An excerpt from Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts:
The moment I try to grasp for humility, she's gone. Speak of humility, shine a light shaft on it, and she's shadow-gone in the dark. "Humility is so shy," writes Tim Keller. If I focus on humility, I look inward to assess if I'm sufficiently humble, and in the very act, humility darts and I'm proud, self-focused. It doesn't work. But what humbles like an extravagant gift? And hadn't I felt that joy of small, child-wonder when I paused to give thanks?
The quiet song of gratitude, eucharisteo, lures humility out of the shadows because to receive a gift the knees must bend humble and the hand must lie vulnerably open and the will must bow to accept whatever the Giver chooses to give.
Again, always, and always again: eucharisteo precedes the miracle. And you'd think I'd know that by now. But I forget. Father never forgets what I am made of, child of dust. The Wounded Warrior is achingly tender with the broken ones and He has all the patient time to gently lead those who seek and He keeps leading me back to eucharisteo.
I forget a lot. Too often, I think. I want to learn to live a life of thanksgiving.