Feeling Grateful

As we begin the Thanksgiving season, I am grateful for sensory perceptions. Writers are encouraged to include the five senses in our manuscripts, and most of us do a good job with sight and hearing. But it’s a little harder to add touch, taste, and smell without sounding contrived. Even so, every year I am most grateful for the sense of touch.

We can think on a meditative level about how we are touched by the presence of a close friend, a poignant story we read, or a movie we watch.

But the sense of touch I want to focus on is the actual practice of feeling the world around us.

Several years ago, I struggled through a clinical depression. Every day felt gray with absolutely no feelings. I was completely numb, walking through life like an emotional zombie. Nothing. Even pain would have been more welcome than the drab nothingness of living without any shred of feeling.

During that time, I completely lost the sense of touch. No feeling when I made my bed with its soft covers. No rubbing my hands against a corduroy jacket. I probably could have laid my hand on a hot stove and felt nothing. And I certainly felt no emotional stirrings whatsoever. Depression is a type of hell.

Months later, after an amazing moment of healing deliverance, I began to feel again. I drove to Hancock’s Fabric Store, which sadly no longer exists in my area. For hours I strolled through the store, stroking the nubby rows of corduroy, the shiny ribbons of satin, the rich texture of tapestries. I bought nothing but left the store richer and more content. Cherishing those inner feelings. Grateful that the world around me felt more alive.

So today, I relish the sense of touch. And I still love to feel my way through fabric stores. As I walk outside, I will often pick up a stick and rub my fingers over the fractured wood. Or I’ll grab some leaves and count the distended veins with my fingers. Pet the cat and marvel at the silky softness of animal fur.

My jewelry is chosen for its color but also for its feel. Next to my skin, I find joy in the spherical turn of beads, the chunkiness of stones, or the svelte softness of pearls. I often play with my earrings because the feel of them reminds me of being alive.

When I hug my son, I stroke his stubbly beard. As I pet the cat, I play with her fluffy tail and sing with the vibrations of her purr. As I arrange the covers on my bed, I smile whenever I pat the velvety blanket in place. Even the pens I write with must have a rubber grip, a smooth cartridge, and a careful touch to the page.

It saddens me to watch an interview where someone begins to cry and says, “I’m sorry.” There is no need to apologize for the feelings of sadness, the sign of grief. Tears are a gift. They prove we are alive and that we loved someone dearly. They remind us that our inner souls still open to compassion and empathy, even if we are sympathizing with our own loss.

The joy of touch is a blessing we can easily take for granted. This Thanksgiving season, let’s be even more aware of how objects, clothing, dishes, furniture, emotions, and life itself feels. As we touch our way through each day, let’s be more cognizant of new textures not previously experienced. Then let joy expand in the treasure of all the senses God has given.

And let those grateful tears flow.

©2025 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Image Attribution: aXer1 / Pixabay

Shameless Promotion: Pastor Tanner was not afraid to let his feelings show in The Year of my Redemption. Check it out for your holiday reading.

This post was written entirely from the creative heart of RJ Thesman. No digital interference allowed.