Joy, gratitude, and letting it be

Words like ‘thankful’ and ‘joy’ seem to be everywhere during this time of year, from late November into December. Sometimes gratitude and joy are all around us, easy to grab hold of, but other times it can feel as if those words are taunting us. Like billboards mounted on a hilltop in the distance—flashing at us in big letters but totally unreachable from the interstate we’re driving on.

I know there are many people who feel that way right now, and I can certainly recall times when I have too. But feelings can be deceiving, and just because I can’t see the road leading to that faraway joy-place, or don’t know which exit to take for access to it, doesn’t mean that the road isn’t there.

Much of the time, for me, the way to gratitude and joy is through receptivity. Sometimes I succeed at this and sometimes I don’t, but each day I am given the chance to try again.

I can choose to push through Today in grasping mode, hands firmly clenched around the blueprints I’ve created for “how things are supposed to be.” Or, when I notice that familiar tension in my muscles and tightness in my jaw when something—or someone—is not falling in line with The Plan, I can toggle the switch and choose to put myself in receiving mode, with my palms turned up.

Receiving mode begins when I stop, take a few breaths and look around. Start paying attention to what Today brings me, and consider tweaking some things about the blueprints, or in some cases scrapping them altogether.

It’s where I tell myself that it’s okay to wait for things, to live in the in-between for a while. And that there will be unexpected gifts placed into my hands today, as there have been every day of my life, even the worst ones.

Sometimes in those moments when I realize I need to downshift, that old Beatles song, “Let It Be,” begins to play in my mind, and if I’m alone, I’ll often sing a verse or two.

When I find myself in times of trouble,

Mother Mary comes to me,

speaking words of wisdom:

Let it be.

And in my hour of darkness

she is standing right in front of me

speaking words of wisdom:

Let it be.

I don’t know whether it’s what Paul McCartney intended or not, but when I hear that song I think about Mary, the mother of Jesus. She’s my number one role model for receptivity, with that famous line from her encounter with the angel: “Let it be to me according to Your word.”

On a Tuesday evening two weeks ago, I attended an online retreat where we focused on the prayer of joy and gratitude that’s traditionally attributed to Mary in Luke 1:46-55, which is called the Magnificat. We were invited to each write our own Magnificat based on what causes us personally to give thanks and praise to God, and to share it when we met again the following Tuesday night, if we so desired.

I put mine off as long as I possibly could because it seemed so incredibly daunting. Writing is something that I love to do, but it never comes easily. It takes a lot of time and typically leaves me exhausted (and only about half the time happy with what I’ve produced.)

And this was no ordinary assignment. Like when a musician performs a cover of a legendary Beatles song, it’s impossible to live up to the original. But maybe living up to it is not the point, but rather entering into its beauty and finding joy there.

So, eventually I got my Magnificat written, and was glad I did. If you’re okay with reading a religious poem, I hope you’ll give it a look. Ideally, a slow one. Maybe there's a word or phrase in there that's meant to be one of today's gifts for you, of joy or gratitude or whatever else it sets in motion. I hope so.

I praise the Lord,

I throw open my gates for Him, I run

like a barefoot, eager child into the garden where I know

my Father waits for me.

I lift up my hands to the sky

and let His love come down on me like the warm sunlight,

bask in it,

receive it.

I try to stand still long enough for its heat to sink in

beneath the skin-layer, deep enough to remain.

He chooses me, again and again.

He delights in me; He sees beyond my flaws

to the goodness at my core which He Himself has put there.

He holds me near

and will not let me go.

I am safe on the rock He has brought me to.

I praise the Lord

for a universe so full to the brim with beauty

that it cannot hold its shape, it must keep on expanding

because every morning His mercies are new

and His creativity has no limits.

I praise Him for those mighty mountains

on whose barren heights I have stood, wind-battered and dizzy,

with the words of a psalm in my pocket

and joy too big for my heart to hold.

I praise Him for the dark vastness of the ocean,

for the strong, silent trees that cool the land and nourish the air,

who glorify our God by being what they are,

by giving,

by enduring.

It is an endless storehouse of His gifts, this world.

I could never drink my fill of it.

My cup overflows, even from a simple walk along a wooded trail,

the pale, clean winter sun slanting through trunks and branches.

The gifts are everywhere;

the air is humming with His presence.

I cannot gather it all in;

my basket is too small.

The only word I have is praise.