Gratitude and Absence
As the seasons turn and the harvest time arrives, bringing with it the ripening fruits of the earth, there is a quiet invitation that whispers through the rustling leaves and into our hearts—an invitation to pause and be still, to gather in the richness of the moment and reflect. In this moment of gathering, we are called not only to celebrate the abundance of the land but also to honor the quiet currents of grace that flow through our lives, even in the spaces we cannot always see or understand. This time, the season of Thanksgiving, is a mirror of both fullness and emptiness, a space where gratitude dances between what is and what might have been.
Gratitude, when we truly lean into its gentle embrace, becomes a deeper understanding of what it means to be held by the hands of the earth and by the hands of one another. It is not merely an acknowledgment of what we have been given, but a sacred recognition of the interwoven threads that connect us all—the threads of family, of friendship, of community. It is a word that stretches across all the moments of our days, from the first rays of dawn, to the last rays of twilight, and in every ordinary movement between. We give thanks for the simple grace of breath, for the warmth of light, for the deep quiet of the night, and for the joy of shared meals around the table. But in the heart of this reflection, we must also remember the spaces where gratitude seems more elusive, where it feels tangled in the complexities of our lives.
For those who have no family to gather with, no close companion to share their meals with, gratitude can feel like an ache—a gentle longing that softens the edges of the heart. It is easy to forget those who sit in silence, whose tables are empty, whose homes feel hollow with absence. And yet, even within this void, gratitude still has a place to grow, though it may bloom in a different soil. Perhaps it grows in the quiet strength of resilience, in the courage to face another day alone, in the subtle awareness that the absence itself is a testament to love that once was, or might still be in the mysterious threads of life’s journey. For those who know this solitude, there is a sacredness in their ability to hold the world in their hearts without the need for a face beside them. There is a humility in their ability to recognize the sacredness of the world without the need for outward celebration.
It is this sacredness that lies at the core of true gratitude—the kind of gratitude that does not demand recognition or reward, but that springs from the deepest well of the spirit. It is a gratitude that is not tied to circumstances or possessions but is born from an understanding that life itself is a gift—each moment, each breath, a precious offering. In those moments when we stand in silence, when we are alone with our thoughts, we may come to see that even in the midst of struggle or loss, there is something to give thanks for. The quiet moments of reflection, the softness of an unspoken prayer, the recognition that we are here, present, alive, are all expressions of gratitude in their purest form.
As we gather with those we love, as we share our meals, our stories, and our laughter, let us not forget the ones who are not surrounded by the warmth of family. Let us remember that gratitude is not just about what we have, but also about what we give—how we reach out to those who may be lost, to those who feel forgotten, to those who have no table to sit at or no hand to hold. In the quiet spaces where others may feel invisible, let us be the ones who bring them into the fold of our hearts, for there is no greater act of gratitude than to offer another the gift of belonging.
In this season, let us cultivate gratitude that is deep enough to touch the places that are often left in shadow—gratitude for the unseen, the unspoken, the unacknowledged. Let us give thanks not only for the abundance we hold in our hands but for the space we hold in our hearts. Let us give thanks for the land, for the food it provides, for the air we breathe, for the beauty that surrounds us, and for the people whose lives intersect with ours. And let us be grateful for the times when we are reminded that all of this—our family, our friends, our homes, our meals, our joys, and even our struggles—are fleeting moments, yet they are also deeply precious.
May we hold gratitude in its fullest form, an expression of both humility and grace, and may it guide us to the places where we can share that gratitude with others—especially those who might feel that there is no one to offer it to them. In doing so, we allow gratitude to become a bridge that connects us all, a shared experience that transcends the boundaries of family and friendship, a celebration of the sacredness of life itself. And in that celebration, we will come to understand that the greatest gift we can give is not just to receive but to offer our hearts in thanks, to recognize the abundance that flows through all of us, whether we are surrounded by others or standing alone in the quiet.
BLESSING
May you be touched by the gentle embrace of gratitude, the kind that whispers softly in the heart and spreads through your days like the warmth of sunlight on a winter morning. May your eyes open to the abundance that surrounds you, not just in the grand gestures of life, but in the quiet moments—the breath you take, the rhythm of your pulse, the earth beneath your feet, and the stillness of the stars above.
As you gather with those who are dear to you, may you feel the deep bond of connection that weaves through all of us, threading together our joys and our sorrows, our triumphs and our defeats. In the laughter shared, in the stories told, in the food placed upon your table, may you see the beauty of the many hands and hearts that have made it all possible. And in the presence of those you love, may you come to recognize that the greatest gifts are not those that can be wrapped or tied with ribbons, but the gifts of presence, of love, of the quiet moments where you simply are together.
And may your heart hold a space for those who have no table to gather around, who are without the warmth of family or the comfort of familiar faces. In the emptiness of their solitude, may you find the courage to reach out, to offer a hand, to remind them that they are not forgotten. May you carry in your heart the silent knowing that true gratitude is not just the acknowledgment of what we have, but the awareness of what others may lack, and the tenderness to offer what we can to fill that space.
As the seasons shift and the world continues its dance of light and shadow, may you come to understand that gratitude is not a fleeting moment, but a constant companion, a way of seeing, a way of being. May you give thanks for the gift of life itself, for the way it moves through you and through all things. May your gratitude be rooted not only in the joys you hold close, but also in the wounds you carry, the losses you have endured, and the spaces between the joys where healing quietly takes place.
In the quiet of the night, when the world is still and the stars shimmer like distant promises, may you find peace in the knowledge that every moment, every breath, is a gift. May you embrace this gift with an open heart, and may you share it freely with all who cross your path. And as you move through the days ahead, may gratitude be the lens through which you see the world, bringing light to even the darkest corners, and warmth to even the coldest places.
May you know that in the act of gratitude, you are both the giver and the receiver, and that the exchange is sacred. In giving thanks, you offer not only your heart, but also your soul, your spirit, your very being. May you come to realize that gratitude, in its truest form, is a prayer—a prayer that honors the sacredness of life, that honors the threads that connect us all, that honors the beauty that is woven into the very fabric of our being.
And as you move through this season of Thanksgiving, may you hold this blessing close: that in your gratitude, you will find the peace that flows through all things, the joy that transcends circumstance, and the deep, abiding sense of connection that reminds you, always, that you are not alone.
I love You,
Alma
