Gratitude

The gospel is not that we give God a good record and then he owes us, but that God—through the costly sacrifice of Jesus Christ—gives us a perfect record,which we receive by faith, and then we live gladly for him.

But the most obvious fact about praise – whether of God or anything – strangely escaped me. I thought of it in terms of compliment, approval, or the giving of honour. I had never noticed that all enjoyment spontaneously overflows into praise unless . . . shyness or the fear of boring others is deliberately brought in to check it. The world rings with praise – lovers praising their mistresses [Romeo praising Juliet and vice versa], readers their favourite poet, walkers praising the countryside, players praising their favourite game – praise of weather, wines, dishes, actors, motors, horses, colleges, countries, historical personages, children, flowers, mountains, rare stamps, rare beetles, even sometimes politicians or scholars. . . . Except where intolerably adverse circumstances interfere, praise almost seems to be inner health made audible. . . . I had not noticed either that just as men spontaneously praise whatever they value, so they spontaneously urge us to join them in praising it: 'Isn't she lovely? Wasn't it glorious? Don't you think that magnificent?' The Psalmists in telling everyone to praise God are doing what all men do when they speak of what they care about. My whole, more general, difficulty about the praise of God depended on my absurdly denying to us, as regards the supremely Valuable, what we delight to do, what indeed we can't help doing, about everything else we value.

What you have made me see,” answered the Lady, “is as plain as the sky, but I never saw it before. Yet it has happened every day. One goes into the forest to pick food and already the thought of one fruit rather than another has grown up in one’s mind. Then, it may be, one finds a different fruit and not the fruit one thought of. One joy was expected and another is given. But this I had never noticed before—that at the very moment of the finding there is in the mind a kind of thrusting back, or setting aside. The picture of the fruit you had not found is still, for a moment, before you. And if you wished—if it were possible to wish—you could keep it there. You could send your soul after the good you had expected, instead of turning it to the good you had got. You could refuse the real good; you could make the real fruit taste insipid by thinking of the other…the world is so much larger than I thought.  I thought we went along paths—but it seems there are no paths. The going itself is the path.

Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.” ― A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner “If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you.” “Some people care too much. I think it's called love.” “You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.” “It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?” “Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.” “I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.” “People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.” “I knew when I met you an adventure was going to happen.” “Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” “Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.” “Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” “What day is it?" It's today," squeaked Piglet. My favorite day," said Pooh.” “I used to believe in forever, but forever's too good to be true” “The things that make me different are the things that make me.” “I don’t feel very much like Pooh today," said Pooh. "There there," said Piglet. "I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do.” “Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.” “It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily. "So it is." "And freezing." "Is it?" "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately.” “Oh Tigger, where are your manners?" "I don’t know, but I bet they’re having more fun than I am.”

TO HIS BROTHER, at the end of a long description of a delight-filled winter walk: On thanksgiving as the necessary completion of a pleasure. 9 January 1940 It seems almost brutal to describe a January walk taken without you in a letter to you, but I suppose ‘concealment is in vain’. . . ...I dined at the Harwoods that night and came away—on Tuesday morning—as you said in your last letter ‘thanking the Giver’ which, by the way, is the completion of a pleasure. One of the things about being an unbeliever is that the steam or ‘spirit’ (in the chemical sense) given off by experiences has nowhere to go to.

Friendship with Lewis compensates for much, and besides giving constant pleasure and comfort has done me much good from the contact with a man at once honest, brave, intellectual — a scholar, a poet, and a philosopher — and a lover, at least after a long pilgrimage, of Our Lord.

Sonja never found out the exact reason why they weren’t charged for any of the food they ate in José’s restaurant that week. But she laughed until she was positively simmering every time the little Spanish man who owned the restaurant lit up like a sun when he saw Ove, held out his arms, and exclaimed: “Señor Saab!!!”

They were, in fact, sheltered, but they had ceased to remember it.

‘As for myself,’ said Éomer, ‘I have little knowledge of these deep matters; but I need it not. This I know, and it is enough, that as my friend Aragorn succoured me and my people, so I will aid him when he calls. I will go.’

In fact, self-indulgence tends to suppress gratitude; self-discipline tends to generate

That is why gluttony is a deadly sin: oddly, it is an appetite suppressant.

“ingratitude” or “perversity” or “discontent” or “stubbornness.”

Discontent, ingratitude, perversity, stubbornness —these attitudes and dispositions pollute filial loyalty to Israel’s Creator, Deliverer, and Keeper. Ungrateful and refractory people at once foul their own character and their relation to God. They are like a child —willful, resistant, and adroit in self-defense by appeal to various legalisms —to whom an exasperated parent finally says, “Don’t be that way!”

Sin is deviant and perverse, an injustice or iniquity or ingratitude.

The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land.

The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you.

There are no uninteresting things, only uninterested people.

The way to love anything is to realise that it might be lost.

There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient.

This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it.

We can't take any credit for our talents. It's how we use them that counts.

Someone’s sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago.

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.

Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.