Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year because it

Joyce Giraud once spoke with radiant simplicity: “Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year because it reminds us to give thanks and to count our blessings. Suddenly, so many things become so little when we realize how blessed and lucky we are.” These words, though clothed in gentleness, strike with the force of timeless wisdom. For they remind us that gratitude is the great revealer, the flame that shrinks our worries to shadows, and the mirror that shows us how rich we truly are.

The origin of this saying is found in the heart of Thanksgiving itself, a holiday consecrated not to excess but to remembrance. Giraud, a woman of both artistry and resilience, knows that in the rush of life, we are easily ensnared by desires, comparisons, and complaints. Yet when the family gathers, when prayers are spoken and food is shared, the mind is lifted from its petty burdens. The act of giving thanks transforms perception: what once seemed large and heavy becomes small, and what once was overlooked—the warmth of family, the safety of home, the gift of daily bread—shines as treasure.

This truth is as ancient as humanity. The Stoic philosophers of Greece and Rome taught that gratitude was the pathway to tranquility, for when one recognizes what is already present, longing for what is absent loses its power. In the Hebrew Scriptures, the Psalms are filled with cries of thanksgiving, even in times of hardship, as if to say: gratitude does not erase suffering, but it gives suffering its rightful place. And in the early days of America, when the Pilgrims shared their harvest with the Wampanoag, it was not a celebration of luxury, but of survival, of gratitude for life preserved in the midst of famine.

Giraud’s words strike at the heart when she says, “Suddenly, so many things become so little.” This is the alchemy of gratitude: to change perspective, to teach us that the anxieties of wealth, appearance, and ambition are fleeting, while love, health, and fellowship are eternal. A man with riches but without gratitude is poor; a woman with little, but with gratitude, is rich beyond measure. Gratitude transforms the heart’s measure of value, turning the small into great and the great into small.

History gives us powerful testimony to this truth. During World War II, soldiers in distant trenches would write home about the joy of receiving a simple letter or a package of bread. For them, gratitude was sharpened by deprivation. Many survivors later said that the war taught them never to take for granted the smallest comforts. In this way, hardship can awaken gratitude, but wisdom allows us to awaken it without waiting for hardship. This is the wisdom of Thanksgiving—to practice in peace what others discovered only in pain.

The lesson is clear: to live in gratitude is to live in abundance. If you would find peace, count your blessings. If you would soften your heart, give thanks. If you would find joy in life, let gratitude be your daily practice. Do not wait for the feast to remember your blessings; whisper them in the quiet of every day. Write them down, speak them aloud, teach them to your children. For gratitude is not only a feeling but a discipline, a shield against bitterness and a lamp in the darkness.

So, O listener, let Joyce Giraud’s wisdom guide you. On Thanksgiving, and on every day, pause to name your blessings: the breath in your lungs, the faces of those you love, the bread upon your table, the roof above your head. Let your worries grow small in the shadow of your gratitude, and let your gratitude grow great in the light of your blessings. For in the end, the richest life is not the one that possesses much, but the one that gives thanks for all. And this is the true feast—the banquet of the grateful heart.