Thanksgiving has come and gone. It’s strange, if you think about it. Yesterday. How it comes and goes, never to be had again, always disappearing. Sometimes we like to gather them all up, all those yesterdays, and give thanks for them. Maybe that’s why we have thanksgiving.
Everything’s changing. My life . . . unfolding before me. Slowly, gently, I’m rocked in the cradle of change. Growing up? Me? Yes, maybe that’s it. Spreading my wings and gasping in a breath. Standing at the edge of the cliff, looking down, thousands of feet. So much air. Hesitating. Frightened. Then . . . running . . . jumping . . . falling. Beating my feathers, only still I fall. So tiny. So small. Such a little bird, then . . .
Frail feathers beat the air. Flapping. Harder. Dipping down . . . then soaring. Up and up, higher than I could have imagined, reaching the clouds . . . flying . . .
I could thank Him for so much. It sounds dull to say, only it’s true. So many yesterdays, so many blessings. How could I possibly give Him glory for all that? Is a thank You even enough? Could it ever really suffice?
So here I am, caught in this whirlwind of change, maybe growing up. I thank Him for all of it. Every yesterday. Every moment. Every shower of blessings . . .
But there is one thing. One thing my very soul, my feeble being, cries out in praise. Everywhere I go I see empty faces, empty lives, empty dreams. But not me. His hand is moving. I remember because of yesterdays, I know because of today. He’s doing something with my life, arranging all the pieces, even when I can’t see. I can trust in Him. I can hope in what He’s doing, because He’s already proven Himself.
So if there were one thing I could thank Him for, one thing that means so much . . .
It would be tomorrow. For everything He’s going to do, for all the desires I’m going to watch Him fulfill. For hope . . . for my future . . . for His moving hand . . . for wings to fly.