Here in the beautiful mountains of southwest Virginia simply walking out the door into a new morning can prompt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. That raises a question: gratitude to whom, or what? The answer depends on you. You may thank Mother Nature, the universe, the Goddess, the Great Spirit, a higher power, or God, using any of his (or her) nine billion names. You may thank more immediate and proximate sources of beauty like the trees, the mountain ridges, or the farmer in the next holler, who lets his cows roam the green hills. My choice is immediate and made without calculation. I thank Jesus. I thank him in very specific terms for His creation; for the gift of another day in which to enjoy the mountains, and the people here and away whom I love; for the gift of his forbearance with me while I work out the struggle between faith and doubt. While I talk with Him, I walk up and down the lane that leads out to the narrow road that connects the top of the mountain to the highway into town. It’s a distance of about 100 yards, and I walk it until I’m tired, which doesn’t take long.
If you happened to drive by slowly, you’d see an old fat man stumbling up and down a gravel lane talking to himself. You would not know that he is talking to the One he believes created the universe and all that is in it. Who cares if he falters? He believes, most of the time, that there is a loving God who cares.
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