I received a message recently from someone who reads my nightly gratitude post, “Counting it ALL Joy” on Facebook. Here’s what it said: “Your Counting it ALL Joy is killing me.”

I’d been posting a lot of things about my new little granddaughter including an adorable picture of her in her hedge hog Halloween outfit, so I thought she meant it in a nice way – killing her with joy. But then I read further.

“ …we face issues that do not have a shred of joy in them. I stand here in front of your words and beg my Father to help me, in faith, believe it and to live it. This formidable mountain casts a deep shadow.”

Oh my heart. She’d been reading not just the gratitude posts but also the blog series on climbing the mountains in our lives. Her mountain was so vast the shadow was blocking out every bit of light. All I could do was empathize because I’ve been there. That’s how this whole practice started—when I was drowning in the depths of my own darkness. It’s one thing to count your blessings when you can look out your rustic farmhouse window, see the sun rise and the light fall on that patch of glorious sunflowers you planted last spring. I looked out the window and all I could see was the dumpster. I get it.

How do you count it all joy when you’re not joyful?

Counting can become a competition. I want to count more blessings than my neighbor, or at least more than yesterday. I want my counting to count up. To reach the sum of a great big beautiful life. I want to live LARGE. But here’s the crazy part: a radical thing happened as I searched for that large life: I eventually found it-—in the small things. I started small, ya’ll.

Cracks in the sidewalk small. A large life is found in the small things.

I told my friend last night and I’ll tell you this morning because I woke up with it burning inside me: sometimes the only things you can think of to count are memories.

The morning I had my gratitude breakthrough wasn’t the first time I’d counted my blessings. I’d read Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts, just like you, just like the rest of the world, and then looked down at the greasy dishwater as she gushed on about the beauty in the bubble rising from her own sudsy sink.

In desperation I pulled on my sneakers and headed out the door, determined to find some joy to count. Instead, joy found me.

Stumbling into joy

I literally stumbled into joy as I stumbled down the sidewalk, vocally thanking God for everything I could think of. As I told my friend last night, it was the hardest internal work I’d ever done. I’d recently lost my house so as I walked past the gorgeous bungalows along the streets in my neighborhood, I thanked God for them, for being able to enjoy them vicariously, without the weight of the crushing mortgage payment or the work of upkeep. I thanked Him for the cracks in the sidewalk because it reminded me of when I was a kid, trying to not fall when I skated over the area where the tree roots had buckled the pavement.

That brought up more childhood memories and I thanked Him for them, too. Then I walked past a house I’d walked by a hundred times and noticed a piece of paper on the door. The curtains were drawn. The house was empty. Foreclosure. My heart broke in recognition and I wondered what had brought them to that point, whether their marriage had survived it; did they have somewhere to go? I prayed for them with the passion of someone who’s been there and knows every pinch of the pain.

Gripped by gratitude

As I continued my walk, I began to be gripped by gratitude. It became a lifeline. I WILL BLESS THE LORD, I WILL BLESS THE LORD. BLESS THE LORD, O MY SOUL AND ALL THAT IS WITHIN ME BLESS HIS HOLY NAME.

I don’t understand it, can’t really explain it, but something broke inside me that day. And with that breaking, it was like my soul opened up and the light could finally pour in through the crack.

Life didn’t change overnight. In fact, my circumstances to this day haven’t changed a whole lot. I’ve changed though. Or I should say, my focus has changed. They say what you focus on expands, and they’re right. When I began to consciously look for things to be thankful for, I found them, I counted them and gradually they added up. It’s almost like they accrued interest.

The more I counted, the more I found. The more I found, the more I counted.

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This is an excerpt of “When counting it all joy feels a little like death.” To read the full post, including Susan’s 10 ways to start a daily gratitude practice (which you will NOT want to miss!), click the button below.