There are things for which I’m thankful this year.

I’m thankful I lost last year’s list of things for which to be thankful. It causes me to rethink these reasons for gratitude.

I’m thankful for people who hear me preach on any given Sunday and somehow find the fortitude to return the next Sunday.

I’m thankful for long car rides accompanied by the squeal of grandkids at the conclusion of a lyrical rendition of “The Crocodile Ate the Dentist” and the shouts of “Let’s sing it again.”

I’m thankful for my children to who spoiled, indulgent, and sugar-loaded grandkids can be returned. (Maybe I’m thankful for revenge.)

If the internet that has opened the doors of the globe to me, allowing sharing with people on six continents each week, I lift my glass to toast gratefulness.

I’m thankful for trust, that human quality around which all of life revolves, from the trust I have for the fellow who works on my car to the trust others have that I’ll do what I say.

An age of medical miracles where organs are transplanted, the lame allowed to walk again and the blind to see gives me pause for gratitude.

For other medical miracles of plastic surgery allowing those who look old to appear young again, and for my vanity that convinces me I do not need a face-lift, I’m grateful.

I’m thankful for the radio, for golden oldies and NPR symphonies and the buttons the choice to not listen to talk-jocks.

I’m thankful for offering plates overflowing with faith.

I’m thankful for scriptures read and scriptures recited by those who’ve read them more than I.

I’m grateful for a little house on the hill and its never-ending challenge of landscaping, for lugging railroad ties in defiance of aging, for rain barrels fill of irrigating wetness, rose bushes flourishing despite endless transplanting.

I’m thankful for the hymns of my youth that still resound in my head and occasionally burst forth in unrestrained praise.

I’m thankful for friends who are always there for me, and for not-so-close friends who telephone for the first time in twenty years to say, “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

For Chesapeake, my regal beagle, companion for over fourteen years, who stays by my side as he winds down his living and for Charlie Brown the rescued stray who sits a few feet away waiting to assume what he obviously considers his rightful place, both of whom think me a god; and for the stray cats who allow me to supply feed and occupy the edges of their space, all four of whom know themselves to be gods, I am grateful.

For brown grass thirsting for water, a constant reminder of how fragile is nature and this earth we inhabit I’m grateful.

For the ability to explore other lands through the written word and the wonders of educational television without leaving my chair, I am most thankful.

I am thankful Lynn and I decided not to by the bicycles. Now I don’t have to be always trying to catch up.

For the lady in her forties who came up to me and said, “Do you remember me? You baptized me when I was a baby,” and whom I had not seen since that baptism, I’m grateful for her remembering me.

I’m thankful for seasons remembered and seasons yet to come when the reasons for thanksgiving will multiply as will my innumerable undeserved blessings.