Welcome Morning, by Anne Sexton

There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry "hello there, Anne"
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.

All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean,
though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
dies young.

i've been so struck lately with this idea of painting a thank-you on my palm. it's an image and an idea that will not shake itself loose from my consciousness. so today i'm sharing five things that i'm thankful for, one for each finger extending from my palm:

pinky: i love my big green mug with matching saucer that holds hot tea every single day. i've named it my "love mug" or "mug o' love." :)

ring finger: i'm thankful for a friend that will geek out with me over high school musical, who understands my need to place the blanket just so on the bed and who relaxes in cooking and rejoices in sweeping.

middle finger: i'm thankful for my strong body, which enabled me to walk an hour from church home when i couldn't find a place to buy my bus ticket. and i'm thankful for the opportunity to listen to david gray and feel the crisp fall air redden my cheeks.

first finger: i'm thankful for my family, one that does well with "away" and who will mill about the kitchen table while on skype with me, giving me a taste of home from my own kitchen table.

thumb: for places that are mine. places that make london seem like my home and not just some large soul-less city in which i am lost. i have a couch. a table with flowers. a place to work, to smile and to serve and to learn patience and grace. a church. these roads and buses that are now familiar. and the little corner store that sells me chocolate. :)

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
dies young.

This is joy. And I'm thankful. so in my own way, I'm painting it on my palm and sharing it.