“स्मरणं भक्ति: श्रेष्ठा”

 The Discipline of Thankfulness

We often remember God when life feels incomplete.

Rarely do we remember Him when life is quietly sufficient.

The human heart is strangely wired—it counts what is missing with precision, yet overlooks what has been mercifully spared. We hope for more, pray for better, and wait for improvement, forgetting that this very moment could have been immeasurably harsher had grace not intervened silently.

Thankfulness, therefore, is not born from abundance.

It is born from awareness.

When we pause and look closely, we realize that much of God’s kindness lies not in what He gives, but in what He withholds—accidents that never happened, words that were never spoken, losses that never came our way. These unseen mercies form the quiet architecture of our lives.

Scriptures remind us again and again that contentment is a spiritual strength. The Gītā speaks of the one who is satisfied with what comes unasked, while the saints lived lives that thanked God even for delay, denial, and difficulty. They understood something we often forget: gratitude is not a response to comfort, but a recognition of care.

Pain, when it enters our lives, tempts us to ask, “Why me?”

Gratitude gently replaces that question with, “Why not me?”

This shift dissolves entitlement. It humbles the ego that believes it deserves only ease. In doing so, it opens the heart to a deeper truth—that life is not designed to please us, but to shape us.

Impermanence, when truly accepted, becomes a great teacher of gratitude. Health, relationships, reputation, even faith itself are not permanent possessions. When we remember this, every ordinary day becomes extraordinary. Every shared meal, every familiar voice, every uneventful evening turns into a blessing rather than an assumption.

Gratitude deepens when it is expressed. A silent thank-you fades quickly, but a spoken one lingers. When we thank God aloud—not only for joy, but for endurance—we train the heart to trust even what it does not yet understand.

Prayer, too, transforms when gratitude outweighs petition. When acknowledgements replace demands, prayer becomes communion rather than negotiation. God is no longer approached as a fulfiller of wishes, but as a quiet presence sustaining us moment by moment.

Service to those who have less further sharpens this vision. It strips away illusion and comparison. It reminds us how supported our lives truly are, even when they feel heavy. Gratitude matures when compassion is practiced.

Above all, we must remember that many blessings arrive disguised. What we once resented later reveals itself as protection. What we mourned becomes redirection. What felt like loss turns out to be grace in stern clothing.

To live thankfully, then, is not to live cheerfully at all times. It is to live attentively. It is to remember—again and again—that we are carried more than we realize.

When remembrance becomes steady, gratitude ceases to be an emotion.

It becomes a way of seeing.

And eventually, a way of being.

“Yadṛcchā-lābha-santuṣṭaḥ”

He who is content with what comes unasked… (Gītā 4.22)