It was off the coast of Newfoundland. I was waiting for the ship to pull into port when I turned to see a rainbow in the distance; just a small arc, mind you, but it was beautiful as all rainbows are. I was prepared to watch it fade when another rainbow appeared, then another, then another, each one more brilliant than the last. They came down in front of the mountains. I could actually see where they landed. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. And then … and then … a rainbow came down within a few yards of the ship itself. If I had been properly positioned, I could have reached out and touched it. I am so thankful that I was there to see that.
I see rainbows here at home, too, not as often, not as brilliant, but they’re always a marvel, aren’t they? I mean, all those colors tied up in a clear shaft of light. Who could have seen that coming?
There are also tiny rainbows that form on the floor in my entryway. Some afternoons, the sun filters through the front door glass and breaks the light into beautiful patches of color on the rug. Same miracle in miniature, and yet, very often I don’t even pause to acknowledge them.
There are clothes that must be folded, armloads of things to be schlepped from one room to another. I was raised to be in a constant state of productive bustle, and sometimes my duty mandate derails my wonder. I need to do better.
Every time the phone rings and it is NOT a telemarketer, I should count that as a gift. When my toast pops up perfectly browned the first time, it is a reason to celebrate. When I open up the dishwasher and it is (ta-da!) empty, I should do a mental happy dance. Even if I just forgot that I unloaded it earlier, it’s a moment to stop and smile.
As I’m driving out of the subdivision and see a pile of turtles on the drainage pipe on the pond, I picture the one squished on the bottom saying, “Dude, do you know how many square feet are in this place?” and I laugh. That’s good! When the traffic light changes so I can merge seamlessly onto Highway 280, I should say, “Thank you very much!” When I open my car door in front of the donut shop and the smell of hot donuts is wafting across the parking lot to greet me, does it get any better than that? Miracles. Teeny, tiny miracles.
The funny exchange you had with the lady at the checkout counter, the fact that there was just enough milk left in the carton for your cereal that morning (hence the stop at the grocery store), the cardinal that stared in your living room window reminding you to fill the feeder (also need to stop for birdseed). These are all reasons to celebrate.
It’s easy to be thankful for the big stuff, the huge, happy events, the openly joyous occasions in the company of family and friends. It takes a little more practice to be actively thankful for the smaller things, the little rainbows on your floor every single day.
This Thanksgiving, on your way to hauling the turkey out of the oven or pressing the linens or making a frantic last dash to the grocery store because you forgot the cream of mushroom soup, I hope you see a rainbow on your floor … and I hope you offer up a word of thanks.
