Thanksgiving is one of the most popular holidays for a reason. It is a time of soothing smells, comfort foods, and that much needed time off. For some, thankfulness comes naturally, uncontrived; for others, the eleventh month of the calendar serves as a much-needed reminder. Every year I notice the influx of “thankfulness” posts all over social media more than any other time of the year. Although it is nice to see people stop to think about their blessings in November, let us challenge ourselves to make thankfulness a year-round habit.

I wrote this poem of thanks, “Your love, Your comfort, Your soother, Your light” to remember that we do not have to do life on our own. All too often people do not remember that God is waiting for us to call on Him. We put God on a shelf where He waits for us to realize that He is always there to help carry our burdens if only we would let him do the work. He is a gentleman, and he waits until we are ready to hear Him, but He never leaves our side. Whether you love this holiday and spending your days with family, or dread it because it is a tough time of year for you, one thing you can always count on is that “you don’t have to do it yourself.”

In the spirit of thankfulness for this Thanksgiving week what I am most grateful for is His love, compassion, and patience because I was a hard sell. However, He never stopped pursuing me. He will not stop for you either. Gifts from God are everywhere if you are looking. Happy Thanksgiving. I pray you all have a blessed holiday.


Your Love, Your Comfort, Your Soother, Your Light

I wandered alone

bruised, broken, spirit shattered

treading  in darkness


to my eyes, it seemed like the day.

I knew Your name, I had heard it before  

Unbound, chargeless I preferred.

Sovereign will is all I need

and something,

None would bridle  


I pushed You away

and put You on a shelf.  

I said, “I don’t need Your kind of help.”  

Enduringly, unswervingly You waited

upon that shelf

with hand outstretched


“you don’t have to do it yourself.”

All the while I schemed,

plotted and lived

in the world.  

No eye could envision

the weak tower

that was fabricated.  


You waited

and wept

and watched me flee.  

Calling out each moment

anticipating my turn, my pivot

expectantly waiting,


up on the mantle

constructed in defiance

where You sat tarrying for me.

When the world had extracted all

it could wring out of me

and I was bruised


my spirit shattered.  

Somewhere in my soul

a whisper, my name.

You breathed into my soul

“you don’t have to do it yourself.”  

I am Your Love, Your Comfort, Your Soother, Your Light.

thankfulness in Jesus, poem