All my life I have heard it said, “When God is all you got, God is all you need.” So in the spirit of the day, I have to first tell you that the very idea of celebrating gratitude for just one day a year in late November is truly laughable to me. I myself can’t go for over 15 minutes on any day, the least of which is this Thanksgiving.

It has also been observed that of all life’s emotions – grief, joy, love, laughter – nothing is harder to get your arms around than “gratitude” itself. It ought to be easy, as fleeting as that mumbled “thank you” when the convenience-store clerk hands you the change, but the lucky ones among us have finally learned, “we are drinking from the saucer ‘cause our cup has overflowed.” I am now in that category.

In case you came in late and don’t know my story, suffice it to say I died last year. I had 29 surgeries in 2008, complicated with more infections that can kill you than the Center for Disease Control has on file, and, what’s worse, was plumb flattened in just about every way you can imagine. On this day a year ago, I was completely devastated, a total wreck.

So today, as tears stream from my eyes at just the thought of the miracles and blessings and triumphs that have been bestowed on a most unworthy me in the past 12 months, let me share my Thanksgiving thoughts with the hope they will be a mirror to yours. I hardly relished the way I had to learn my lesson, waking up in the intensive care unit of a far-away hospital after about 40 minutes in the ozone, but the enlightenment, for lack of a better word, was the greatest blessing in the 60 years of my life.

Let me give you an example. When a leaf now falls from a tree, it doesn’t just go “thump.” No, as each snowflake is different, every leaf makes its own beautiful aero-dynamic spin towards the ground. The beauty we once took for granted is suddenly crystal clear and now, with the simple falling of a leaf our sense of creation is magnified about a gazillion times.

If it is that way with nature, imagine how it is for me with people. My closest friends are constantly amazed I know so many totally-different people but the better fact is I cannot venture out for over 30 minutes of any given day that I don’t see somebody who cares about me. I swear that’s the truth. If I dwell on that, for even a minute or two, I’ll turn into a sobbing mass of blubber. Trust me; that’s how powerful gratitude really is.

In the early beginning of my life I was blessed by having Elmer, a black man who had no children, call me his "boy." The best lesson he warmly taught me was, “Sonny boy, if you’ll love people, they’ll love you right back.” Fast forward to this time last year. I was flat, and I cried out. Let me tell you something -- the huge army that came from every corner will forever be my richest treasure.

One night when it was particularly dark and rainy, I was wrestling with pain and, so help me, I couldn't catch it. It was bad, I'll admit it, and suddenly around midnight there came a pounding at my door. I struggled up, and there standing in sheets of winter rain, a guy yelled over the storm to me, "Gather up your stuff. I am taking you home to live with my family until each of us is certain you're going to be okay." In the immense gratitude of that midnight visit, my pain mysteriously ebbed away.

Another night, this a day or two before last year's SEC championship game, I had turned my phone off as I finally fell into a fitful sleep. About 2:30 a.m. I was back up, scrounging for more Tylenol, and just happened to check my messages. "Roy, I need to make a bet and need your help because it's a big one for me. I want to bet $5,000 in cash on ... Roy Exum. Just tell me where to leave it, so I'll know you get it, and promise you'll never mention it to me again." As I fell beside the bed sobbing, I realized gratitude has no cash value.

Last Thanksgiving Day, I opened my newspaper and -- boom! -- right there in the first section was a quarter-page ad with nothing but a huge picture of me and the words, "We are thankful for Roy Exum." I felt like I'd been hit by an sledge-hammer, weeping unashamedly as I sat in the floor. How do you get your arms around that? The answer is, you don't, and the fact is, you never will.

Around Christmas I was told a couple of the guys who I had once hired as sports writers were going to be at Ryan's Restaurant in East Ridge and wanted me to swing by. I was scared I couldn't control my emotions but went anyway. About 35 showed up, all laughing and joking with one funny story after another. And I knew, oh, I knew why they did it. How does anyone handle that?

I could go on and on, telling you so many more stories about my army, but let me tell you about its General. I wish I was a better Christian, that I wouldn't cuss and ogle older women and do so much more that I "oughten to do." But because I tied onto Jesus, I have found in just the past year He is as real and as loving as every one of those Sunday morning preachers and my worst "fellow strugglers" claim Him to be.

I mean, I was lying there one afternoon bathed in sweat, the fever and all else really harsh, and I was worried about something so silly I can't now remember whatever it was. But if I heard this "commandment" once I heard it a hundred times, "Hush, my child, and let Me handle that." His other great promise, when my chest catheter would clog or my arm would be so gooshy with goo, was, "You just be still ... and know I am God."

Oh, it was funny at times. I was troubled one morning that there wasn't anything I could do in the future, focusing on what I didn't have like some pathetic fool, when God reminded me I could still try to write. "Lord, you know with my right hand can't even sign my name," I cried and He quickly replied, "Why do you think I gave you a left one, Einstein?"

My point is that when you look at little things through this all-powerful microscope of a thing called gratitude, you focus on your blessings, not the tree roots that clutter your path. I've learned to walk on top of those roots rather than stump my toe. Do you not think I'm grateful for such a technique?

Granted, the last 12 months haven't exactly been a stroll in a sunny springtime garden. I'll admit that but it wasn't part of the promise so I'll always have my occasional struggles, I guess. Then again, we've gone from 29 surgeries last year to only seven in 2009. And, yes, I take more pills every morning than you eat Cheerio's but I'm getting better and I've finally been able to "play it forward." Not a day goes by that I ever fail in my daily resolve to "Find a hurt and heal it."

C'mon, I don't have great riches, a fancy car or a big house but if you'll give me 20 minutes in the pre-dawn darkness I can think of at least 10 people every day I can help in same small way. It might be a quick note or a phone call to a friend's wife, begging she give him one more chance. The fact I know so many people puts me in a great position to stand beside a guy in court, to whisper a funny story at the funeral home, to hold a hand in the emergency room until it quits its trembling.

The reason I mention it is because you can do it, too. It's so easy. Trust me, I'll never repay the massive debt I've accumulated in either grace or gratitude this past year but I have found if the Lord will guide my steps, I can be a tiny speck to others of what so many people have heaped upon me. That's what Thanksgiving Day is about.

Do you think the Pilgrims had Gore-Tex jackets, clean socks or hot showers? Lordy, half of the guys on the Mayflower had already died but -- picture this -- here were our ancestors, sitting down on a cold day of thanks with the Indians, and thanking God for His bountiful blessings. The same is true today, so help me it is.

I am not a smart guy so I have no inkling what lies ahead but it hardly takes a math major to figure if God has brought me this far, in just the past year, He's got bigger plans than I dare imagine. And while there is no way I can thank the thousands of people who fill my sails every day with gracious emails, encouraging words, and shared joy as I peck away with just my left hand, my prayer is that each will sense what they mean to me as I pause on this special day to examine the depths of my heart.

In only a few hours I, too, will sit down for the feast and, at some point during the meal, I promise I will take a big piece of turkey, smother it well with gravy, and -- while no one is watching -- slip it underneath the table cloth to "The Scooter," my ever-faithful dog who has snuggled beside me every night I haven't been hospitalized. Don't you see? It's not the piece of turkey, it's about the dog.

After the dishes are cleared away, after dessert and coffee, I'll finally give my thanks for the assurance "the best is yet to come" and, oh, try to put your gratitude on that one. Let me let you in on a secret: I don't care how big you may think you are, ain't nobody got that long of a reach.

Now, accept my Thanksgiving blessing and know that you too are loved.

royexum@aol.com