When I was a kid, my mom recorded my first prayer.

It went like this:

“Dear God, thank you for screwdrivers so we don’t gotta pound screws.”

That was it.

No explanation.

No follow-up.

Not even a request.

Just gratitude.

Now, as adults, I imagine we can all agree this prayer doesn’t exactly survive a logic audit.

Screwdrivers weren’t invented so we wouldn’t pound screws.

You don’t actually pound screws.

Hammers and nails had their own thing long before anyone named Phillips showed up to the party.

Logically?

This prayer falls apart.

Spiritually?

It’s perfect.

Because young Derrick wasn’t trying to get it “right.”

He wasn’t trying to be impressive.

He wasn’t trying to solve anything.

He wasn’t even asking for anything.

He was just—

…grateful.

We Tend to Get Grateful Late

If we’re honest, most of us don’t lead with gratitude.

We arrive there… eventually.

Usually, after pain shows up.

After stress tightens the room.

After something breaks, aches, or goes missing.

Sometimes it’s physical.

Sometimes it’s circumstantial.

And sometimes it’s relational.

A breakup.

A relationship ending.

That quiet, hollow moment when someone who mattered

suddenly isn’t there anymore.

Those are the moments we pray hard.

The moments we bargain.

The moments we ask God to fix it, restore it, rewind it—or at least numb it.

Then—if we’re lucky—time passes.

Healing happens.

The ache loosens its grip.

But by then, gratitude often shows up late.

Yes, those prayers mattered.

They count BIG.

But they’re usually reactive.

Young Derrick didn’t wait for trouble to practice gratitude.

And I’m currently trying to relearn that from a five-year-old who clearly had more wisdom than I do now.

Gratitude for What’s Not Happening

Lately, I’ve been attempting a different kind of gratitude.

Gratitude for absence.

Throughout the day, I’ll catch myself praying things like:

“Thank you that I don’t have a hangnail right now.”

“Thank you that I don’t have to try to blink my eyes—

they just blink.”

“Thank you that I’m not under a deadline today.”

“Thank you that nothing hurts right now in a way that needs attention.”

None of these is dramatic.

None of them sounds spiritual or deep.

And that’s the point.

This kind of gratitude trains us to notice normalcy—

which, if we’re honest, is pretty darn sweet for most of us.

And here’s the quiet part we don’t always say out loud:

If you’ve got a car,

You’re reading this on one of your  “screens”,

A Keurig is humming over there on the counter…

You’re probably living in the top 1–3% of the world’s definition of “normal.”

Not because you’re special.

Not because you earned it more.

Just because of where and when you woke up.

With a little effort, we can fill an entire day with this kind of  silly gratitude—

and maybe even accidentally put ourselves,

and everyone around us,

in a better mood.

Oh, and—remember earlier when we talked about the prayers that required pain?

About how we prayed hard when we were hurting… or when they left you?

Well, here’s some next-level realization.

These simple, silly prayers?

They’re not just for lifting your mood on an average Tuesday.

That’s awesome.

But it’s not the whole point.

They work in the storm, too.

They don’t replace the big, heavy prayers.

They sit beside them—

like a great glass of Bordeaux with that medium-rare ribeye.

Different on their own.

Better together.

(Great. Now I’m hungry.)

(Also—full disclosure—I don’t actually know what Bordeaux is.

I Googled “best wine for steak.”

I do 100% know what a ribeye is—

and that it screams for medium rare.)

Remember the Thing You Begged About

Think back to a time you were hurting.

Maybe it was a severe ankle sprain.

Every step hurt.

You were limping.

You were icing it.

You were praying things like,

“Please let this heal. Please let this stop hurting.”

Now—pause.

If your ankle isn’t sprained right now…

Say thank you for that.

Out loud if you can.

“Thank you that my ankle isn’t sprained right now.”

Even if it feels unnecessary.

Even if it feels illogical, or downright RIDICULOUS.

Even if no one else would think to say thank you.

Bask in it.

Swim in the normalcy.

Let the relief wash over you.

Peace doesn’t need fireworks to be worth noticing.

A Different Way to Talk About Gratitude

A lot of times when you hear people talk about gratitude—or read about it—the first examples are pretty familiar.

Eyesight.

Hearing.

Running water.

A body that works.

Those are good things.

Important things.

But I’m not going exactly that direction here.

Because… well, half of my body kinda ghosted me.

My left side is paralyzed.

That’s not a metaphor.

It’s a way of life.

Seriously—

you do the YMCA,

all I’ve got is LOL.

So instead of pretending otherwise, I’ve learned to try and practice gratitude a little differently.

My right arm?

That guy deserves a standing ovation.

He clocks in every day like he’s getting paid overtime.

He ties my Adidas—double knots—with one hand.

He carries all the groceries.

Holds microphones.

Writes.

Creates.

Let me tattoo him, and keeps on smiling.

And here’s the part that sneaks up on me:

That five-year-old kid praying about screwdrivers?

He had two working arms.

And somehow…

he was already better at gratitude than I am now.

I could stare at what doesn’t work.

Or I can thank God—daily—for what does.

Not in a “look how strong I am” kind of way.

Not in a denial kind of way.

Just in a choose what gets the spotlight way.

Gratitude doesn’t erase limitation.

It decides where joy gets the most airtime.

Complaining Between Heated Buildings

Yesterday, I was walking to church, ironically for a prayer meeting.

It was 9 degrees. Freezing!

And I was complaining.

Out loud.

To my family.

As I walked about 200 yards

from one heated building

to another heated building

to gather freely with friends

in a country where that’s not just allowed—but protected.

I wasn’t wrong that it was cold.

But I was wrong about the moment.

I wasn’t suffering.

I was standing inside the absence of suffering.

And I almost missed it.

We All Have a Left Arm (and We All Have Screwdrivers)

We all have a “left arm.”

Something that doesn’t work the way we want it to.

Something that limits us.

Something that’s easy to fixate on.

But we also all live surrounded by screwdrivers.

Quiet mercies.

Problems that aren’t present today.

Pain that hasn’t knocked yet.

Fear that used to shout but is currently silent.

Gratitude doesn’t need logic.

It needs your attention.

An Invitation

I don’t want to wait for life to break before I say thank you.

So I’m learning to thank God for what’s not happening.

For the lack of pain.

For the absence of fear.

For the days that don’t demand courage.

Even when it feels silly.

Especially when it does.

So today, try this:

Thank God for something you don’t have to deal with right now.

A sprained ankle.

A hangnail.

A breakup.

A deadline.

A hospital room.

A crisis.

And hey—God…

thanks that when We’re hungry,

it’s not a crisis.

It’s temporary.

It’s solvable.

That’s something worth noticing.

Because maybe the point was never about getting it “right” after all.

Maybe it was about a five-year-old who knew how to say thank you before asking for anything.

“Dear God, thank you for screwdrivers—so we don’t gotta pound screws.”

Amen.