Last night, two overtired bodies, we went to dinner and the store. Food for that moment and the next day, required duties at hand. We ate; we bought. We returned to my apartment, and he helped me put groceries away. We didn’t even walk the dog, and by 9 o’clock, we sat down to pray. I hunched my elbows over my knees and dropped my head. He draped one arm around my shoulder, using his other arm to prop his head. We did something I am learning to do, thanks to Ann in the masterpiece quoted at the top of this post. We thanked God for the gift of restful sleep- a gift insomnia robs me of often and him of recently- and then we asked God to grant us each a full night’s sleep.
Ann feels like a friend as I’m working my way through her book, rereading chapters and underlining nearly a third of the content. She says thanks always precedes a miracle, over and over again. She refers to Jesus feeding the 5000. Jesus gave thanks and broke the bread and then the multitudes were fed. He does the same thing at the Last Supper, gives thanks and then breaks bread. And then he goes to that cross and dies, to be resurrected. Water in; flowers out.
We thanked God for the gift of restful sleep, and after that he went home to iron his shirt for work and to try to sleep. And then he slept. All night. I did too.
It’s not that Ann writes a formula in her book when she says thanks always precedes the miraculous- even when there’s nothing to make something out of. It’s that she writes to cultivate a thankful heart; she coaches her reader on how to see. This may seem simple, but it is utterly revolutionizing me. That’s not even an exaggeration. I so, so, so need and want and hunger to see. Thankfully.