1,000 (– 338 = 662) Gifts

“It was a dare, like a love dare of sorts…Could I write a list of a thousand things I love? To name one thousand blessings – one thousand gifts…? Learn how to be thankful – whether empty or full. Could the list teach me even that hard language? Over time? Gratitude in the midst of death and divorce and debt – that’s the language I’ve got to learn to speak – because that’s the kind of life I’m living, the kind I have to solve.” - Ann Voskamp

A little over one year ago – February 20, 2017, to be exact – I put pen to paper and began. One thousand blank lines waiting to be filled. I originally intended to fill all one thousand lines in one year, but it didn’t quite work out that way, which is fine. It’s not worth being a legalist when it comes to counting blessings. The list was inspired by Ann Voskamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Where You Are. It spent sixty weeks on The New York Times best-sellers list and sold over one million copies. It’s ultimately a book on gratitude, and addresses the question how do we learn to give thanks no matter what?

I had read the book years ago, but even after initially reading it, I didn’t take up Ann’s call to document one thousand blessings. For whatever reason, though, I finally decided to follow suit and start my own list early last year. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I bend more to the side of pessimism, skepticism, criticism and negativity than I do toward optimism, gratitude and positivity. I’m more likely to find fault than I am to believe the best about a person or a situation. It’s not an admirable quality, I know. And the Holy Spirit has convicted me about it on more than one occasion. So, I decided to do the hard work to start changing that perspective, to actively and intentionally fight against my own nature and tendencies.

Thus began the quest to chronicle one thousand gifts in one year.

The list in a lot of ways became a daily journal, small notes about each day for which I was thankful, a catalog of blessings. When I looked back over the list this past week, marking the one-year anniversary, that alone counted as a gift, the reminiscing and remembering. As I skimmed each line, reviewing them one by one, I began to see trends. Some people’s names showed up repeatedly. Some sentiments showed up on loop. Since it was my list, I made up my own rules and allowed myself to repeat items. No one said it had to be one thousand unique gifts. While I can’t say with scientific certainty, as I did not analyze the data with any sort of eye for precision, I did spot what seemed to be a very clear winner for “most frequently-listed gift”:

Naps.

I have often joked with those around me that I have no idea how I’m going to survive raising children of my own because I love sleeping way too much. This list proves my deep affection.

In fact, guess what was number one on the list?

1. Afternoon naps

Not long after that, I followed with various other types of naps and sleep-related items:

22. Sunday afternoon naps
43. Sunday naps!
44. Lunchtime naps!

(Apparently I felt the exclamation marks were of great value and necessary for emphasis because pretty much nothing else on the list warranted its own punctuation quite like naps did.)

77. Two-nap Saturdays
91. Sleeping in until 7:45 a.m. (I know that seems early to most of the world, but that qualifies as late for me.)
114. 7:20 p.m. bed times
206. The bliss of two naps in one day
412. Sleeping in on a Saturday morning
568. Sleeping in until 11 a.m. (this was only after a 3-hour time change from the West Coast and a  late flight. Last time I slept that late was probably when I was five.)
588. Saturday afternoon naps

I clearly love naps of any and all kinds. I sound like Bubba Gump in Forrest Gump when he explains all the ways you can eat shrimp, “You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, sauté it. There’s shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan-fried, deep-fried, stir-fried. There’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich.”

By my definition, naps are no different. There are lunchtime naps, mid-morning naps, pre-dinner naps, post-work naps. There are one-nap days and two-nap days. There are Sunday naps! Monday naps! Tuesday naps! Wednesday naps! Thursday naps! Friday naps! Saturday naps! Sunday naps are by far the best. Just ask anyone in my family. Sunday afternoons are sacred napping time. Even as children, we knew that Sunday afternoons were meant for naps and it was an unspoken rule in our house that you simply didn’t plan to do anything else on Sunday except take a deliciously long nap at some point. I still hold to that sacred tradition even as an adult.

I didn’t make it to one thousand gifts in one year, but I did manage to document a total of 662 items total. Contrary to how it seems, I did chronicle blessings other than naps. There were no shortage of light-hearted and simple things:

12. Text messages from Josh that make me laugh out loud
40. New leather purse for $9
66. Ghirardelli chocolate caramel bars
75. Leftover pie
168. Travis laughing at my stories
355. Ice
391. The start of college football season
491. Laughing until my cheeks hurt
502. The feel of a horse’s warm breath on my face
551. The dawn of a new year
589. “This Is Us”
605. Pictures of Emily’s triplets
634. Valentine’s card from my mom

But there were the hard things, too, things where gratitude did not come naturally or instinctively, things where I had to fight to find the gratitude:

177. Sitting with Myrt in the hospital
185. Phone call from Myrt’s son to see how I was taking the news of her cancer
193. To be the one who cleans up Myrt’s puke while she moans in pain
249. Unanswered prayers
260. Being by Myrt’s side in her final days
279. God turning the bitter into sweet
281. Listening to David’s voicemail saying Myrt had passed
282. Knowing that someone I love very much who struggles with suicide is still alive
286. Having the courage to have hard conversations
319. The gentleness of God’s dealing with my sin
431. God’s breath in my lungs (after having a panic attack)
438. The realization that my heart, mind and body are utterly broken without Jesus (on the day that ushered in what I call my “Week from Hell”)
453. Sleeping in my parents’ bed (with my mom by my side because I couldn’t handle being alone at night)
464. Knowing I am not alone
470. Working a full day of work with no anxiety
514. Surviving a car accident
528. Being the one on the other end of the phone when my friend tells me he’s at the lowest point of his life

One year later, and a record of 662 gifts for which I am thankful - both the good and the bad, the bitter and the sweet, the highs and the lows. I can honestly say that I am grateful for things like anxiety. Maybe I should say more accurately that I’m grateful for what it has produced in me. I’m not grateful for my car accident in and of itself, but I am grateful for God’s protection, for angels that stood guard over my life. I’m not glad Myrt died, but I can be grateful she’s with Jesus and I’ll see her again some day. Ann Voskamp said in her book, “Life-changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time.”

These 662 gifts have been 662 nails I nailed down, one at a time, choosing gratitude over bitterness and discontentment. Last year was a doozy of a year for me in a lot of ways, and it would have been easy to give into the sadness or to have adopted a woe-is-me attitude.

But it’s the truth that Paul points to in Philippians 4:11-12 that should shape our lives, “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need” (ESV).

I have not mastered by any means, but I am learning the secret, the secret of being content in whatever situation.

The secret is found in the 500th item I listed:

500. Jesus

"The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances.” said Elisabeth Eliot. God doesn’t need to place me in a different set of circumstances that don’t involve anxiety and car accidents and deep, deep pain in the lives of people I love. Different circumstances won’t solve anything. The secret was - and is - Jesus in me.

“And I see it now for what this really is, this dare to write down one thousand things I love. It really is a dare to name all the ways that God loves me," Ann noted in her book.

Jesus loves me, this I know.

I have a list of 662 gifts (and a few dozen naps) that tell me so.

I'm Not the One

As much as I hate to admit it, I love control. I love knowing what to expect, when to expect it, and how to expect it. I love details. I love predictability and routines, schedules and lists. I love feeling like things are within my reach and under my dominion. It creates a sense of security and confidence, albeit most likely a false sense of security. But I crave that control nonetheless.

I stood at the kitchen sink this morning, staring out the window, reflecting on a conversation I had with a group of ladies in my Bible study yesterday morning. Each of us voiced the heaviness of feeling like we somehow are the only ones responsible for holding the world together, or at least our corners of the world. Parents who are aging - how will I care for them and hold onto them? Nephews who have abandoned Jesus - how will I get them to turn back? Daughters who have gone rogue - how do I get the prodigal to return? Family members tangled up in addictions and mental health troubles so dark and so deep they are on the brink of death - how do I stop the cycle of madness?

I've spent many a moment wrestling here lately with this idea of control. It has weighed heavy on me in this season of life, more so than any other time I can recall. I've become acutely aware of how little control I actually have, particularly over other people in my life. I have felt this crushing weight of feeling like I need to save those closest to me - to save them from suicide, to save them from their own destruction, to save them from drugs, to save them from poor choices, to save them from darkness, to save them from the edge of whatever cliff they are standing on. I act as if it all rests on me - as if it will be up to me to pray them into heaven, up to me to pull them out of the pit they're in, up to me to save them from walking past the hinges of hell. I think some of these thoughts precipitated the crazy panic attacks I had in the fall, causing me to buckle under the weight of feeling like I'm the only one who is keeping this big blue marble from spinning off its axis.

It's exhausting.

And completely rooted in unbelief and a failure to remember who is really in control.

As I stood at the sink this morning, replaying yesterday's conversation in my head and mulling over my own thoughts on the matter, God spoke this truth so clearly to me:

I am not the one.

I'm not the who held the hand of a dead little girl and brought her back to life.
I'm not the one who flung the stars in the skies and called them each by name.
I'm not the one who spoke a word and drove out the demons.
I'm not the one who laid the foundations of the earth and told the waters where to go.
I'm not the one who immediately healed the leper and made him clean.
I'm not the one who multiplied the bread and fed the thousands.
I'm not the one who breathed a breath and brought man to life.
I'm not the one who walked on the water as if it were pavement.
I'm not the one who calmed the wind and the waves but with a word.
I'm not the one who parted the Red Sea and made a way on dry ground.
I'm not the one who still forgave the man who would betray me with a kiss.
I'm not the one who was beaten, whipped, scourged, and bore a crown of thorns.
I'm not the one who hung on the cross with nails thrust into my hands and feet.
I'm not the one who took the keys from death and hell.
I'm not the one who rolled back the rock.
I'm not the one who rose again.

I'm not the one.

My God, I'm not the one who did any.of.those.things.

But I so desperately want to be - or I at least live and think as if I want to be. I live as though the very existence of certain people rests on me. The "what if" question robs me time and again - what if I don't pray enough for them? What if I don't speak words of encouragement enough to them? What if I don't love them enough? What if I don't call them often enough? What if, what if, what if. 'Round and around we go. Somewhere along the way I've made an idol out of myself, appointing myself savior of the world instead of Jesus.

But because Jesus is the one who took the hand of a dead little girl and brought her back to life.
But because Jesus is the one who flung the stars in the skies and called them each by name.
But because Jesus spoke, laid, healed, breathed, walked, parted, accepted, hung, took, rolled, rose and sits - I'm set free from feeling like I'm the one.

I can let go of control and rest knowing I'm not the one.

And I never will be. I'm not capable of saving anyone else. I can't save the people closest to me, the ones whom I fear for their lives. I can't do it. No matter how much I may want to control them or will them into a certain state of being - I simply cannot do it. I was never designed to have that kind of power. We will destroy ourselves in the process by giving ourselves that much credit, to think we can hold up underneath the weight of being someone else's savior.

I'm not the one who is capable.

And neither are you.

You're not the one who can save your child from addiction.
You're not the one who can break your spouse's bonds of pornography.
You're not the one who can rid your father's body of the ravages of cancer.
You're not the one who can beckon the prodigal to return.

Whatever your circumstances - you're not the one.

Whatever trial or tribulation you're facing, whatever situation where you feel like, "If I just had control..." - remember:

You're not the one who is the keeper of the stars, the keeper of your heart, and the Savior of the world.

That title goes to one person and one person only:

Jesus Christ, the One and Only.

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. No one has ever seen God, but God the One and Only, who is at the Father's side, has made him known" (John 1:14, 18).

I can rest knowing He is the One.

And I am not.

And neither are you.

Let the One and Only do what only the One and Only can do:

Save.