During one of my flights on my last tour of Australia, I found myself in the middle seat. As the departure time drew near, neither the aisle seat nor the window seat beside me had been occupied. I asked the flight attendant whether I could shift to one of them, but was told that both seats were occupied and the passengers were on their way.

Just before departure, two middle-aged Australian women hurried in, one after another, and took the two seats beside me.

The lady by the window quickly called a relative and, with obvious relief, exclaimed, “Thank God I managed to catch the flight! I’ll be there in about three hours.”

A few moments later, the lady in the aisle seat, who seemed quieter and more reserved, softly said into her phone, “Thank you, God, for helping me catch this flight.”

Hearing those two phrases in such quick succession got me thinking about how much difference that one extra word—you—can make.

In saying, “Thank God,” we focus primarily on what has happened. Some danger has been avoided, some problem has been solved, or something favorable has occurred. We acknowledge God, but mainly as the distant source of the providence behind the event.

In saying, “Thank you, God,” we shift our focus from what has happened to the One who made it happen. In expressing our gratitude, we are not merely acknowledging providence; we are directly expressing our gratitude to a person.

The linguistic difference is small. The relational difference is immense.

As I dwelt on that thought further, my mind went to another expression that I had seen just the previous day: “Thank God it’s Friday,” commonly abbreviated as TGIF. When people use that phrase, their focus is almost never on God at all. It is almost entirely on the relief that the working week has ended and the weekend has begun. God has become little more than part of an idiomatic expression.

As I continued reflecting on this difference, my thoughts went to the Bhagavad-gita. There too, a small difference in reference dramatically changes the relational impact.

In its concluding chapter, the Bhagavad-gita calls for surrender twice. First, in 18.62, it refers to the Divine in the third person: “Surrender unto Him.” A few verses later, in 18.66, the same call is repeated, but now the Divine is referred to in the first person: Krishna tells Arjuna, “Surrender unto Me.”

The first sounds like a formal instruction. The second sounds like a deeply personal invitation.

It struck me that just as the way Krishna refers to himself changes how we experience his words, the way we refer to him also changes how we experience our own relationship with him.

As I quietly repeated to myself the expression, “Thank you, God,” trying to taste it more deeply, I was reminded of the opening line of Srila Prabhupada’s Markine Bhagavata-dharma prayers:

“Such immense mercy have you shown,

O Krishna, upon this soul, fallen and forlorn.”

Prabhupada’s words are a much sweeter and deeper expression of the devotional mood contained within the simple words, ‘Thank you, God.’

Since that flight, I have tried to refine my own expression of gratitude whenever something works out well. Rather than simply saying, “Thank God,” I try to pause and say, “Thank you, God.”

I pray that through that small change in expression, I may move beyond merely acknowledging providence to expressing gratitude to a person.

May I gradually realize, as Srila Prabhupada did, that the Divine is not merely a distant arranger of favorable circumstances, but a living, loving companion drawing me toward himself through every event of life—even through two simple phrases overheard on a flight.

***

18.66 Abandon all varieties of religion and just surrender unto Me. I shall deliver you from all sinful reactions. Do not fear.