The Land of Thanksgiving
Excerpted from Moonlight on the Amazon, by Don Best
I’m not embarrassed to tell you, old friend, that the very first thing we did when we got to the Amazon, getting off the plane, was to kneel down at the edge of the runway and kiss the ground. It was one of those spontaneous acts of gratitude that just pops out of you sometimes—a release of pure thanksgiving, a prayer without words. And that, so far as I can tell, may be the best prayer of all.
The Lord brought us through more than I can say, more than I can even remember, to deliver us there that night. Miracles of healing. Miracles of provision. Miracles of timing.
So we remained there on our knees for a while, just pouring out the thanks, till it dawned on us finally that we were being watched. I remember looking up and seeing the Brazilian copilot and two or three other guys eyeing us from a distance, wondering what stripe of craziness this might be.
As you probably know, it takes a lot of weirdness to pop the eyes on a Brazilian, since they’re the coolest, most nonchalant, most unassuming people in the world. But hey, we managed to do it right off the plane!
By then, of course, the moment was lost to us. Like Adam and Eve, we suddenly realized we were naked, and should probably go do something carnal, like take care of the baggage.
But thinking back on that moment by the runway, I can imagine no other place I would rather dwell than in the land of thanksgiving. To be wildly and selflessly grateful in
every moment, to be giving thanks 24-7, regardless of the circumstances, is to live a life of unceasing prayer and unbroken fellowship. I think this is what the Bible means when it says that David was a man after God’s own heart. I
think his heart so overflowed with gratitude that it often broke out into songs and poems and dancing without him giving it much thought.
David’s wife, full of scorn and sterile seeds, thought it unseemly for the king to dance before the Lord. But God must have loved David’s exuberant dance more than all the bulls and rams that were ever roasted on the altar.
To break out in song and dance before the Lord. That’s what I want! To worry not what the world might think. Maybe that’s what Jesus was trying to teach us when he stood the little child in their midst and said, “Here, be like this.”
Lose your sophistication.
Lose your self-absorption.
Dwell in the land of thanksgiving,
In the province of joy!
I am not embarrassed to tell you, dear friend, that there have been other incidences here at the mission, just since our arrival, of a rather peculiar nature. For example, the story’s told that when the dry season finally broke last year—after eleven weeks of parching, unimaginable heat—a certain missionary was seen out in the courtyard dancing in the rain. No shoes. No shirt. No umbrella. In his shorts alone, doing a very poor imitation of Gene Kelly.
Some might speculate that he was suffering from culture shock or heatstroke. But I, being very well acquainted with him, can tell you that it was gratitude that led him out into the courtyard and joy that set his feet to dancing. And suddenly, before he knew it, he was in the land of thanksgiving.
Perhaps you will agree with me that dancing in the rain is not such an unreasonable act of worship, especially when you stop to consider this: There is no guarantee here that the trade winds will shift each year and bring back the rains.
No guarantee at all.
And if they fail to come, the Amazon will quickly die, and we along with it.
If that’s not enough to move one’s heart to praise, I wonder what would?