(Note from Ferrell: Ethics, which is about how we ought to live, is only Christian when it is rooted in the worship of God as revealed in Jesus Christ. Amy Ford Brumfield gave me permission to share the following article. Amy shows us what it's like to be truly alive and grateful in God's world and how that can lead us to worship our creator and redeemer. That worship then leads us to want to honor God with our lives.)
By Amy Ford Brumfield
A friend challenged me recently to reflect on what I am grateful for about my body. I am almost certain the following meditation is far removed from what she had in mind. She had flesh, bone, and sinew in mind, but I am always led to the abstract when I write.
I am grateful for:
Eyes that see the beauty of the created in the way the light plays on trees. I am grateful to have eyes that see not just shades of green, but the colors of the rainbow hidden within each leaf. The ability to commit it to canvas.
Ears that hear the miracle of a cellist playing “Gabriel’s Oboe.” Ears that can block out every sound but the water cascading over the fountain in my yard as it plays its own music. The way either can fill my eyes at the first note. When the two play in unison it borders on the divine.
The first hint of perfume from the privet hedge that blooms each spring. It’s not there one day, and then the next it overwhelms me with a fragrance I want to drink in and remember.
The first sip of morning coffee that provides pleasure and comfort when it touches my tongue and clears the cobwebs.
The ability to appreciate and sometimes untangle the prose of Wendell Berry as he challenges my world view and exposes my own propensity to prejudice or complacency.
The weighted feel of one of my grandchildren sleeping on my chest that fills me in a way nothing else can. The remembered feel of their mother and fathers that I have had hidden in my heart since their infancy. The memory of my own mother’s flesh and the shocking softness of her body against mine as she took me in her bed and spooned me close during a thunderstorm one night long ago.
Some of these things I have in common with the creatures that dwell in this world and others are unique to my humanity because I share in the likeness of the One who knit me together in my mother’s womb.
It is He who knows my inward thoughts and longings in a way that even I do not know or understand.
It is He who knows the number of beats per minute of my heart, the rate of my pulse and the number of hairs on my head. It is He who has written the number of my days on this earth.
It is He who will transform this mortal body one day to the glorified one that He intends for all His followers.
It is He who will make all things new and perfect and whole -- in His time.