GIVING THANKS

 

When it was getting late, the disciples came to Jesus and said, “This is a desert place, and it is getting late; dismiss the people …” (Mark 6)

I am not a thankful person in the ordinary course of life. I do not stroll through the wilderness like Snow White, singing to the bunnies and butterflies. I do not make like Sister Maria, romping over the mountains and hills while belting out tunes in the Sound of Music.

No, I mostly schlump my way through life doing the things that need to be done. I don’t think about them, and I certainly don’t sing about them, either. I’ve never headed out to handle a task whistling, “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go …” If I am inspired to sing or whistle, it is more likely to be the menacingly martial music of the soldiers marching around the witch’s castle in the Wizard of Oz.

However, be that as it may, I also know the importance of being thankful. It is the fuel that powers the engine of joy.

I may play the curmudgeon or grump, but I’m not really either of those things. Neither am I Happy the Dwarf or Sleepy, the somnambulant little person. No, I’m just an ordinary duffer taking life one day at a time, coasting more than is probably good for me. Coasting has its place, but it’s probably not the best way to make a positive impact on the world in which we live. Meteors coasting through space crash into the planet all the time. Ask the dinosaurs what they think about coasting, eh?

No, coasting has its place, but I have found it much better for health of body and soul to keep on moving, and to do so with positive energy. That positive energy comes from an attitude of gratitude. Some may think that thankfulness needs to spring up spontaneously, the way it does when one finds a $5 bill lying on the ground when out for a walk. That isn’t thanksgiving, though, as much as it is serendipity – that happy feeling one gets when something delightful happens.

Now, one can certainly cultivate a garden of gratitude if one is in the habit of planting seeds of delight in the world they inhabit. A woman walked past me the other day at the store, recognized me from church (which has been a virtual experience these past seven months or so) and said, “Hey, I’m so happy to see you! You can’t tell (with my mask), but I’m smiling!”

I smiled (through my mask as well) and said, “I see your smile; It’s in your eyes. You couldn’t hide it if you tried!”

My heart leapt for joy. One can curse the mask for the inconvenience it may cause (less inconvenient than a respirator, but that’s just my opinion), or one may find delight in seeing (and recognizing) a neighbor. Either response is there for the taking. I know which one the curmudgeon in me wants to grab a-hold of, but I’ve found that choosing joy is so much more pleasant for me and for those around me.

It seems so easy, and yet it also seems hard. Why is it when I know gratitude makes me feel good, and irritation makes me feel like heck I should find myself reaching for the rusty ring of perdition? Who knows? Maybe it’s because I am Swedish; maybe it’s because I am human. Either way, I have a choice, and over the years, I’ve learned to reach for the golden ring of thanksgiving (over the lousy loopy of p**py).

Naturally, each of us will need to decide how we will approach the holidays during the pandemic. Some will choose to darn the torpedoes and move full speed ahead. Others will choose to isolate and pray (with some bitterness) that next year will be better and brighter. Still others will decide to be thankful they’ve made it this far, and rejoice.

Happiness, it turns out, is in our hands. I’ll continue to mask up and smile. I’ll continue to wash my hands often (and well). I’ll continue to keep my distance and isolate, for love of God and country. And I’ll do it all in thanksgiving for all of you here in this, our valley.