I feel absolutely blessed. No matter what has happened, I still

“I feel absolutely blessed. No matter what has happened, I still thank God for all of it.”
These are words of fire wrapped in silk — soft to the ear, yet they burn with the truth of endurance. When Porsha Williams uttered them, she spoke not as one untouched by pain, but as one who has walked through storms and found her heart still beating with gratitude. The phrase carries the scent of both battle and peace, of someone who has looked upon the ruins of yesterday and chosen not despair, but thanksgiving. To feel absolutely blessed is not the boast of the fortunate — it is the sacred confession of one who has wrestled with fate and still found God’s fingerprints on every wound.

In the ancient way of wisdom, such words would have been carved upon temple walls to remind all travelers that gratitude is the final victory of the soul. To thank God for all of it — not merely the light, but also the shadows — is to acknowledge the divine weaving that runs through both joy and sorrow. The ancients knew that fortune turns as swiftly as the sea; yet the one who blesses through the storm remains unbroken. For when one’s heart bows in thankfulness, even grief loses its sting, and pain becomes a teacher rather than a tyrant.

Consider the tale of Job, a man of the East, whose name is sung across the ages. He was a man of wealth and righteousness, yet all he had was taken from him — his children, his riches, his health. Still, when the dust of despair rose around him, he whispered, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Like Porsha’s modern echo, his cry was not of surrender but of spiritual defiance — a declaration that even when stripped of all, he would remain faithful. Gratitude in suffering is the purest offering; it is the soul’s incense rising from the ashes of trial.

And yet, to live by these words is no easy art. To thank God when life is sweet is but the beginning of faith. To thank Him when the heart bleeds is the mastery of it. In every age, those who have touched greatness — saints, warriors, poets, and mothers — have known this paradox. They have blessed the day of their breaking because it revealed what cannot be destroyed: the eternal core of spirit, where no shadow can linger. Gratitude, then, is not a reaction; it is a stance, a way of standing before the world with eyes unblinded by bitterness.

So when Porsha Williams says she feels absolutely blessed, she is not merely counting her gifts — she is reclaiming her power from the tides of circumstance. She is saying, “I am not what has happened to me; I am what I choose to become through it.” Her words ring with the wisdom of those who know that gratitude is not dependent on comfort but on conscious choice. Every heartbreak, every failure, every fall — she gathers them into her gratitude and transforms them into strength.

Let each who hears this remember: life will bring both sunrise and storm, both laughter and lament. But if you train your heart to give thanks in all things, you will find yourself unshaken even when the ground trembles. When misfortune comes, whisper, “I thank You still.” When joy returns, whisper again, “I thank You still.” In this way, you rise beyond the realm of fear and dwell in the sanctuary of peace.

The lesson is this: Gratitude is not the reward of ease — it is the weapon of the wise. Practice it daily. When the morning light touches your face, say, “I am blessed.” When night descends heavy upon your shoulders, say again, “I am blessed.” Write it upon your heart, speak it into the air, and live it even when your soul trembles. For the one who can give thanks for all of it — for all of it — walks not as a victim, but as a victor crowned by faith itself.