1. The Traditionalist: Before a Truly Epic Meal
This is the intended use. You’re sitting down. Before you is not just food, but a platter. A feast. A mountain of mashed potatoes, a gravy boat the size of a small canoe, a roast turkey that looks like it could win a wrestling match.
You close your eyes. “For what I am about to receive,” you whisper, the aroma of buttery rolls and herbs washing over you like a wave, “I am truly thankful.”
The “what” in this sentence is clear: it’s the food. But it’s also the impending food coma, the blissful silence that will descend upon the table as everyone commits themselves to the serious business of eating, the unbuttoning of the top button of your trousers as a necessary tactical maneuver. You are thankful not just for the sustenance, but for the glorious, decadent ordeal itself.
2. The Reluctant Hero: Before Opening a Mystery Box
You are handed a cardboard box from your colleague’s desk. They have been fired. You have been tasked with “seeing if there’s anything useful in there.” You know this colleague. They collected novelty erasers and stored what appeared to be a decade’s worth of yogurt in their drawers.
You place the box on your desk. It seems to hum with a malevolent energy. You take a deep breath, clasp your hands briefly, and mutter under your breath, “For what I am about to receive… I am truly thankful.”
The “what” here is a complete unknown. It could be a perfectly good stapler. It could be a petrified ham sandwich. It could be a nest of cables that have somehow procreated in the dark. The prayer is no longer about gratitude; it’s a plea for mental and physical fortitude. It’s a spiritual hazmat suit.
3. The Digital Citizen: Before Checking the Notifications
You left your phone in the other room for two whole hours. You return to see the screen lit up like a Christmas tree. Forty-seven WhatsApp messages from the family group chat. Twelve emails from your boss, each one more terse than the last. A missed call from an unknown number. Three notifications from your dating app, which you haven’t opened in six months.
You pick up the device. It feels warm, almost nervous. You take a steadying breath. “For what I am about to receive,” you tell the cold, unfeeling glass screen, “I am truly thankful.”
The “what” is a Pandora’s box of digital drama. Is Aunt Carol arguing about politics again? Is your boss asking for the TPS reports on a Sunday? Is one of those dating app messages a charming hello, and the other two just bots trying to sell you cryptocurrency? The prayer is a shield against the impending emotional whiplash.
4. The Pet Owner: Before the Vet’s Diagnosis
You are in a sterile room that smells of antiseptic and anxiety. Your dog, a creature normally possessed of the grace of a falling wardrobe, is sitting quietly, sensing the gravity of the moment. The vet enters, holding a clipboard and wearing an unreadable expression.
You look at your beloved, stupid, furry friend who recently ate an entire sock and then tried to climb a tree. You stroke their head. The vet clears their throat. You close your eyes for a second. For what I am about to receive—be it a clean bill of health, a prescription for antibiotics, or a bill for a thousand pounds to surgically remove that sock—I am truly thankful.
This prayer is for strength. Thankfulness here is for the vet’s expertise, for the love you have for your pet, and for the hope that you won’t have to explain to your children why the dog now has to wear a plastic cone for a month.
5. The Doomsday Prepper: Before the News Broadcast
You’ve made a cup of tea. You’ve settled into your favourite armchair. The ten o’clock news theme music begins to play, a dramatic fanfare for the day’s disasters. The presenter’s face is grim.
You take a sip of tea, a small ritual of normalcy before the storm. “For what I am about to receive,” you murmur to the flickering screen, “I am truly thankful.”
The “what” is the news—the full, unvarnished, and often horrifying truth of the world. The prayer is a strange form of psychological preparation. It’s an acknowledgement that knowledge, even painful knowledge, is preferable to ignorance. It’s a way of steeling yourself for the onslaught, finding a sliver of gratitude for the privilege of being an informed citizen, even if the information makes you want to crawl back into bed.
The Deeper Magic of the Phrase
The true power of “For what I am about to receive…” is its profound acceptance of reality. It is an affirmation that life is about to happen, whether we’re ready or not. It’s a way of squaring our shoulders, taking a deep breath, and saying to the universe, “Alright. Bring it on. I am ready to face the consequences, find the joy, or endure the chaos. I am open to the experience.”
It’s a prayer for the brave, the curious, and the hopelessly optimistic. It’s for anyone who has ever stood at the edge of the unknown—be it a dinner plate, an inbox, or a major life change—and decided to step forward with a spirit of thanks, even if that thanks is heavily laced with pure, unadulterated terror.
So the next time you’re handed a surprise package, or you’re about to walk into a difficult meeting, or you’re simply sitting down to a delicious, well-earned meal, remember the prayer. Say the words. Embrace the “what.” And be truly, wonderfully, preparedly thankful.
