Many years ago, a one-time relative of mine instituted a practice with her children. On Thanksgiving Day, she gathered her sons to write blessings lists. To me, the lists seemed contrived--artificial. She was well-intended. Yet, something went horribly wrong. Her good intentions were not strong enough to withstand the contrived nature--the scorn the lists met from her sons.
It is excusable that her sons were scornful. It is not desirable. Yet, it should have come as no surprise what the boys response well might be.
Yet, where was the family? The mother continued. Yet, she was given no support from her family--from her husband's family. They felt a certain smugness that somehow, because they did not need to write such lists that did not need to support the mother.
Many years later, Hillary Rodham Clinton said of raising children, "It takes a village." Clinton's comment may seem trite. Yet, it is far from it. Many years after some children were blessed by sharing their home with their grandparents, the pace of life goes ever so quickly. Lost seems being conscious every day of how we have been blessed--how we are blessed.
Who has graced my life today? What have I been graced to do today? How has my vision been graced today? How have my ears--how has my understanding--been graced today?
Once saying grace becomes a recital, the words are meaningless. Blessings must be lived, not listed.
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