Wrangler Dani

(Reposted from my Substack newsletter. Subscribe here.)

Gratitude is a funny thing. It’s the topic of many a cross-stitch project and yard sign, there are countless fall-themed farmhouse-y placards declaring it in every home store. Its ubiquitous nature can lead us to think it trite or simple, when the reality is anything but. Gratitude is a lot like hope. It’s often thrown about: (I hope I don’t get sick, I hope the Cowboys win tomorrow) but the reality of true, grounded hope is less like a wish and more like a desperate clinging to faith something that doesn’t have anything to do with outcomes but rather with the nature of redemption. Similarly, gratitude isn’t the repetition of familiar graces (go around the table and say you’re thankful for your family, everybody) although that is certainly a good start.

True gratitude recognizes our inherent poverty, our inability to survive alone, the mere fact that humans are born naked and helpless and we leave the same way – that all else is a gift beyond our wildest imaginings.

I haven’t always felt particularly cared-for at this time of year, which can make me sad and then indignant and then angry – notice how gratitude and joy get shoved out of the room once the spicier emotions come into play. Interestingly, blame and anger make it someone else’s fault that I can’t be grateful, because they/he/she… (insert bad behavior here.)

Imma let that simmer.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. This week is a week like any other in human existence, with sickness and death and hurt feelings and not enough money to go around and political unrest and you get the idea. But what makes this week different is not the size of the turkey or the decadence of the meal or the emotional and physical health of our loved ones with whom we gather.

As the theologian Peppermint Patty wisely said, “It’s Thanksgiving, shouldn’t we say grace, Chuck?” This week is about grace. Grace to see with eyes of gratitude, to believe with a heart turned toward hope.

To that end, here is my non-exhaustive and off-the-top-of-my-head list of what I’m grateful for. There are many more – what a blessed life – and I would genuinely love to hear yours as well, so please do reply and let me share in your grace.

• My husband who listens patiently to my long Marvel-related dissertations and holds my hand on cold nights and tells me I’m pretty when I feel anything but.
• My kids who’ve never been satisfied with just one hug and kiss goodbye or goodnight.
• My horse, and our little beloved Treewater Ranch.
• The fact that said horse is the subject of a kids’ book coming out next year – a project and a creative team that so far exceeds my wildest dreams that tears come to my eyes just thinking about it. I’ve been trying to publish a book since 2009 and there are no words for this deep and long and painful and powerful creative process. But you know I’ll try: double-fisted hope and matchless grace.
• Friends who I can text when the going gets tough, who show up with gifs and gifts, who forgive me when I fail and make me laugh when I get too serious.
• Freezer(s) (yes, plural) filled with food and the endless inspiration of flavor. Creative cooking is indeed a gift.
• Grandparents and adoptive grandparents and friends and family and coworkers who love my kids more than I ever thought possible. While I am no HRC fan, there is nothing quite like the infamous village in the life of children.
• Work that matters with people who make it joyful and safe.
• Central Oregon. I love the brilliant sunsets and frost on the prairie-grass. I love the cold, dry air on my cheeks. I love the smell of juniper and sage and pine. I love the sound of the river. I love the stormy skies of fall and endless blue of most other seasons. I love the dust under our hooves and the creativity of the rocks, finding their way out of the dirt to remind us of whence we came. I’m so grateful to live here, where I feel at home.