with love itself, to burst with joy at the thought of the myriad blessings our Creator God bestows and revel delightedly in every unique and precious moment that I draw breath. 

And so, this blog. This "experiment in gratitude." This blog is not a promise or a vow or a resolution to be a better person, but merely an attempt at a healthier lifestyle. This my effort, and invitation to any who feel they could use more gratitude in their lives, to "try eucharisto." Try thanksgiving. 

I will not be compiling a list of 1000 things I'm grateful for, as Ms Voskamp did, though I love the idea. Rather, my intention is to notice at least one gift, one beautiful or heartwarming or exciting or creative or inspiring moment, every single day, and thank God for it. To notice the details, the things about the gift that make it so special, and exult in its giving. 

And finally, I invite any who wish to join me in this experiment to do so. Pray for me as I try to live a life of thanksgiving to the Giver, and tell me to pray for you. Write to me, or leave me comments, to tell me of a gift that you were given today, and we will see what comes of this. We will see what happens when one tries eucharisto.