Let Us Give Thanks

Thoughts of thanks right now:

  1. for the ability to freely express thanks and speech without censor
  2. for each and every one of YOU my friends online and off-line
  3. for my family and relatives and all the different ways they shape and form my life
  4. for the basic things to live life like sight, hearing, taste, touch and scent
  5. for a roof over my head, blankets on my bed, and things strewn around my room
  6. for change in my wallet and leftovers in the refrigerator
  7. the passage of Prop 8

I started to put together a list like this the evening of adoration at the SMMEs. This one says:

  1. “Blessed I thank You for:
  2. the gift of vocation
  3. the graces
  4. the gift of my parents
  5. sight and hearing
  6. the silence
  7. for leading me home
  8. for my sister
  9. the mystery
  10. the beatific vision
  11. Your mother
  12. La Virgen de Gaudalupe miracle
  13. for life
  14. for the course of my life
  15. the cult experience
  16. the gift of education
  17. the gift of desiring You
  18. the Church
  19. those who were able to lead me home August 2005: Mike, Fr. Aaron, Pat Ku, Christie Swanson, Jenny Schwartzkoff, and all others who were online friends at that time, and Sumer Alvarez, for which I would not have been at Mass if it weren’t for her death and funeral.

This week I’ve heard “thanks” from patients:

  1. for giving hope
  2. for re-focusing
  3. for teaching its all right to ask God for things (not just praise; ask and ye shall recieve)
  4. for calming them
  5. for letting them know that people care
  6. for companionship

Last night driving home I tried to think of the ONE thing I am thankful for: the gift that God gives us all in His own time and in our spiritual readiness – the ability to desire Him and return it.

Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving


Good Friday, 2008

Remember, O LORD, what has befallen us, look, and see our disgrace:
Our inherited lands have been turned over to strangers, our homes to foreigners.
We have become orphans, fatherless; widowed are our mothers.
The water we drink we must buy, for our own wood we must pay.
On our necks is the yoke of those who drive us; we are worn out, but allowed no rest.
To Egypt we submitted, and to Assyria, to fill our need of bread.
Our fathers, who sinned, are no more; but we bear their guilt.
Slaves rule over us; there is no one to rescue us from their hands.
At the peril of our lives we bring in our sustenance, in the face of the desert heat;
Our skin is shriveled up, as though by a furnace, with the searing blasts of famine.
The wives in Zion were ravished by the enemy, the maidens in the cities of Judah;
Princes were gibbeted by them, elders shown no respect.
The youths carry the millstones, boys stagger under their loads of wood;
The old men have abandoned the gate, the young men their music.
The joy of our hearts has ceased, our dance has turned into mourning;
The garlands have fallen from our heads: woe to us, for we have sinned!
Over this our hearts are sick, at this our eyes grow dim:
That Mount Zion should be desolate, with jackals roaming there!
You, O LORD, are enthroned forever; your throne stands from age to age.
Why, then, should you forget us, abandon us so long a time?
Lead us back to you, O LORD, that we may be restored: give us anew such days as we had of old.
For now you have indeed rejected us, and in full measure turned your wrath against us.