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  • Writer's pictureLina

Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude

Thank you for the tears of understanding that fall from my eyes, bright with life, trusting that these messages find me for a reason other than needing them to stay alive. Thank you to the people who share, write, speak, and live in gratitude that it melts off their bones and into my morning tea like honey. Thank you for the warmth my cup so thoughtfully shares with my hands. Thank you for the not knowing, for the questioning of who I am so much so that I wondered if I should end it all.

But instead, I fell to my knees to find…


Tiny little beings that whispered in my ear, “Oh darling, there is still SO much life after death.”

Who made me a soft bed in the dirt until my heart remembered what a gift this all is – thank you. For allowing me to see my mistakes. Oh, God, there are many – and for the sweetness of the balm of forgiveness, from myself and from those who remember we are not here to be perfect.

We are here to experience – thank you, for every experience, that has led me to this very moment of slapping blue ink across this colorful page with my hand cramping in protest against the scribbles that form letters from the thoughts in my mind so here is a good time for a pause.

a breath.

a shake.

an adjustment,

back to gratitude.

Thank you, for letting me feel so deeply . That a correctly placed flower or a text from a friend sends me into a tizzy – a “random” flipped page and a scripture that was written from your soul to mine – of thank you. For the inspiration that sparks my hands like a lightning bolt to a dry field, I am lit up and burning alive, only to be drenched by the creative rain of life. Thank you.

For these stolen moments to myself to sit with God and ask, “Will you hold that all together for me?”

For this gratitude is spilling out of my hands and over my arms because I've picked more lemons from the front yard tree than I can handle. Thank you, kind stranger, who loved this land enough before me to plant oranges, papaya, pineapple, banana, yucca, peas, and lemons that my knucklehead pup thinks are tennis balls now as they bounce down the front steps to the gate that so many of our dear friends have walked under bearing gifts. That pup, who joyously found me and declared his ownership of my heart with his golden eyes, who has no business being so goofy and taking up so much space on the couch, thank you, for the gifts that I didn't know I wanted.

The gifts of dirt under my fingernails, chicken poop compost from my mother-in-law, water up my nose after a wave tumbles me from my surfboard, a man to call my husband with a laugh so full it fills any mouth into a smile – thank you. For my grandma's pumpkin cookies a week before Thanksgiving and my uncle, running late, calling to make sure I didn't leave until he got to see me. For Mom & Dad – thank you, for letting me have a bed in your home and a space in your hearts no matter how far I choose to roam.

To the sun, who rises in the East each morning, thank you for taking the gift of sleep from my eyes. I could go on forever, you know, about what I am grateful for. I think it’s a gift I have tended to like a wood burning fire in the coldest nights of winter. Over the years the cold seems less bitter. In fact, I even like the way it slaps my cheeks, leaving them rosey from the love of my blood, who rushes to give me the gift of gratitude, one I will give back again and again

for we all stay warm

in the giving and receiving

of thank you.


This piece of writing was inspired by the poet Ross Gay.

Listen to or read the poem I had for inspiration here, it might just leave you feeling unabashedly grateful for all that is:

Listen / watch:


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