100 Yet More Thanks

Lord God, Adonai,
thank you for your presence in my life.
Thank you that you never leave me.
Thank you that you always hear me.
Thank you for my fifty-one years of life (so far),
thank you that more than thirty-five of them have been with Robin,
thank you that I’ve known nearly twenty-eight years of pride in Aubrey,
and thank you that I’ve had over twenty-six years of joy in Aaron.
Thank you for creating laughter,
thank you for giving me and mine a sense of humor,
thank you for giving me a sense of place,
thank you for having made Cincinnati my home fifty years ago,
thank you for a family name to be proud of,
and for coming generations to be so optimistic about.
Thank you for my memories of my mother,
thank you for my father’s long life,
thank you for my mother-in-law and father-in-law,
thank you for the fine schools I have attended,
thank you for the classes I have taken,
thank you for Shakespeare,
thank you for Dickens,
and Twain,
and Faulkner,
and Austen,
and Chesterton,
and C. S. Lewis.
Thank you for earphones.
Thank you for “Clare de Lune”
and “Mood Indigo”
and “Brick House”
and “Tupelo Honey.”
Thank you that I’m not in eighth grade anymore, or ninth grade or seventh—among others!
Thank you that I can sit upright.
Thank you that I can stand.
Thank you that I can keep food down
and my pants up.
Thank you that nothing (other than my belly) is swollen.
Thank you for freedom from pain in my joints,
thank you for freedom from toothache,
and kidney stone,
and migraine,
and respiratory infection,
and a hundred other things that could be wrong with me, but aren’t right now.
Thank you for servers in restaurants,
thank you for ushers in church,
and ticket takers in theaters,
and cashiers in stores,
street sweepers,
mail carriers,
professional counselors,
computer experts,
publishers and editors,
doctors and nurses,
and this nation’s soldiers wherever they serve.
Thank you for yard sales and auctions,
thank you for thrift stores,
thank you for fountain pens,
thank you for walking sticks,
thank you for trails in the forest,
mountain streams,
split rail fences,
sandy beaches,
and the way a leaf curls skyward when it’s about to rain.
Thank you for bookmarks,
thank you for moleskine notebooks,
thank you for words,
thank you for language,
thank you for writing,
thank you for sentences and paragraphs,
thank you for the way my wife laughs,
thank you for baby Mia’s first tooth,
thank you for baby Sawyer’s safe arrival,
thank you for my unborn granddaughter Calleigh’s “ninjy” kicks and “judy” chops.
Thank you for artists,
thank you for musicians,
for songwriters,
for booksellers,
and bookbuyers.
Thank you for blue jeans,
and shorts,
and sandals,
and pockets.
Thank you that I don’t have to listen to rap,
thank you that I don’t have to commute,
thank you that I don’t have to eat my vegetables,
thank you that I don’t have to go to bed without dessert.
Thank you for my hand-eye coordination,
and for my bladder control.
Thank you that I can walk,
that I can run,
that I can leap,
that I can balance,
that I can bend over,
that I can sing,
that I can smile,
that I can pray.

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