Notice. The point is to notice. All around there is grace. All around there are gifts. Chances to be thankful, one after the other.
But my expectation takes away my awe, makes the extraordinary gift seem ordinary.
Granted. The opposite of gratitude. Once I can take it for granted I lose sight of it as a gift.
It was only day three of this project when my mom baked apple pie. Sliced Winesaps, fetched from Oak Glen, a.k.a. apple heaven, cooked in butter. Sugar. Flour. Lemon juice. Cinnamon. But not too much, just a little.
I stole buttery dough bits and we let Riley lick the filling from the pan off our fingers. Once it was gone, he’d keep trying to get his drooly mouth around our index fingers, hoping for more.
The house filled with oven warmth and apple smell.
All this magic. Apples, flour, butter, sugar combining in the very best way. And because it is what always happens when my mother makes pie, I barely noticed.
It all hit me at this point.
The gratitude! I forgot to take a moment for the gratitude. My mouth was too full of goodness to notice the goodness because, of course, my mom’s pie is always that good.
How much good have I made granted? How much gift is in my day, were I to tear off the packaging?