“Mama, go get your notebook! I have gratitudes to add!”
When we started listing things we were grateful for, it was born out of a moment of intense complaining, kindergartener-style: the sun is too bright, my snack is too messy, I don’t want it to be Tuesday!!!
Having just started elementary school, I knew my son was exhausted, so his capacity for coping was limited, but so was mine! It was either scream or redirect, so I flipped to the back of a nearby notebook and started listing things I was grateful for, saying each aloud as I wrote: our home, my children, snacks, clean water, income . . . Nolan came around to my side of the table, wrapped his arms around mine, and asked what sort of list I was making, not a hint of whine left in his tone.
“I’m writing down some of the things I’m thankful for.”
I repeated my list and jotted down a few more before he added, “You mean like Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah, like Thanksgiving, except we don’t have to wait until a specific day to praise God for our blessings. Do you want to help me with my list?” Within minutes, we had over 30 gratitudes on our list, ranging from the dishwasher and democracy to healthy teeth and toes (those little things are so important!).
When my husband Andrew got home, Nolan was eager to show Dad “our” list. Andrew added a few things during dinner, each met with resounding support (“Yes! Add that, Mom!”) or a follow-up question (“What’s an employer?”). The kid wasn’t just contributing at this point, he was invested. Being my numbers child, he asked if we were going to go all the way to one million, and my quick no took so much wind out of his sails that I had to give him something to aspire to. He happily agreed to 1000.
Through the month of August and most of September, we added anywhere from 1 to 23 gratitudes each day: bus drivers, laundry detergent, wagon rides, clean sheets, baby sister, baby gates, urgent care, bubbles, buckets. In those moments when we got stuck and felt like surely we had listed “everything,” we would take another look around or ask questions to see if we could be more detailed or specific: What is it you love about your little sister? Why are you thankful for your spleen? (We’ve had some fun conversations!)
After just a month, we’d made it to 300—meals together, EpiPens, not needing EpiPens, marriage in all its stages, poop, pastors, charades, boats, books—and we were energized by the challenge, ever working towards that 1000th gratitude. Sometimes Nolan would hop off the school bus or stop a story mid-sentence and declare, “That’s a blessing. Let’s add that to the list.” Umbrella, digestive system, effective medication, towels, science centers.
We kept the notebook close, even taking it on vacation and inviting family and friends to contribute: cousin camp, coffee shops, meteorologists, safety protocols, adoption, “matched” adoptions, finding Teddy at bedtime. The list grew, and as September neared its end, Nolan informed me that, by adding just eight more each day, we would have 1000 gratitudes by Thanksgiving!
That was before the storm.
On Friday, September 27, 2024, after a night of blissful ignorance for kiddos and sleeplessness for the adults, my husband and I worked to keep spirits high and bellies full while the still-powerful remnants of Hurricane Helene raged around and against our home. With no power and no real awareness of the impact outside our limited line of vision, Andrew and I stayed near the crank radio, sent hurried messages to check on family (with no confidence messages were getting through), and explained (repeatedly) why the TV and microwave wouldn’t work.
In the fear and uncertainty, both during and after the storm, the notebook itself didn’t move, but after doing something every day together for almost two months, Nolan and I didn’t really need the notebook. With power out, rain pounding, water rising, and wind whipping, we took turns naming the blessings aloud: water bottles, propane tanks, FM radio, LED lanterns, shelf-stable food items.
In my heart, I added: a husband and father who thought of these things for us. When neighbors braved the driving rain to help us get some flooding under control, my mind inscribed more gratitudes on our now mental list: kind neighbors with generators, gasoline, sump pump. When we tried to leave home but couldn’t because of the mangled power poles and impassable and washed-out roads and when we saw homes and livelihoods soiled, relocated, or flattened, I let tears fall unchecked, adding the safety of my husband and children, a functioning vehicle, a dry (if dark and waterless) home to return to. When the kids and I did get a chance to leave, it was Nolan, still confused by the devastation around us, who added Papa and Gammie’s house, bicycle, iPad with movies.
As I write, it has been almost two months since the storm. I tried to go back and update our list to include all that we’d tried to voice in the weeks that followed–trees falling the “right” way, fires that didn’t spread, utility workers from near and far, neighbors with chainsaws, strangers doing welfare checks, churches with bathrooms and meals, local businesses with open doors and free resources, teachers and staff with listening ears and so much grace–but I realized it’s not really about the list.
It’s about a new heart posture, established in times of joy and refined in sorrow. It’s about the shared effort to look for and name the goodness of God even in the dark. As much as I hate to leave a task unfinished or a goal unmet, I know we didn’t really stop at 435. Because we didn’t really stop at all.
by Samantha Krieger 
by Kamrie Smith 
by Emily Roussell 
