A Litany of Thanksgiving
Today, I make my Sacrament of Thanksgiving
I begin with the simple things of my days:
Fresh air to breathe,
Cool water to drink,
The taste of food,
The protection of house and clothes,
The comforts of home.
For all these, I make an act of Thanksgiving this day!
I bring to mind all of the warmth of humankind that I have known:
My Mother’s arms,
The strength of my father,
The playmates of my childhood,
The wonderful stories brought to me from the lives of many who have talked of days gone by when fairies and giants and all kinds of magic held sway;
The tears I have shed, the tears I have seen;
The excitement of laughter and the twinkle in the eye with its reminder that life is good.
For all of these I make an act of Thanksgiving this day.
I finger one by one the messages of hope that awaited me at the crossroads:
The smile of approval from those who held in their hands the reins of my security;
The tightening of the grip in the simple handshake when I feared the step before me in the darkness;
The whisper in my heart when the temptation was fiercest and the claims of appetite were not to be denied;
The crucial word said, the simple sentence from an open page when my decision hung in the balance.
For all these , I make an act of Thanksgiving this day.
I pass before me the main springs of my heritage:
The fruits of the labors of countless generations who have lived before me, without whom my own life would have no meaning;
The seers who saw visions and dreamed dreams;
The prophets who sensed a truth greater than mind could grasp and whose words could only find fulfillment in the years which they would never see;
The workers whose sweat has watered the trees, the leaves of which are for the healing of the nations;
The pilgrims who set their sails for lands beyond all horizons, whose courage made paths into new worlds and far off places;
The saviors whose blood was shed with a recklessness that only a dream could inspire and God command.
For all of these, I make an act of Thanksgiving this day.
I linger over the meaning of my own life and the commitment to which I give the loyalty of my heart and mind:
The little purposes in which I have shared with my loves, my desires, my gifts;
The restlessness which bottoms all I do with its stark insistence that I have never done my best, I have never dared to reach for the highest;
The big hope that never quite deserts me, that I and my kind will study war no more, that love and tenderness and all of the inner graces of Almight affection will cover the life of the children of God as waters cover the sea.
All these and more than mind can think and heart can feel,
I make as my sacrament of Thanksgiving to Thee,
Our Creator, in humbleness of mind and simplicity of heart.
~ A poem by Howard Thurman, Thanksgiving 1959~