Gratitude begets gratitude, just as love begets love.
(Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved)
That I am begotten by love,
Sustained
That my heart beats
And my feet move
That the air is rich
For me to breathe
That love is patient,
That love is kind
That I can know
What goodness is
That I have companions
Beside my walk
That song is true
(Only hear the birds!)
That the world is full
Of light, of play
That colour
Amazes
That I have climbed
Mountains and trees
That my eyes receive
The signals of life
That yellow flowers I cannot name
Line my road, my way
That I can talk for hours
To God
That I am small
And He is not
That language is beauty
And also meaning
That I have never suffered
As I should
That again the sun has chosen
To rise
That I must never
Truly fear
That I have been given
Home and name
That I belong
Where I am found
That sun and rain
Are common gifts
(That roads are built
That we may walk
And we may sit
In neighbourhood)
That even sparrows have a home
(How much more I, a child of grace?)
That I am held
In arms like His
That hope is stored
Where none can harm
That life is hid,
Yet lived today
That I can look up to a sky
And think – Sublime!
That all this glory
Is yours and mine
That in these thirty-two years of grace
It is not I but Him –
For this and more,
Much thanks.
The Consolations of Writing 