One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Areby Ann Voskamp
Just like you, Ann Voskamp hungers to live her one life well. Forget the bucket lists that have us escaping our everyday lives for exotic experiences. “How,” Ann wondered, “do we find joy in the midst of deadlines, debt, drama, and daily duties? What does the Christ-life really look like when your days are gritty, long—and sometimes even dark? How is God even here?” In One Thousand Gifts, Ann invites you to embrace everyday blessings and embark on the transformative spiritual discipline of chronicling God's gifts. It’s only in this expressing of gratitude for the life we already have, we discover the life we've always wanted … a life we can take, give thanks for, and break for others. We come to feel and know the impossible right down in our bones: we are wildly loved — by God. Let Ann's beautiful, heart-aching stories of the everyday give you a way of seeing that opens your eyes to ordinary amazing grace, a way of being present to God that makes you deeply happy, and a way of living that is finally fully alive. Come live the best dare of all!
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One Thousand Gifts
A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are
By Ann Morton Voskamp
ZONDERVANCopyright © 2010 Ann Morton Voskamp
All rights reserved.
an emptier, fuller life
Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness.
Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace
A glowing sun-orb fills an August sky the day this story begins, the day I am born, the day I begin to live.
And I fill my mother's tearing ring of fire with my body emerging, virgin lungs searing with air of this earth and I enter the world like every person born enters the world: with clenched fists.
From the diameter of her fullness, I empty her out—and she bleeds. Vernix-creased and squalling, I am held to the light.
Then they name me.
Could a name be any shorter? Three letters without even the flourish of an e. Ann, a trio of curves and lines.
It means "full of grace."
I haven't been.
What does it mean to live full of grace? To live fully alive?
They wash my pasty skin and I breathe and I flail. I flail.
For decades, a life, I continue to flail and strive and come up so seemingly ... empty. I haven't lived up to my christening.
Maybe in those first few years my life slowly opened, curled like cupped hands, a receptacle open to the gifts God gives.
But of those years, I have no memories. They say memory jolts awake with trauma's electricity. That would be the year I turned four. The year when blood pooled and my sister died and I, all of us, snapped shut to grace.
* * *
Standing at the side porch window, watching my parents' stunned bending, I wonder if my mother had held me in those natal moments of naming like she held my sister in death.
In November light, I see my mother and father sitting on the back porch step rocking her swaddled body in their arms. I press my face to the kitchen window, the cold glass, and watch them, watch their lips move, not with sleep prayers, but with pleas for waking, whole and miraculous. It does not come. The police do. They fill out reports. Blood seeps through that blanket bound. I see that too, even now.
Memory's surge burns deep.
That staining of her blood scorches me, but less than the blister of seeing her uncovered, lying there. She had only toddled into the farm lane, wandering after a cat, and I can see the delivery truck driver sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, and I remember how he sobbed that he had never seen her. But I still see her, and I cannot forget. Her body, fragile and small, crushed by a truck's load in our farmyard, blood soaking into the thirsty, track-beaten earth. That's the moment the cosmos shifted, shattering any cupping of hands. I can still hear my mother's witnessing-scream, see my father's eyes shot white through.
My parents don't press charges and they are farmers and they keep trying to breathe, keep the body moving to keep the soul from atrophying. Mama cries when she strings out the laundry. She holds my youngest baby sister, a mere three weeks old, to the breast, and I can't imagine how a woman only weeks fragile from the birth of her fourth child witnesses the blood-on-gravel death of her third child and she leaks milk for the babe and she leaks grief for the buried daughter. Dad tells us a thousand times the story after dinner, how her eyes were water-clear and without shores, how she held his neck when she hugged him and held on for dear life. We accept the day of her death as an accident. But an act allowed by God?
For years, my sister flashes through my nights, her body crumpled on gravel. Sometimes in dreams, I cradle her in the quilt Mama made for her, pale green with the hand-embroidered Humpty Dumpty and Little Bo Peep, and she's safely cocooned. I await her unfurling and the rebirth. Instead the earth opens wide and swallows her up.
At the grave's precipice, our feet scuff dirt, and chunks of the firmament fall away. A clod of dirt hits the casket, shatters. Shatters over my little sister with the white-blonde hair, the little sister who teased me and laughed; and the way she'd throw her head back and laugh, her milk-white cheeks dimpled right through with happiness, and I'd scoop close all her belly-giggling life. They lay her gravestone flat into the earth, a black granite slab engraved with no dates, only the five letters of her name. Aimee. It means "loved one." How she was. We had loved her. And with the laying of her gravestone, the closing up of her deathbed, so closed our lives.
Closed to any notion of grace.
* * *
Really, when you bury a child—or when you just simply get up every day and live life raw—you murmur the question soundlessly. No one hears. Can there be a good God? A God who graces with good gifts when a crib lies empty through long nights, and bugs burrow through coffins? Where is God, really? How can He be good when babies die, and marriages implode, and dreams blow away, dust in the wind? Where is grace bestowed when cancer gnaws and loneliness aches and nameless places in us soundlessly die, break off without reason, erode away. Where hides this joy of the Lord, this God who fills the earth with good things, and how do I fully live when life is full of hurt ? How do I wake up to joy and grace and beauty and all that is the fullest life when I must stay numb to losses and crushed dreams and all that empties me out?
My family—my dad, my mama, my brother and youngest sister—for years, we all silently ask these questions. For years, we come up empty. And over the years, we fill again—with estrangement. We live with our hands clenched tight. What God once gave us on a day in November slashed deep. Who risks again?
Years later, I sit at one end of our brown plaid couch, my dad stretched out along its length. Worn from a day driving tractor, the sun beating and the wind blowing, he asks me to stroke his hair. I stroke from that cowlick of his and back, his hair ringed from the line of his cap. He closes his eyes. I ask questions that I never would if looking into them.
"Did you ever used to go to church? Like a long time ago, Dad?" Two neighboring families take turns picking me up, a Bible in hand and a dress ironed straight, for church services on Sunday mornings. Dad works.
"Yeah, as a kid I went. Your grandmother had us go every Sunday, after milking was done. That was important to her."
I keep my eyes on his dark strands of hair running through my fingers. I knead out tangles.
"But it's not important to you now?" The words barely whispered, hang.
He pushes up his plaid sleeves, shifts his head, his eyes still closed. "Oh ..."
I wait, hands combing, waiting for him to find the words for those feelings that don't fit neatly into the stiff ties, the starched collars, of sentences.
"No, I guess not anymore. When Aimee died, I was done with all of that."
Scenes blast. I close my eyes; reel.
"And, if there really is anybody up there, they sure were asleep at the wheel that day."
I don't say anything. The lump in my throat burns, this ember. I just stroke his hair. I try to sooth his pain. He finds more feelings. He stuffs them into words.
"Why let a beautiful little girl die such a senseless, needless death? And she didn't just die. She was killed."
That word twists his face. I want to hold him till it doesn't hurt, make it all go away. His eyes remain closed, but he's shaking his head now, remembering all there was to say no to that hideous November day that branded our lives.
Dad says nothing more. That shake of the head says it all, expresses our closed hands, our bruised, shaking fists. No. No benevolent Being, no grace, no meaning to it all. My dad, a good farmer who loved his daughter the way only eyes can rightly express, he rarely said all that; only sometimes, when he'd close his eyes and ask me to stroke away the day between the fingers. But these aren't things you need to say anyways. Like all beliefs, you simply live them.
Is this the toxic air of the world, this atmosphere we inhale, burning into our lungs, this No, God? No, God, we won't take what You give. No, God, Your plans are a gutted, bleeding mess and I didn't sign up for this and You really thought I'd go for this? No, God, this is ugly and this is a mess and can't You get anything right and just haul all this pain out of here and I'll take it from here, thanks. And God? Thanks for nothing. Isn't this the human inheritance, the legacy of the Garden?
I wake and put the feet to the plank floors, and I believe the Serpent's hissing lie, the repeating refrain of his campaign through the ages: God isn't good. It's the cornerstone of his movement. That God withholds good from His children, that God does not genuinely, fully, love us.
Doubting God's goodness, distrusting His intent, discontented with what He's given, we desire ... I have desired ... more. The fullest life.
I look across farm fields. The rest of the garden simply isn't enough. It will never be enough. God said humanity was not to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. And I moan that God has ripped away what I wanted. No, what I needed. Though I can hardly whisper it, I live as though He stole what I consider rightly mine: happiest children, marriage of unending bliss, long, content, death-defying days. I look in the mirror, and if I'm fearlessly blunt—what I have, who I am, where I am, how I am, what I've got—this simply isn't enough. That forked tongue darts and daily I live the doubt, look at my reflection, and ask: Does God really love me? If He truly, deeply loves me, why does He withhold that which I believe will fully nourish me? Why do I live in this sense of rejection, of less than, of pain? Does He not want me to be happy?
* * *
From all of our beginnings, we keep reliving the Garden story.
Satan, he wanted more. More power, more glory. Ultimately, in his essence, Satan is an ingrate. And he sinks his venom into the heart of Eden. Satan's sin becomes the first sin of all humanity: the sin of ingratitude. Adam and Eve are, simply, painfully, ungrateful for what God gave.
Isn't that the catalyst of all my sins?
Our fall was, has always been, and always will be, that we aren't satisfied in God and what He gives. We hunger for something more, something other.
Standing before that tree, laden with fruit withheld, we listen to Evil's murmur, "In the day you eat from it your eyes will be opened ..." (Genesis 3:5 NASB). But in the beginning, our eyes were already open. Our sight was perfect. Our vision let us see a world spilling with goodness. Our eyes fell on nothing but the glory of God. We saw God as He truly is: good. But we were lured by the deception that there was more to a full life, there was more to see. And, true, there was more to see: the ugliness we hadn't beheld, the sinfulness we hadn't witnessed, the loss we hadn't known.
We eat. And, in an instant, we are blind. No longer do we see God as one we can trust. No longer do we perceive Him as wholly good. No longer do we observe all of the remaining paradise.
We eat. And, in an instant, we see. Everywhere we look, we see a world of lack, a universe of loss, a cosmos of scarcity and injustice.
We are hungry. We eat. We are filled ... and emptied.
And still, we look at the fruit and see only the material means to fill our emptiness. We don't see the material world for what it is meant to be: as the means to communion with God.
We look and swell with the ache of a broken, battered planet, what we ascribe as the negligent work of an indifferent Creator (if we even think there is one). Do we ever think of this busted-up place as the result of us ingrates, unsatisfied, we who punctured it all with a bite? The fruit's poison has infected the whole of humanity. Me. I say no to what He's given. I thirst for some roborant, some elixir, to relieve the anguish of what I've believed: God isn't good. God doesn't love me.
If I'm ruthlessly honest, I may have said yes to God, yes to Christianity, but really, I have lived the no. I have. Infected by that Eden mouthful, the retina of my soul develops macular holes of blackness. From my own beginning, my sister's death tears a hole in the canvas of the world.
Losses do that. One life-loss can infect the whole of a life. Like a rash that wears through our days, our sight becomes peppered with black voids. Now everywhere we look, we only see all that isn't: holes, lack, deficiency.
In our plain country church on the edge of that hayfield enclosed by an old cedar split-rail fence, once a week on Sunday, my soul's macular holes spontaneously heal. In that church with the wooden cross nailed to the wall facing the country road, there God seems obvious. Close. Bibles lie open. The sanctuary fills with the worship of wives with babies in arms, farmers done with chores early, their hair slicked down. The Communion table spread with the emblems, that singular cup and loaf, that table that restores relationship. I remember. Here I remember Love and the Cross and a Body, and I am grafted in and held and made whole. All's upright. There, alongside Claude Martin and Ann Van den Boogaard and John Weiler and Marion Schefter and genteel Mrs. Leary, even the likes of me can see.
But the rest of the week, the days I live in the glaring harshness of an abrasive world? Complete loss of central vision. Everywhere, a world pocked with scarcity.
I hunger for filling in a world that is starved.
But from that Garden beginning, God has had a different purpose for us. His intent, since He bent low and breathed His life into the dust of our lungs, since He kissed us into being, has never been to slyly orchestrate our ruin. And yet, I have found it: He does have surprising, secret purposes. I open a Bible, and His plans, startling, lie there barefaced. It's hard to believe it, when I read it, and I have to come back to it many times, feel long across those words, make sure they are real. His love letter forever silences any doubts: "His secret purpose framed from the very beginning [is] to bring us to our full glory" (1 Corinthians 2:7 NEB). He means to rename us—to return us to our true names, our truest selves. He means to heal our soul holes. From the very beginning, that Eden beginning, that has always been and always is, to this day, His secret purpose — our return to our full glory. Appalling—that He would! Us, unworthy. And yet since we took a bite out of the fruit and tore into our own souls, that drain hole where joy seeps away, God's had this wild secretive plan. He means to fill us with glory again. With glory and grace.
Grace, it means "favor," from the Latin gratia. It connotes a free readiness. A free and ready favor. That's grace. It is one thing to choose to take the grace offered at the cross. But to choose to live as one filling with His grace? Choosing to fill with all that He freely gives and fully live—with glory and grace and God?
I know it but I don't want to: it is a choice. Living with losses, I may choose to still say yes. Choose to say yes to what He freely gives. Could I live that—the choice to open the hands to freely receive whatever God gives? If I don't, I am still making a choice.
The choice not to.
The day I met my brother-in-law at the back door, looking for his brother, looking like his brother, is the day I see it clear as a full moon rising bright over January snow, that choice, saying yes or no to God's graces, is the linchpin of it all, of everything.
My brother-in-law, he's just marking time, since Farmer Husband's made a quick run to the hardware store. He's talking about soil temperature and weather forecasts. I lean up against the door frame. The dog lies down at my feet.
John shrugs his shoulders, looks out across our wheat field. "Farmers, we think we control so much, do so much right to make a crop. And when you are farming," he turns back toward me, "you are faced with it every day. You control so little. Really. It's God who decides it all. Not us." He slips his big Dutch hands into frayed pockets, smiles easily. "It's all good."
I nod, almost say something about him just leaving that new water tank in the back shed for now instead of waiting any longer for Farmer Husband to show up. But I catch his eyes and I know I have to ask. Tentatively, eyes fixed on his, I venture back into that place I rarely go.
"How do you know that, John? Deep down, how do you know that it really is all good? That God is good? That you can say yes—to whatever He gives?" I know the story of the man I am asking, and he knows mine. His eyes linger. I know he's remembering the story too.
Excerpted from One Thousand Gifts by Ann Morton Voskamp. Copyright © 2010 Ann Morton Voskamp. Excerpted by permission of ZONDERVAN.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Meet the Author
Ann Voskamp's the wife of one fine, down-to-earth farmer; a book-reading mama to a posse of seven; and the author of the New York Times bestsellers The Greatest Gift and Unwrapping the Greatest Gift, and the sixty-week New York Times bestseller One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are, which has sold more than one million copies and has been translated into more than eighteen languages.
Named by Christianity Today as one of fifty women most shaping culture and the church today, Ann knows unspoken brokenness and big country skies and an intimacy with God that touches wounded places. Millions do life with her at her daily photographic online journal, one of the Top 10 most widely read Christian websites: www.annvoskamp.com
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Voskamp shares from her heart with stories about her family and her own spiritual journey, and I think anyone reading this book would come away with a heightened sense of looking for God's grace in daily life whether it be having one's child come through surgery or the admiring the beauty of a full moon. But, this was a difficult book for me to read. Voscamp is obviously a poet at heart but the entire book is sing-songy with long descriptions and awkward word phrases that I found distracting. It doesn't read as someone would actually talk in real life conversation. Those who like that kind of wordy, poetic narrative with mystical undertones will enjoy this book. Those who don't will likely struggle to find the message in the sea of words. For me, it was just too much page after page, and it took me a while to finish the book because I had to take it in small doses. I tried to stay focused on what I felt the message of the book was: live fully and abundantly in daily life by being thankful for the gifts that come from God's grace, no matter how small. I am inspired to live more fully in this kind of gratitude. I received a copy of this book for review by the publisher but the opinion of it is my own and was not solicited nor required.
This is a book not to be read, but to be experienced. Mrs. Voskamp wrote the book in present tense as though it were happening right now. The result was that it seemed as though I was reading her thoughts as they were happening even as I read her words. It was not an easy to read book. It's heavy reading. There is a lot of heart baring and heart sharing in this book. The initial chapters are full of the pain of tragedy and the ways that her family's life was destroyed by the tragedy and grief. It's very hard to read such raw pain, especially in present tense. The pain of her childhood followed her into her marriage and her motherhood. The journey of change begins as Mrs. Voskamp is challenged to give thanks, eucharisteo, for one thousand things, one thousand gifts. It continues through countless offerings of thanks to God even in the suffering that she has experienced in her life and that her loved ones have suffered. She writes of pain--emotional and physical pain and how God draws her close and heals her heart. The book covers about a year and a half of her adult life; but, it reaches back to a time when she was a small child and tragedy struck. She talks of the struggles of owning a family farm, raising a large family, homeschooling, homemaking, and family crises. God draws her closer and teaches her so much by making her aware of unnoticed gifts... the moon, the falling raindrops, the blue of her children's eyes. All gifts. All to be treasured but ultimately to lead us to a deeper love of the Giver of all good gifts. Ultimately the Love of God the Father overwhelms her and she finds peace in His love and His care for her. As I said earlier, it was not an easy book to read; but, I found myself challenged to look for those things in my life that are gifts. To be thankful for them. Deeply thankful to God. I will read this book again. I recommend it highly. I give it four stars instead of five only because it was very difficult for me to read in first person yet jumping backward and forward in time. I received this book for free from Zondervan in exchange for an honest book review.
This beautiful book is a touching, inspiring testimony to how to live each day fully, and embracing God's grace in our lives. This gets right down to the core of you. The author says "It is impossible to give thanks, and simultaneously feel fear." This is the most profound statement, as, don't most of us live in fear? We need to STOP! We need to embrace God's grace in our every day lives. So her answer, her gift that she has written out with so much wisdom in this book, is a profound declaration of thankfulness, gratitude for all of the good things in our lives. Out of some of life's hardest circumstances, the author is delivering one of God's most powerful instructions, one that we overlook every day: Do not fear. This is amazing and inspiring and as many times as we've heard these words, this book somehow actually gets through!
This book has changed how I look and perceive everything around me! I am learning to see God's gifts in my life and experiencing joy like never before. While I have always been thankful for God's blessings, the naming of these blessings has caused me to see God in the details of my life and to be more grateful. I am overwhelmed by God's goodness and love for me. God has gifted Ann with incredible and beautiful writing and I am very thankful for her willingness to used by Him.
I keep going back...to this book that has changed my perspective on life in this new year. It is moving and has motivated me to leave my discontent and restlessness to start my own *dare*...a gratitude journal. Ann lives the grittiness of everyday life as a wife and mother and helps us to see God in the daily...the mundane...the ordinariness in which each moment is a an epiphany of God's love in our life...even in trials and setbacks. I am indebted to her and her writings. I am purchasing this for several friends...I wouldn't be a true friend if I didn't!!
Let me tell you up front to buy more than one copy as you will definitely want to keep yours and yet you will want everyone you know to have a copy also! It's a great read. Very thought provoking and contemplative. It will change your life for good and it is truly a wonderful book. Ann has been anointed with a gift to reach deeper than the usual and to reach into the soul. Deeply moving!
Ann Voskamp writes in a very " descriptive poetic" style. I fell in love with this book and she opened my eyes to the wonderful gifts God has given me! I live my days not having to search for happiness, I just have to see and give thanks to God. This book has changed me, I can count hundreds of gifts that surround me. The words are much more saturated with life, love and happiness when spoken out loud. The rhythm of her words, is calming and comforting all at the same time. Read this book together with your girlfriends over coffee, they will love,love it. I promise you !!!!!!!!!
I am only about 2/3's of the way through this book because I keep going back to the front and re-reading parts of it. But that's okay, because this isn't the type of book you power through in one night to find out the surprise ending. It's thought provoking and comforting, which is an unusual combination even for an inspirational book. I keep reading and thinking, "Can it possibly be that simple?" The basic premise of praise and thanking allowing us to learn God's grace, where we could never earn it. I'm not giving this one away, so I'll probably have to buy more copies for my friends. It's way too good not to share.
I adore this book... its a refreshing autumn wind, a cool drink on a summer day, absolutely inspiring and humbling to read. Its an experience that stays with you for a long, long time. Worth re-reading over and over for sure!
What a WONDERFUL book! Immediately after reading a few chapters I started making a list of the precious gifts from God. How many of us feel it is our perogative to indulge in every pleasure we possibly can? How about those who feel pleasure is a right that has to be earned? Once you read this book it isn't hard to see the gifts all around us. For instance, this morning after getting out of bed I saw a cardinal and his mate right outside my window. How beautiful they were and how much joy it gave me to watch them. Go ahead and start your treasure hunt, look for the gifts already given to us. I received a free e-copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
i really wanted to like this book. i saved it to read on vacation and found it very difficut to follow because of the writing style. i couldnt make it past page 80 and i really had to force myself to get that far. i hate to not finish a book but i dont think i will be able to finish this one.
I am finding it very hard to follow her writing style, at least I think that is where my problem is. She tends to take the long way around to say what she wants to say. A friend and I are reading this together and we both are finding the same difficulty in reading this book. Her premise is very achievable if you can get past her winding road.
This book helped me acknowledge my own fear and lack of trust in God. Ann Voskamp shares who she is and what she has learned through her journey of journaling her one thousand (plus) gifts from God. This is a book that all women should read! The aspect of Communion is so deep and Ann helps us dig into our own souls to discover God's desire to be fully one with us.
I won't go into all the reasons I love this book...because it's all been said in the other 5 star reviews. However, it is true that this is not a book that you will speed through. Please, don't let that keep you from reading this book! If you have to read in small snippets in order to process what is written, well...that's fine. Read slowly. Read with purpose. Read and then re-read if necessary. For some, her writing speaks to their soul and flows from the page. But, for some, it will take effort to get used to her style. Please press on! It's worth it!
As someone who has been following Ann Voskamp's blog, A Holy Experience, for almost 3 years now, this book did not disappoint. I must admit that the first few chapters were difficult to read because of the emotion but what is sparked from the tragedy her family has seen is beautiful. It has sparked in me a desire to see the beautiful and difficult moments as gifts from a loving God who only wants us to grow in our trust in Him and our walk with Him. I will undoubtedly recommend this to friends and strangers alike and read it again and again.
This is an excellent book. I have read the book of Genesis multiple times but Ann opens up a whole new world for me to ponder upon. Excellent work. Once of the best books I have read thus far. You have to read this book. I am a software developer and I read extensively, but this book has a touch of grace. Ann is a very talented writer. God bless.
Touching, inspiring, profound, and spirit-filled. Highly recommend this great-insight book.
I truly enjoyed Ann's writing and enjoyed getting lost in it. What a true gift. What a wonderful idea to have a gratitude journal. After losing loved ones of my own, this book tugged at my heart strings, and I am thankful I happend upon it. I am thankful for another day, and thankful for another moment with my loved ones, and the moments we had with the loved ones who have gone home.
Luv ann's writing!
I like the idea of this book, counting your blessings, and looking at life from a different angle. I purchased this book with hopes of getting a new perspective on what to be thankful for, other than the obvious things. I am very disappointed in this book. I found it to be depressing, and very difficult to continue reading. I did finish it. I found it a waste of my time, honestly, and did not get much out of it. I really did NOT enjoy her style of writing at all. NOT worth the money, or the time, in my opinion. :(
Ann Voskamp's insight will amaze you. Or, maybe I should speak for myself. Ann's observations are so simple and right on. They are so simple, they could be written off as no big deal. Oftentimes the obvious is overlooked. And, the act of giving thanks falls into this category. We all know that saying thank you is a good thing. But what we don't realize consciously is that the act of giving thanks is powerful beyond all reason. I really love this book and I'm so thankful for Ann and her book (and obviously the publishers for recognizing the brilliance contained therein). This book is guaranteed to make your life happier if you are ready for all that grace. Highly recommend. Very highly.
Beautiful writing. Poetic. Inspiring. Real. Ann shares from her heart. The practice of gratitude in the midst of ALL life has changed me for good. I would recommend this book to all. This book is challenging. It is not just about looking for the easy thankfuls in life but in making your life thanks in the midst of all circumstances. It is about looking at life from a different perspective. Trusting and seeing God's hand all around us.
This book is written from the heart with pure, raw emotion attached. I love the meesage and it helped me experience my own communion with God in a deeper way. That said, her writing style can be difficult to follow. I often felt like i was reading a dream sequence. I highly recommend you read thisvbook and experience it for yourself. I have and will continue to return to this book regularly for strength
This writer is AMAZING! Her story is powerful. She has been through deep pain, depression and grief and God has shown her a way out. Taught her the power of seeing beautiful small things throughout her day as gifts from him and thanking him for them. It has taught her to trust him and given her deep joy. Her writing style is breathtakingly beautiful.
Ann Voskamp has brought back the lost art of poetic story telling. She shows us, challenges us, to experience being in continual pray through recognizing all that God has given us. By naming and giving thanks I came closer to an eternal gratitude in my life. Thank you Ann for your blog and your book and teaching us all eucharisteo!