And It’s Not Even Thanksgiving 2/21/2021

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I am not sure what caused it but I seem to be waxing sentimental today.  I thought it was a matter of me hearing the somewhat nostalgic moan of the breeze whistling against the windows during a moment of silence.  I don’t suppose many people really have that much by way of silence these days.  We are a busy and rushed society full of noise. It may even be good noise that we are surrounded by. We have lives filled with comings and goings, with work and play that we continuously heap ourselves thinking that is what makes successful lives.  I can’t help but wonder how many little things get lost in the chaos of schedule.  How many seemingly insignificant elements do we allow to fade into the background and go unnoticed?  How many things fall by the wayside that could be tiny points of light in our lives if we could just still ourselves long enough to actually pay attention to them? You can probably visualize me looking wistfully into the distance as I am typing this.  I did warn you of my waxing sentimentality.  Today I just want to meander down a path where I look at those things that maybe we, or at least I, don’t really and truly see. I want to develop a sincerely grateful attitude and I think a nice observational journey might just be the ticket needed to get started. I think it might be helpful for me anyway and if it helps you then, well, all the better.

The first thing that comes to mind, especially at this time of year, is the tiny specks of sunshine that are the blossoms of what could be ancient daffodils the you see bursting forth at old home places.  I love to think of the hands that lovingly placed those bulbs in that soil as they spring up in vaguely rectangular shapes.  Often these blooms serve to frame only crumbling chimneys or possibly old stone steps that lead to nowhere.  Someone wanted to add beauty to a home. We see them around here as spring becomes a point in the distance but I want them to be more than just a herald of the coming season.  I want to really look at those buttery petals that appear where there was formerly nothing and think of the hands that buried them, the smiles they brought for decades and the natural decoration they became to someone’s beloved home.  I want their fragrance to become synonymous in my mind with the warmness of springtime and hands that cared enough to try to beautify the home fires and let that perfume make me grateful for both.

Speaking of the home fires, on nights like this time of year brings when the moon hangs silver and cold in the vast dark sky I want to remember to be appreciative of the warmth of home.  Not just the ability to sit by a crackling fire or to lounge drowsily beneath soft blankets snuggled with loved ones but to be warm in a home from the inside out.  Let me really and truly revel in the unjaded affection of warm fur and a cold nose that wants to nestle cozily with me. Let it not be lost on me the underserved blessing of a snug home filled with love from which I can peer out at the frozen night.  I don’t want to fail to notice the delightful fragrances in my home of a meal being cooked, most especially those especially intoxicating aromas of some concoction that is dear to your heart and stomach that is being prepared solely to bring joy.  These are the things that change a place from a house that is merely respite from the chill to a home that sets the heart itself aglow.  These are the things that I don’t want to let pass me by like treasure chests unopened.

There is something else that I am absolutely positive to which I have not given the proper the attention. I have heard it talked about as a pleasantry for some but I haven’t given it very much thought.  There is a certain fragrance before the rain that is very distinct.  As you are reading this I hope you are closing your eyes and imagining the scent that I am referencing.  I hope you smile as you do so.  However, there may be more to this than meets the nose.  I have read multiple occasions of children often after near death experiences that have added a bit more weight to this simple matter of air quality. I cannot verify the truth of such claims but such tales have appeared in more than one occasion that I have come upon.  These children, when they experience the fragrance of rain have said, very matter of factly, that it is what God smells like. Do with these tales what you will.  They might not be true but perhaps just perhaps, this is one of the countless small things that we take for granted that may mean more than we ever could have realized.  But then again, how many other tiny miracles may be on the side of life’s road that we rush past without thought or notice. 

I want to see, really see.  I don’t want to hear a bird singing I want to truly listen and revel in the glory of creation.  I don’t want to come home from work and flippantly approach the task of cooking supper. I want to really embrace how blessed I am to have a warm home to walk into and delicious food at my fingertips even with the luxury of options of which of it I want to enjoy.  I know I don’t think enough of how many people would be ecstatic to have things to which we literally give minimal consideration at best.  I want to linger in the knowing glance of my husband when we’ve heard something that brought a beloved shared memory to mind.  I could easily be someone who cannot again look into the eyes that shared their secrets on this side of eternity.  My whole world is an abundance of bounty and kindnesses that I don’t see. I want to be grateful. Imagine how our view of our lives would change if we truly were?  Imagine how our impact on others would change if we cultivated a lifestyle of gratitude and did our best to not take even tiny things for granted.  I would imagine our lives could and would drastically change. We could change from old collapsing steps to a thicket of sunshine tinted daffodils beneath a sky heavy with the smell of rain.