One Thousand Gifts - Chapters 9 and 10

I know it well after a day smattered with rowdiness and worn a bit ragged with bickering, that I may feel disappointment and the despair may flood high, but to give thanks is an action and rejoice is a verb and these are not mere pulsing emotions. While I may not always feel joy, God asks me to give thanks in all things, because He knows that the feeling of joy begins in the action of thanksgiving.

What a great description of a day in the life of a homeschooling mom--"smattered with rowdiness and worn a bit ragged with bickering"--at least a homeschooling mom of more than one child!

In chapter 10, the author takes thanksgiving out of its bubble of self.

Eucharisteo is giving thanks for grace. But in the breaking and giving of bread, in the washing of feet, Jesus makes it clear that eucharisteo is, yes, more: it is giving grace away. Eucharisteo is the hand that opens to receive grace, then, with thanks, breaks the bread; that moves out into the larger circle of life and washes the feet of the world with that grace. Without the breaking and giving, without the washing of feet, eucharisteo isn't complete. The Communion service is only complete in service. Communion, by necessity, always leads us into community.
I hadn't fully seen it until after that night on Yonge Street: Eucharisteo means "to give thanks," and give is a verb, something that we do. God calls me to do thanks. To give the thanks away. That thanks-giving might literally become thanks-living. That our lives become the very blessings we have received.
I am blessed. I can bless. Imagine! I could let Him make me the gift!
I could be the joy!

And now she brings it down to my everyday life:

Scratching a stubborn pot furiously with a wire scrubby, I remember it again, what I once read of liturgy. That liturgy has its roots in the Greek word leitourgia, meaning "public work" or "public servant." The meaning! This life of washing dishes, of domestic routine, it can be something wholly different. This life of rote work, it is itself public work, a public serving--even this scrubbing of pans--and thus, if done unto God, the mundane work can become the living liturgy of the Last Supper.

Then she mentions the key:

When service is unto people the bones can grow weary, the frustration deep. Because, agrees Dorothy Sayers, "whenever man is made the centre of things, he becomes the storm-centre of trouble. The moment you think of serving people, you being to have a notion that other people owe you something for your pains... You will begin to bargain for a reward, to angle for applause."
When the laundry is for the dozen arms of children or the dozen legs, it's true, I think I'm due some appreciation.... But when Christ is at the center, when dishes, laundry, work, is my song of thanks to Him, joy rains. Passionately serving Christ alone makes us the loving servant to all. When the eyes of the heart focus on God, and the hands on always washing the feet of Jesus alone--the bones, they sing joy, and the work returns to its purest state: eucharisteo. The work become worship, a liturgy of thankfulness.

And this is exactly what I need in my day--to remember that the work is for God, not for my family.

There is so much more. I could quote this whole book.

Speaking of Isaiah 58:10-11:

It's the fundamental, lavish, radical nature of the upside-down economy of God. Empty to fill... Give your life away in exchange for many lives, give away your blessings to multiply blessings, give away so that many might increase, and do it all for the love of God... Eucharisteo has taught me to trust that there is always enough God... Spend the whole of your one wild and beautiful life investing in many lives, and God simply will not be outdone. God extravagantly pays back everything we give away and exactly in the currency that is not of this world but the one we yearn for: Joy in Him.

Whatever you're doing today, do it for the Lord. She quotes Tagore: "I slept and dreamt life was joy, I awoke and saw life was service, I acted and, behold, service was joy."