I give thanks—for those who refuse to let democracy fade without a fight!

Two friends were walking through a golden-lit pasture when an angry bull suddenly charged toward them. Heart pounding, they sprinted for the nearest gate, but the bull was closing in fast. Desperate, one friend gasped, “We’re in serious trouble! Say a prayer—quick!” The other cried out, “But I’ve never prayed before! I don’t know any prayers for a moment like this!” His friend shouted back, “Doesn’t matter! Any prayer will do!”

So the first man, breathless, reached for the only words he could remember—his mother’s blessing before meals: “For what we are about to receive, O God, make us truly grateful.”

That little story never fails to make me smile. And beneath its humor lies a quiet truth: in the end, every prayer is a prayer of gratitude.

But let’s be honest—living that truth isn’t easy. Not now, when the world feels heavy with sorrow and struggle. I’ll admit, I often forget to pause in awe of the ordinary miracles around me—the way dawn spills light across the sky, the burst of sweetness in a ripe orange, the steady hand of a friend when I need it most. These gifts arrive unearned, undeserved, yet I rush past them as if they were owed to me. They are not. They are grace.

And then there are the harder days—when the news leaves me hollow, when power is twisted against justice, when fairness is carved away by greed. How can I whisper thank you when so much is breaking?

Brother David Steindl-Rast, a Benedictine monk who has spent a lifetime teaching gratitude, offers a gentle wisdom: We need not be grateful for every circumstance, but we can choose to be grateful in every circumstance. Even in darkness, we can give thanks for the chance to respond with courage, to meet cruelty with compassion, to answer despair with creativity. Gratitude anchors us in the present, and from that stillness, new paths unfold.

And so, I look for the light—not in grand gestures, but in the quiet ways love shows up. Communities wrapping arms around immigrant families, offering shelter, legal aid, safe harbor. Neighbors becoming guardians. Strangers becoming kin. When I witness these acts of mercy, gratitude rises like a tide within me.

The truth is, I am still learning. Some days, gratitude comes easily; other times, I have to dig for it like a hidden well. But I keep returning to that simple prayer: “For what I am about to receive, O God, make me truly grateful.”

So today, I give thanks—for those who refuse to let democracy fade without a fight. For those who trade comfort for courage in the name of justice. For those who carry hope like a torch, even when the wind howls against it.

Thank you—yes, you—for your presence, your kindness, your stubborn, radiant hope. I am grateful, deeply and truly, for each of you.