Gratitude: Completing the Circle of Giving
A Letter from the Wegner Home to Yours for Thanksgiving Day
This morning, as I write with the house still quiet and the smell of coffee drifting through the kitchen, it hits me: today we will all be under one roof again.
Belle came home on Tuesday, and our house has been filled with the soundtrack of Wicked ever since. I love to hear her sing. She belts it out like a Broadway contract is waiting in the driveway. Whitney arrived last night after that long and lonely stretch across Kansas that ends with her fiery joy bursting through the front door. And tonight Maddie and Peyton will join us for dinner too. They have been scouting wedding venues the last few weeks, which feels both surreal and sacred…and also expensive. :)
The fridge is full. But not for long!
The girls are home. Michelle and I hearts are full.
And sitting on our counter right now are two pies from The Rye, a Kansas City classic and, in our opinion, the best pies in town. We picked up a pumpkin pie and, of course, the legendary banana cream pie. That one is crafted from our buddy Timmy’s recipe, former employee of The Rye. Timmy is not only a fellow hub leader in KC Underground but a quiet pie ninja.
There is something about seeing those pies lined up, knowing every bedroom is full, and realizing we will be greening this new home for Christmas for the first time tomorrow. These small icons of tradition, Advent beginning soon, and all the quiet goodness woven into our lives stir gratitude in me before the day even begins.
And yet, like many of you, our table will be both full and incomplete. We will gather as a family, laugh, cook, pull out the Christmas decorations, and still feel the absence of the extended family we love and the ache of a world gone mad. We carry the weight of a country groaning under injustice: families unhoused in our own city, the unsettling reality that in our Kansas City neighborhood gunfire has become normal a few nights a week, and that someone was shot only a third of a mile from our home just last week. We feel the pressure on immigrant communities as ICE raids seed fear so often where safety should live. All of it sits quietly in the background of our gratitude today, real enough to name, heavy enough to feel, yet not strong enough to eclipse the hope that God is still at work.
Gratitude and longing sitting side-by-side, as they often do.
Maybe that’s why this year feels like the right moment to slow down and practice gratitude, not the polite version, but the deeper, heart-opening kind that teaches us to see again.
The One Who Turned Back
Luke tells us a story about ten men whose bodies were dissolving by inches.
Lepers banished from touch, from community, from hope. Socially dead long before their bodies gave out.
They stood at a distance and cried out:“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”
Jesus doesn’t heal them on the spot. Instead he tells them: “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”
Walk as if the healing has already happened.
And as they walk, it does.
Skin softens.
Voices strengthen.
Fingers return.
Faces become recognizable again.
Hope rushes back like oxygen into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe.
But then comes the quiet twist in the story: Only one turned back.
One.
He runs because he can run again.
He shouts because his voice works again.
He collapses at Jesus’ feet in a puddle of joy and gratitude.
And Jesus asks, perhaps with holy hurt in his voice: “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?”
Ten received the gift.
Only one completed the circle.
Only one returned to the Giver.
And then Jesus says something that no one else heard that day: “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”
Your faith has saved you.
Made you whole.
Ten men were healed.
One was made Whole.
Gratitude was the doorway.
Gratitude as a Way of Seeing
Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way:
You can’t force yourself to feel grateful.
Gratitude is not an emotion you manufacture. It’s a way of perceiving, a posture, a tuning of the heart.
Most ingratitude isn’t rebellion, it’s blindness.
As Thoreau wrote: “Many an object is not seen, though it falls within the range of vision.”
We live surrounded by gifts we no longer see.
Gifts we walk past twelve times a day.
Gifts like laughter in another room… a working body… a warm house… the smell of cinnamon… the return of a daughter after a long drive… pies from The Rye on your kitchen counter.
The practice of gratitude begins with learning to notice again.
The Art of Noticing
My favorite part of the Prayer of Examen is the review of the day for gratitude. You rewind the tape of the previous day and practice the art of noticing. What were the gifts I missed? I pause. I sit in the quiet. I let my shoulders drop. I breathe slowly. I remember that the breath itself is a gift being handed to me.
I ask, “What did I walk past yesterday without noticing?”
I do not dig. I simply run the tape of the day and notice.
The gifts are always there. Many of them.
Something small.
Something ordinary.
Something beautiful.
Something I did not create for myself.
I whisper, “Thank you, Jesus.”
I let gratitude complete the circle.
Notice → Receive → Return thanks.
No forced emotion. Just awakening. Although, often enough, the emotion of gladness rises anyway and grows deep.
Over time, this practice softens me.
It makes my heart more porous to God.
It opens me to joy, even in the ache.
It creates space for grace.
Gratitude is not a reward for the good seasons.
Gratitude is a way of perceiving reality.
Why Gratitude Matters for Mission
I know the gang that reads this substack are “movement” people. We long for church as movement in the West again.
Movement people often operate at a dangerous velocity.
We aim at Gospel Flourishing across metros or regions or nations.
We carry vision, urgency, and a holy sense of responsibility.
But urgency without gratitude becomes entitlement.
Mission without gratitude becomes exhaustion.
Leadership without gratitude becomes harsh and brittle.
Gratitude grounds the disciple-maker.
Gratitude steadies the leader.
Gratitude transforms microchurches into communities of abundance and joy.
When hub leaders practice gratitude, they lead from wholeness, not hunger.
When microchurches practice gratitude, they become tender, awake, and relationally present.
When disciples practice gratitude, they become people who can actually see the Kingdom breaking in.
Slowing down for gratitude doesn’t distract us from mission.
It deepens it.
It roots it.
It keeps it human.
It keeps it joyful.
It keeps it alive.
A Thanksgiving Prayer
To close the circle
Jesus, You are the Giver of every good thing.
Today, slow me down enough to notice.
Open the eyes of my heart.
Help me see the gifts I have been walking past.
Make me like the one who turned back, who ran, who shouted, who fell at Your feet.
Complete the circle of giving in me today.
Soften my heart.
Deepen my joy.
Let gratitude make me whole.
Amen.
As We Pull Up to the Table Today…
Whether your table is full or a little empty…
whether you’re joyful or a bit tender…
whether you’re surrounded by people or carrying the ache of absence…
May gratitude complete the circle for you today.
May you notice the faces around you.
May you feel the love beneath it all.
May you see the quiet gifts scattered through your ordinary life.
And may you run back to the Giver of every good thing.
From our home in Kansas City to yours…grace and peace to you this Thanksgiving.
May gratitude be our teacher today.
And may it open all of our doors to joy!
Happy Thanksgiving from the Wegners.
I really resonate with what you wrote here. That feeling of everyone coming home, the house full of noise and pies, it's just the best. Youve captured that special warmth so perfectly. What a lovely picture.
Thankful for you and yours, how you strive towards love and good works with gratitude and a good conscience, for the example you help set from almost 4000 miles away. Happy Thanksgiving!