There are some big things facing us these days: “us” collectively as in the human race, and “us” as in my little family. Some of those collective big things are so big—global climate change, vicious politics—that I have no idea how to repair, heal, or change them. Sure, I know how to complain; I also know how to believe in something better. But a plan for getting from here to there? I don’t have one. So I listen deeply, do what I can do, try to be okay with that, and trust that there is a synergy to our efforts. Most of the time, I feel comfortable consigning the outcome of collective big things to the Love That Holds Everything. But if I’m not in deep trust, it’s like living with a monster in the basement, or a pyromaniac downstairs. This wakes me up sometimes in the middle of the night.

Then there are the family things. Some of what faces my little family are big things: world economics, wildfire impacts, aging. These collective realities become “little-family-big-things” because they affect us personally. The problem with big things that have personal impacts is that we can be fooled into thinking that we can fix them personally. We can make plans! This is a responsible thing to do; I don’t want to knock it. But ultimately, no matter how many plans we make, life is beyond our control. 

This definitely wakes me up in the middle of the night. 

Now. Pair that out-of-control personal scariness with the fact that just recently, we have been the recipients of unimagined generosity. From a donation to help pay for editing a new book to a weekend away, friends and acquaintances are sharing their largesse. It’s stunning and makes me weep. None of these gifts, however, have taken away the big issues facing my family. 

So I have continued, mindlessly, to feel anxious and worried. Fear crowds out everything, doesn’t it?

At least until the morning after Thanksgiving, when a prayer I learned as a child floated into my memory. “Give us this day our daily bread,” it goes. Not enough bread for the week, or enough bread to pay off the second mortgage. Just daily bread. Just enough for today. 

The refrain of a popular Passover song, “Dayenu,” means “It would have been enough,” or “It would have sufficed.” This song reminds the people of the many gifts of their life and how any of these would have been enough. Yet the Holy continued to pour out more.

I am sitting today with how it feels to be grateful, now. When my focus is on gratitude, now, I can’t worry about the little-family-big-things. Or even the collective big things. Not-worrying feels slightly irresponsible but largely wonderful. 

Now, not-worrying isn’t the same as ignoring. Not-worrying just means that I notice and enjoy the enough already received, the more than enough already given. From that bountiful place, I can trust in and pass on the goodness. Thanksgiving indeed.