Gratitude

The Art of Rediscovery: Learning to Pay Attention to Things I Used to Love.

A couple of weeks ago hubby and I saw Pitch Perfect 2. As far as movies go, it was mildly entertaining, but the real point of the movie was the singing. Watching this movie (which contains a lot of a cappella mash-ups of pop songs) made me realize that after two years living abroad, I am completely out of touch with popular American music. I’m still rocking the jams of a few years ago. (And by a few I mean, like at least five). To be honest, I was never that hip with the jams. I have been relying entirely on my youngest sister for what I should be listening to for years. I decided to do some homework.

I came home and pulled up a playlist of the Billboard Top 40 songs of the week. I’d heard a few of them before, but many of them were new to me. I listened straight through, only skipping a few (what can I say, I’m not cool enough for rap).  As I listened I felt like something in me was coming alive after years of lying dormant.

I’d forgotten this about music – the way it can burrow down deep into your bones and make your soul sing, make your hips sway, make your heart beat in a new rhythm. I’d forgotten how your mood could instantly change –how you could feel energized, or in love, or full of longing from one moment to the next.

I’d forgotten how much I love dancing – the way it feels to engage your whole body—neck and shoulders and hips and heels—in movement for the sake of movement. I’d forgotten the pleasure of moving without purpose and without regard for the way my thighs jiggle or my belly creases. I’d forgotten the freedom of moving simply because you can’t make yourself sit still.

There’s something elemental about music, isn’t there? It’s something so present in the background of my life that I’d forgotten what it was like to take the time to enjoy it. I wait in the in-between season, looking ahead at so many new things that it’s easy to forget about old things, about ordinary wonders.

I’ve started to wonder what else I’ve forgotten. What else have I taken for granted? What other simple gifts have I forgotten how to stop and enjoy? Where is God whispering to me, “Stop. Pay attention,” even as I mark off the days on my calendar?

I am on a quest of rediscovery. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I’ll respond to our next adventure, to all the change and all of the newness and it’s suddenly occurred to me, How do you open your heart to something new? Perhaps by fully loving all that you already have.

I’m confident this song isn’t new to anyone except me, but I watched it with the music video recently and just loved it because it’s a great song, plus there’s dancing. I am a terrible dancer, but I love dancing and watching it moves me. Also, Ed Sheeran is everything I adore in a musician from his sound to his look. What can I say? I’ve clearly got a thing for redheads!

PS- How great is that picture of some of our dear friends dancing at our wedding five years ago? That picture makes me all kinds of happy.

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: Gratitude in a Nutshell

I first connected with Kelsey through my infamous Relevant article last summer, but it wasn’t until I wrote this post about friendship and social anxiety that we really got to talking. We have SO MUCH in common, both personality-wise and in terms of our experiences with the church and with faith. Although we’ve never met in person, I count Kelsey among my real-life friends because she is a true kindred spirit. She is also a terrific writer and you should read more of her posts over at her blog.  This post was, frankly, humbling for me. I hope you let it impact your heart, too.

Gratitude in a Nutshell

The intensity of the California heat felt jarring to our Washingtonian weather sensibilities and sunburned noses as we stood in line at California Adventure. There were Mickey ears and Disney shirts as far as the eye could see and horror-movie-quality screams kept floating through the air from the direction of Tower of Terror. But I wouldn’t have been able to scream if I’d wanted.

My throat was feeling restricted, as if a man had wrapped a giant, strong hand around my neck and was beginning to squeeze. Choking, suffocating. The clock was ticking, and every second counted. If we didn’t act quickly I could go into anaphylactic shock; if we didn’t act quickly … I could die.

My soon-to-be husband knelt by the bench I was sitting on as if he was proposing, but instead of a ring he was wielding an Epi-Pen. He called 911 and we waited anxiously knowing that if the epinephrine wore off before the medics arrived that the reaction would return in full force.

But soon the medics were running through the park. Soon I was lying in a bed at the ER, where I stayed until midnight.

I hadn’t noticed it until it was too late, but a woman next to me in line had opened a jar of peanut butter because her little kids wanted a snack. I hadn’t seen it, so I hadn’t had time to get away.

This is what life with anaphylaxis can look like. Everything is going along, business as usual, and the next moment someone’s jabbing you with an Epi-Pen and the medics are taking you on an exclusive ride, minus all the Disney characters, in the direction of the nearest hospital.

Even though I have an officially recognized disability, it’s invisible. So I look perfectly normal. But my life is defined by something people can’t automatically spot the first time they meet me the way they’d notice a wheelchair or a seeing-eye dog. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less present.

Like other disabilities, mine impacts, restricts, and defines every day of my life from choosing a new purse based solely on its Epi-Pen carrying potential to avoiding visits to most movie theaters and coffee shops because of the peanut-y treats that are served; from insuring my phone’s battery never gets too low so I always have the ability to call the medics should I need them to the very awkward introductions that go along with making a new acquaintance: “Hello. My name is Kelsey and if you eat peanuts next to me you could kill me. If I ever go into anaphylactic shock, if you could please use my Epi-Pen and call 911 immediately I’d really appreciate it. It’s so nice to meet you.”

After developing anaphylaxis after graduating from high school, there’s been a lot of grief, frustration, anger, and loss that have been a part of coming to terms of what living with a life-threatening invisible disability means. And for me gratitude — not some overly-perky silver lining kind of thing but the acknowledgement that there are still things to be thankful for — is what more than anything helps to pull me out of bouts of depression and enables me to enjoy my life even though it’s not what I planned.

I used to think of gratitude as a “but.” For example, “I live with a life-threatening disability … but I have a family who loves me so it’s okay!”  But I’m learning that, at least for me, gratitude isn’t a “but.” It’s really more of an “and.” Gratitude doesn’t negate problems or make things magically all better. Instead, it helps keep things in perspective: I live with a life-threatening disability and I have a very supportive family.

I hate having to ask for help with things like grocery shopping. And when peanuts are in season I can’t set foot in several of the stores in town. It makes me feel so much less independent and less like an adult. However, I’m also grateful for my husband and mom who are both willing to help out as much as needed when I can’t take care of something myself. I feel frustrated that I’m less independent and I’m also thankful I have support.

I can feel depressed or even angry that I have to deal with this, while also feeling grateful that I live in an age when there are life-saving inventions like Epi-Pens. I’m thankful for my doctor who helps me brainstorm about how to do things like go on vacation as safely as possible.

I feel so isolated from the world at large sometimes. And I’m also thankful for blogging because it gives me a community. I can interact with people all over the world; I can make friends and share life without ever having to worry about what someone next to us might be eating. For me, this is huge.

It can be challenging for me to make new face-to-face friends. And I’m also so very thankful for the ones I have. I’m thankful for the friends who have learned how to use my Epi-Pen so they’ll be prepared for an emergency. I’m thankful for the ones who are willing to be flexible about where we hang out or de-peanut their houses so that I can visit. I’m thankful for a friend of mine who is about to get married and ensured that not a single thing on the menu has peanuts because she wanted me to be able to come. It’s harder for me to meet people because so many things center around food and I’m also blessed with some extremely supportive people in my life.

I feel upset with my grandpa who uninvited me from family Thanksgivings and Christmases at his house because he likes to feed the squirrels peanuts. He keeps a very large bag of peanuts next to the dining room table, and was afraid the squirrels wouldn’t enjoy something else so I was uninvited. And I’m also thankful for my in-laws. They made their house completely peanut-free so that I can stop by anytime I want without having to call first to see if they’ve had anything with peanuts that day. I’m thankful that they’ve made sure every holiday dish is Kelsey-safe. I’m hurt by how my grandpa has handled my anaphylaxis and I’m grateful for my in-laws.

I feel grief and loss over my career dreams. During an interview my first questions would be, “Where do people eat? Is it possible for me to completely avoid where they eat? Does anyone ever bring peanut butter cookies to work? What about candy? PB and Js?” The hubby and I realized that a usual 9 am to 5 pm gig wasn’t safe for me. And there’s still grief associated with that loss. And I’m also so thankful that my husband’s top priority is keeping me safe, so he’s fine with us being a one-income family or me working from home even though that means we’ll have to be more frugal.

It’s so easy to feel overwhelmed, angry, and heartbroken; it’s hard to be grateful. But choosing to see the people and things in my life that make my life fuller, more beautiful, safer, and happier helps me to live. Gratitude isn’t a magic formula that makes everything perfect or happy or easy, but being grateful helps me to focus on the good and to keep a more balanced view of my own life. Gratitude doesn’t negate the negative but it helps me to not lose sight of the fact that there are some positive ands in there, too. Life is hard sometimes and it’s also beautiful.

***

Hey Guys – It’s Lily here again. I just wanted to take a second to say that after reading this I was convicted to be more mindful about the foods I choose to eat in large public places. Researchers estimate that up to 15 million Americans have food allergies and the number of children with serious food allergies has doubled in the past decade. While I can’t possibly anticipate allergies in every person I come into contact with, there are a few things (such as peanuts and tree nuts) that are pretty easily avoided when in public that might make a big difference for someone else. One of my roommates from college suffered from debilitating chronic migraines that were often triggered by scents. It took some diligence, and I still forgot sometimes, but choosing to forgo the scented lotion or to paint my nails outside were barely noticeable sacrifices compared with the benefit to my roommate. Just something for all of us to consider as we seek to love the world around us well.

Kelsey bioAuthor Bio: Kelsey Munger is native Washingtonian who overuses hyphens, and is still undecided on her stance regarding the Oxford comma. When she’s not blogging, she enjoys reading about food, faith, feminism, and thanatology (but not necessarily in that order). Also loves fiction, a nice hot cup of tea, and marathoning too much TV with her nerdy husband. You can find her at KelseyMunger.com or on Twitter @KelseyLMunger.

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: I Choose Life

Today’s Thankful Thursday post comes from Crystal Tripp, a woman whose inner grace and humility seems to shine through everything she writes. I am honored to share this lovely reflection on what it means to choose gratitude.

I Choose Life

The obligatory Sunday visits completed-cards have been opened, gushed over, and filed away for safe-keeping. The flowers have withered. Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. Before long, the grills will be fired up & the ties will be retired to the back of the closet after their one time mandatory display around the necks of our fathers. Father’s Day will soon be a memory. These rituals play out in most homes across America and love is expressed whether true or feigned. I personally do not particularly care for these Sunday ceremonies as I believe the two people given the designation of my mother and father have long since let me down. As He is faithful to do, while typing that hostile statement, my heavenly Father speaks to me in that ever-present, still, small voice – reminding me that He has provided. I have not been forgotten.

I often fall into the trap of discontent, thus allowing the seeds of bitterness to sprout which subsequently leads to a failure to live – essentially death. I am frequently reminded, like so many other things, gratitude is a choice. This choice (that I have to make on a minute-by-minute basis) has nothing to do with my biological parents (or anyone else for that matter) or even my particular life situation…it’s about me! In the middle of a seemingly ordinary life filled with mountains and valleys, I choose gratitude. I have countless things to be thankful for, too numerous to discuss here but in this season where moms & dads are celebrated, I choose to honor those men and women God placed in my life that have love for me beyond my comprehension. I know that my omniscient Creator hand-picked all of these people (including my biological parents) just for me – each with a unique purpose like a tapestry with bright and dark colors included to create the most beautiful picture. I am grateful that His thoughts are not my thoughts because I don’t always know or understand His plan.

Father, I know so many times I come to You with an obnoxious list of wants & desires. I dare not say needs because I know You have already provided for my every need. Forgive me for failing to always realize that You are the Provider and You have not forgotten this child despite my ever-wandering heart. As Your word says, Your grace is sufficient for me. Lord, You have gifted me with a multitude of mothers and fathers in my life – most of whom would willingly take me in as their own. These dear hearts often don’t understand the choices I make, but they love me just the same. These beautiful men and women have mirrored the love of Christ – accepted and even forgiven my faults, cheered me on during personal struggles, demonstrating love for me that cannot be denied. Some are young and some are old. I am grateful for all of these-some have shared their parents with me, never fearing that the love shown for me would detract from their own supply; the many who have served as mentors when I was wandering; and the few that have allowed me to perform some of these same duties for them. Father, I thank You that all of these people have taught me Your promises, corrected me when I erred, encouraged me when I hurt, & demonstrated for me what it means to love. There are specific memories I’d like to thank You for – I’m sure I will fail to mention them all but Father, please know, I am grateful for Your divine hand of care. I can still remember sitting on the front porch with the two ‘seasoned’ ladies next door as a small child. Never once did they grow tired of my presence and endless questions or ask why I wasn’t playing with children my own age – they frequently allowed me to pick the blooms from the flowers they had nurtured for years. They accepted those plundered petals as if they weren’t treasures that belonged to them anyway. My heart warms as I remember their kind eyes and the comfort of their pats on the head. Once again, Lord, I thank You for them. You also provided me with a priceless 4th grade teacher – she never questioned why I arrived at school at such an early hour and was always glued to her side. She bought all the useless items I was trying to sell and placed them on her shelf as if they were her most prized possessions. I don’t know if she was aware of the life-long impact she would have on my heart – now she is with You and I can’t tell her myself. Will you tell her for me? I have precious friends and their dear parents – essentially relatives who in a world of ‘trying to be good enough’ & feeling ‘the need to explain’ give a quiet acceptance, never expecting anything in return. Lord, I thank You for their hearts and am grateful that DNA is not the only way to be a family. I will never be able to adequately express the gratitude I feel for those who love me so I’d just like to say thank You-Your grace is unspeakable. Amen

Wisdom has taught me that a life without gratitude is not worth living. That isn’t to say I am thankful for every situation and never express sadness or fear but focusing on my blessings allows me to keep it in perspective. I choose gratitude…I choose life.

And from His fullness, we have all received, grace upon grace. John 1:16 ESV

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”

– Thornton Wilder

About the Author: I’m a simple woman leading a complicated life but am maintained by the unspeakable grace of a loving God as I struggle to care for an aging ad difficult mother..  I have found that He is teaching me profound lessons through ordinary, everyday things.  In addition to my love for writing, I enjoy reading, gardening, & Cardinals’ baseball (GO CARDS!) When I can find the time for it I blog over at diamondonashelf.wordpress.com

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: What Matters

It’s time for another Thankful Thursdays guest post! This week’s post comes from Melchee Johnson, a writer and blogger whose words about faith encourage and inspire many. I was convicted after reading this post to put my gratitude into action and to make gratitude an active part of my life instead of a passive feeling. I hope this inspires you as much as it did me.

What Matters

I have more than enough. I’ve never experienced shortage of food or shelter. I’m employed. I have family, love, and friends. I’m entirely blessed.

I shouldn’t complain about anything, yet some expression of disdain over what I deem as lacking manages to roll off my tongue at least once a day. Or if I don’t speak it, I think it. Why?

Much as I hate to admit it, I’m not as grateful for my countless blessings as I should be. Sure, I pray and give thanks to God each morning and night. I offer thanks before every meal. I send thank-you cards for gifts and other acts of kindness bestowed on me. Seems like I’m getting it right.

But am I just acting grateful, or am I truly being grateful? Am I TRULY thankful?

***

A few years ago, my husband and I enjoyed dinner out one night, as we frequently do, not realizing how this particular night would end. We were driving through downtown headed home when we saw something that surprised us both. At the corner, in front of a law firm’s office, we witnessed a man digging through a trash can. My husband stopped the car, opened his window, and yelled to ask the man if he’d been searching for food. The man, whose face was hidden to me in the early dark, turned and shook his head yes. I immediately became angry and totally disgusted. So did my husband, to the point that he nearly commanded the man to walk around the corner to a nearby restaurant so we could buy him food.

What an eye-opening experience. I’d never seen anyone rummaging through garbage for food. I tell you, seeing that man made me be thankful. To this day, I think of that man each time I pass that same corner.

The lesson from that night, I soon learned, is what can happen after the being grateful. That’s when you do the grateful. One can’t see something like that and not act. You can’t have, and then not give.

I’m not going to share what my doing looked like after that night – it’s not something over which I need to boast. The point is, do. That’s what matters. Give of yourself because you are grateful. That’s how it all connects.

Melchee Johnson BioBio

Melchee Johnson resides in Durham, NC, with her husband, and is a faith blogger at New Day (newday323.wordpress.com). She is the founder and previous editor of PRAISE!Magazine, a Christian publication which she published for seven years. She and her husband enjoy time spent with friends and family, particularly their nieces and nephews.

Bio

Melchee Johnson resides in Durham, NC, with her husband, and is a faith blogger at New Day (newday323.wordpress.com). She is the founder and previous editor of PRAISE!Magazine, a Christian publication which she published for seven years. She and her husband enjoy time spent with friends and family, particularly their nieces and nephews.

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: I’m Thankful for My Body

You guys. This post. I just can’t even. When Karissa first sent it to me I immediately responded with this mondo email chronicling my own constant battles with my body, my weight, and my eating. For me, they all started at summer camp the year I was ten when I was playing soccer and a boy behind me said to his friend, “Hey look! That girl’s butt jiggles when she runs.” I don’t think there’s been a day of my life since then that I haven’t been self-conscious about my body. So many of us have those stories. So many of us need this post. There are so many things I admire about Karissa as a writer and as a woman, and her ability and willingness to tell these truths here today is one of them. Soak this in, friends, and then be sure to head over and subscribe to her blog. She’s doing some great and beautiful work there that you won’t want to miss.

I’m Thankful for My Body

You might think this is an inappropriate thing to be thankful for. But as a woman, I believe I’ve been taught to despise my body. The magazines at the grocery checkout teach me I need to diet, the photos of movie stars teach me I need to be a smaller size, and even my coworkers’ chatter in the teacher’s lounge teaches me I need to exercise more. We live in a world where only certain body types are praised, and mine is not one of them.

My husband and I were talking before bed the other night. “It makes me unhappy when I tell you you’re beautiful and you don’t believe it,” he told me. I tried to hold them back, but the tears came anyway.

Seventh grade: I have been living in Bangkok for a year and am applying to a new school. When I arrive at the uniform store, a Thai woman takes her yellow measuring tape and winds it around my hips. “So fat!” she exclaims. It doesn’t matter that as an American I am simply taller and bigger than most Thais (even the men). Her words scar. My body disappoints.

High school senior trip: My friend Denny and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the hotel room mirror in our bathing suits. We compare our bodies, inspecting the curves of our hips, turning sideways to see how far our stomachs stick out. “Who’s bigger?” I ask. “I think we’re the same,” she says. She’s Bulgarian; I’m American. We are the biggest girls in our grade.

My wedding day, 15 years ago: 128 pounds. Skinny arms that boast a bit of a farmer’s tan. I never considered trying to fix that. Hair: short, streaked with highlights, impossible curls. Size 8. I wear a fitted, straight wedding dress with a mandarin collar. The pearl-covered dress fits beautifully over my hips.

Today: I step on the scale before getting into the shower. 156.5. At the doctor’s office a couple of weeks ago, his scale said 158. “Losing ten pounds might help your heartburn issues,” he told me. I sigh and turn the water on. After showering and drying off, I inspect myself in the mirror.

Stretch lines stripe my hips. They look pink head-on, but silver if I turn sideways. Mom arms that jiggle. A waistline that pushes out of last year’s size 10 capris. Thighs riddled with cellulite. Size 12. Surely I won’t edge to 14.

Face: Round. Full cheeks, a double chin when I look down. Crows feet around my eyes when I smile, permanent shadows beneath my eyes, oily skin, makeup that rubs off by noon.

The problem is that I like food, and I don’t like to exercise much. If I stick to diets, I lose weight. But I have a hard time following through. One week I get up early every morning and lift weights. The next week I drink wine and eat Oreos every night.

When attempts to lose weight don’t work, I try to make my body seem more acceptable. I feel the need to apologize for how large my body has become, the need to soften the blow of thirty pounds gained. I get tattoos and dye my hair and layer on make-up. I research body types and try to dress for my shape: belts, flared skirts, empire waist dresses, fitted jackets.

Underneath it all, this one truth haunts me: I won’t be happy until I accept my body. My attempt to make my body more presentable to others is really just a way to combat my disappointment with myself.

So here I am, declaring it: I am thankful for my body.

My body is a gift, a vessel that brought two babies into the world and carried three into the afterlife. It is a source of pleasure, of help, of kindness, of love. My body is a gift, even to me, the gift of being present in the world in a physical way.

My son gave me this little questionnaire for Mothers Day:

Karissa Thankful Thursdays

“My mother looks prettiest when she is here.” Not when she’s got make-up on, not when she’s wearing a dress or after she’s lost ten pounds. When she’s here. My presence is beauty.

Observe: Arms that wrap around my children every morning. Round, full lips that give goodbye kisses. Hands that brush out long tangles in hair and wrap bandaids around toes. Feet that carry me with confidence into my workplace, where my face smiles at coworkers. Legs that take me up hiking paths and around playground walking tracks. Lungs that take in oxygen, skin that renews itself constantly, ears that notice the sounds of a world discovered.

I am learning to be thankful for my own skin: even its round softness, even its scars, even its imperfections. I am learning to be thankful for this gift that my husband calls beautiful, and to actually believe that myself.

Karissa

About the Author: Karissa Knox Sorrell is a mother, ESL educator, and writer from Nashville, Tennessee. Read more of her writing at her blog or follow her on Twitter @KKSorrell.

If you’re enjoying this series, be sure to go back and check out other guest posts I’ve shared so far in the Thankful Thursdays series, here, here, and here!

PS- Sorry about the placement of these ads. Haven’t figured out how to move them yet!

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: Gratefulness – The Journey

It’s that time for Thankful Thursdays again! I created this guest series partly as a way to help new writers gain experience as well as a way to appreciate the diversity of my readers and to learn from their different perspectives. Today’s post comes from Jackie, a young aspiring writer in NYC. I really appreciated this post for showing that we can be thankful not only for things we have and gifts we’ve been given, but also for the blessing of our own ability to change and to grow.

Gratefulness: The Journey

I was incredibly honored to be considered for a guest post on someone else’s blog. “Thankful Thursdays” is a concept I am excited to be a part of and I was very anxious to share my point of view. My first interaction with Lily was through another post about a similar idea so I was excited to share my thoughts with her and with the followers on her blog.

As I do with any good news I receive I told my girlfriend. She is usually the person I celebrate victories with so I informed her of the good news and arrogantly stated how suited I would be for this guest post because I practice being grateful so often.

“Let’s not get crazy, I think you’re about 50% of the way,” my girlfriend stated honestly. I was annoyed by her response. How could she put in a pinhole in my excitement about blogging and working with other bloggers? I immediately went on the defense.

Going on the defense made me reflect on the role that gratitude and joy had in my life. Was I doing enough? Was I really digging deeper into the experiences and gestures around me and truly appreciating what I have been given? I found myself incredibly lost in thought.

I have always found direction in writing about what I know. Writing provides structure for my thought process. I started writing about my current transition into financial and personal independence. I am taking over the rent and utility bills for my parents’ apartment while they make their transition into their first time as home owners. Independence is a lot of new territory for me to explore and I quickly realized that I may not be practicing being grateful as much as I thought I was.

While I am far from blind to the big blessings in my journey towards independence, I find myself realizing just how grateful I am for small things –from something as simple as a home cooked meal from my mother to something large like the luxury of not paying rent for a few more months. Reflecting on my personal growth into adulthood has opened my eyes to see that being thankful isn’t just about counting your blessings. I find that being grateful and appreciating the growth inside of me has become part of my journey.

The saying, “You never know what you have til it’s gone” has been truly appropriate for me. The slow losses of luxuries I’ve always known have opened my eyes to how precious they actually are and I see both the practice and concept of embracing life’s blessings as a part of the journey.

There is always room for improvement. There is always something that you might be missing. Counting your blessings might seem obvious, but feeling them deeply could take a lifetime with each life experience giving you more perspective. Maybe it’s my desire for perfection or to be a better version of myself each day, but this journey is what counts for me.

Image Credit: weheartit.com

Image Credit: weheartit.com

About the Author:

My aspirations of becoming a writer seem to be never ending. I’m 26 trying to navigate my way through life using my blog as the outlet to tell my story and feed this dream that won’t seem to go away despite reality. Follow my journey at https://talesfromtheanxietyridden.wordpress.com/.

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: Finding the Joy (Losing the Judgement)

It’s that time for Thankful Thursday again! Are you excited? Because I’m excited! I connected with Rox Nicholl through the wonderful world of blogging and I think she’s just a lovely soul. I really enjoyed this post, especially the connection she draws between more joy and less judgment. This post reminded me that being thankful for one small thing can be powerful in itself. What one small thing are you thankful for today?

It was going to be brilliant. Brilliant, I tell you. Sparkly, witty, thought-provoking and funny, and all wrapped up with a glittery bow that would leave a smile on your face. Brilliant. And by “it”, I am referring to this particular guest post. I had been thinking about it for two weeks, without the opportunity to put a thought down (Little Person was on holiday, so there simply was no space to do anything except look after her and make sure the house didn’t explode). Thankfulness. Find the joy, lose the judgement. It was going to be brilliant.

And then I fell ill. My throat turned into some red, raw monster of slime. Food turned to glass as soon as I tried to swallow. For a week, it was all I could do to fetch Little Person from school and hide under a blanket on the sofa while I watched her play. Thankfulness? What thankfulness? Joy? What joy?

But here’s the thing. I have been learning about thankfulness – specifically how true thankfulness comes from a place of joy. And joy cannot occupy the same space as judgement. I hadn’t been aiming to find joy, I had been aiming to lose the judgement. Specifically, I’d been trying to learn to stop myself from saying all sorts of nasty things about the people driving the cars I share the roads with on a regular basis. So instead of “look at that idiot driving so dangerously”, I was trying “that driver seems to be in a rush. I hope that he isn’t late for his meeting.” After a little effort, I began to notice people that were driving well, and I noticed I was a more relaxed driver too.

So I decided on a wider application. Finding the joy in the every day. Daffodils bobbing on the wind. Little Person’s smile when I picked her up from school. The Dude taking care of the entire bedtime routine, even though he had been at work the whole day. A freezer full of food that could just be slapped in the oven at a moment’s notice (got to love fish fingers and chips). A friend who dropped by with a portion of (homemade!) soup to soothe my throat and then skedaddled off so I could rest. Maybe not a thousand things to be grateful for, but sometimes, real appreciation for two or three small things means so much more.

So even though I wasn’t overwhelmed with joy and thankfulness as the germs were doing battle for my body (status report: the body has fought back and is currently launching an offensive that should see us to victory), I was more thankful than I had ever had reason to think I would be. So often, when I am ill and I am laid low, guilt follows on the heels of pain. I haven’t done the laundry. I’m not cooking good enough food. I’m leaving The Dude to do all the work, and abandoning Little Person in front of the television. Bad mother. Bad wife. Bad person. (Am I the only one to do this to myself, as though it’s not enough to feel bad physically, I have to feel bad mentally too?) But not this time. This time, it was alright for me to not do these things. I could just rest and trust The Dude to take care of it. Not brilliant, but good enough.

It’s so easy to think of thankfulness as this big, bright gem of a thing, something grand to aspire to. It’s so easy to think that we have to be thankful for everything, and find big profound lessons to be grateful for within every life experience. But maybe gratitude is just an attitude that says, I’m going to notice the smallest tiniest thing that can give me joy, and be thankful for that.

Maybe it’s the joy that makes it brilliant, after all.

About the Author:

I blog about the lessons I find in the every day – being a wife to The Dude, mother to Little Person, a stranger in a strange land (I’m a South African living in North East England, which is the bit you never hear about), pretending to own a cat. When I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing, or doing crochet. Or avoiding the laundry pile. My current Secret Project is a novel that addresses the question of what happens when faith and fear collide. You can find me at www.roxnicholl.wordpress.com or follow me @roxnicholl (Twitter/Instagram)

Thankful Thursdays Guest Post: I Live Gratitude

A few weeks ago I wrote this post about practicing gratitude in the everyday rhythms of life. In that post I also mentioned that I’d like to do a Thankful Thursdays guest series and invited other bloggers who were interested in writing a guest post to contact me. I was blown away by the response.

Over the past few years I’ve become absolutely convinced that there is a direct relationship between gratitude and joy. Some of the most joyful people I know are not the ones who have the best things or who don’t experience hardships. They are simply people who remain grateful for the gifts in their lives instead of becoming bitter or cynical. 

More recently I have realized gratitude doesn’t always come naturally – it is something we have to practice. This can be difficult to do, especially when we don’t feel particularly thankful, but I am convinced it’s a spiritual discipline we are called to practice.

I asked writers to share their own thoughts and reflections on gratitude and the role that it plays in their lives.

Today we are kicking off the series with a post from Pradnya Vernekar. Pradnya is  a new friend I “met” when she took the challenge to participate in her own 52 Weeks of Adventure. I’ve enjoyed reading about her adventures and getting to know her over the internet. As you’ll see from this post, Pradnya oozes positivity. I always finish her posts with a smile on my face. I hope you enjoy this reflection on the many things we can be thankful for.

Header Image Credit: Symphony of Joy on Flickr Creative Commons

I Live Gratitude

Photo Credit: Sujoy Datta

Photo Credit: Sujoy Datta

Gratitude for me means learning to live as if everything in life is a miracle. Gratitude for me means being thankful for all the abundance in my life. Gratitude for me means being surrounded by positive people with pure hearts. Gratitude for me means all of this and much more!

I thank God that I am able to experience and see the breathtaking sunrise with my eyes, that I can hear the waves lashing out at each other and calming down as they approach the shore, that I can smell the corn being grilled on the barbeque, that my tongue salivates to have a bite of that corn, that my feet sink in the sand and I feel I am drowning as the waves disappear back into the sea, that I can fill my palms with water and throw it at my soulmate for fun, that my heart pounds with life when I see a flock of birds intersecting the sunrise and flying over the waters in a single line, that my brain has such vital power to process so many beautiful things at once and let me appreciate the goodness in the world. I am just thankful that my body and my mind are in harmony and let me create happiness from the smallest of things! Many of us take the innumerable functions our body and mind carry out for granted, losing out on the best of life’s moments. Be thankful that you have everything intact in your body and try to acknowledge its greatness!

I thank God that I have 24 hours in a day to follow my heart and do things I love the most. I thank him that on a Monday evening with rain pouring outside, I can sit in my balcony, sipping hot coffee and doing what I love the most – writing! I am grateful to God for blessing me with this unique prowess of writing, enabling me to touch the hearts of people through my expressions in my own small way. I thank God for the love and affection I receive from my readers which cannot be measured in dollars.

I thank God that I get my nutritious meals on time and my home is filled with love and laughter, that I have a terrific soulmate who respects me, that my parents raised me to be a humble human being, that my sister holds my family together, that my in-laws are angels, that I have true friends who genuinely care for me!

I thank God every morning for giving me another day to explore, to enjoy, to learn and breathe! When my hands make a ‘namastey’ with eyes closed in front of God, I do not seek anything from Him. I just THANK Him for the unlimited abundance he has blessed me with and still continues with his blessings!

I simply live gratitude!

Photo Credit: Prachi Chaudhari

Photo Credit: Prachi Chaudhari

About the Author: Pradnya is a dynamic HR, an avid reader, an amateur poet and a natural writer. She is an ardent believer in God and tries to dig up happiness even in the darkest of mines. Join her as she takes you on a joyride called ‘life’ at Wanderings of my Mind and 52 Weeks of Adventure.

Thankful Thursdays: Speaking Blessings

I wake in the early morning light, eyes gummy with sleep, warm in the bed I share with the person I love most in this world.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who gave the heart understanding to distinguish between day and night.

I curl my toes against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, huddled under the warm spray of the shower head as the room fills with steam. I lather sweet-smelling soaps and shampoos into my elbows and scalp and between my fingers until ever bit of this body is saturated and clean.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, Master of the Universe, who has sanctified us with your commandments and commanded us about the washing of hands.

I cup my hands around a steaming mug of coffee, bringing my nose as close as I can to the liquid, breathing in its spicy warmth and comfort.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings about all things.

I stand for too long in front of my closet, sighing over too-tight pants and a skirt that makes me look fat, trying to choose the perfect outfit from a closet that holds more than I need.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has kept us alive, and sustained us, and enabled us to reach this moment.

I walk to work through crisp, cool air, the first day the sun has broken through after many dreary ones. Walking up the hill to my school, the sun and the exertion of my body warm me enough to throw off my coat and let my arms embrace those bright, warm rays.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who makes the works of creation

I enter the quiet of my empty classroom and breathe deeply, thankful for the space, for the silence, for the emptiness.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings peace to the earth.

And when the quiet is shattered by my coworker and I feel irritation towards her and anxiety clawing their way to the front of my mind.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has created us all in your own image.

I stand, I speak, I teach, I listen, I laugh, I learn, I study, I work, I eat, I drink, I walk, I breathe, I praise.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who holds our lives in your hands. Every day your miracles are with us. Your wonders and favors never cease. Your compassions are never exhausted and your kindness never ends.

_________________________________________________

This post is the beginning of a series I’d like to do on practicing gratitude. I’ve come to realize that although gratitude isn’t always something that we naturally feel, it is something essential for us to practice. This won’t be a weekly post – it may be bi-weekly or more sporadic than that. I would actually love to have guest posts for this series if any of you are interested in writing a post about things you’re thankful for or what it looks like for you to practice gratitude in your life. You can contact me at lily.e.dunn at gmail.com if you are interested.

Friendship for the Socially Anxious

Today I’m participating in Cara Strickland’s synchroblog on friendship. I thought about reblogging my Friendship in 7 Movements post from last year, but it is long and specific and also, I wanted to do something new.

I’ve never been good at surface friendships. I guess I don’t have a lot of interest in talking about things that don’t matter. I don’t like conversations where you’ve spent an hour talking to someone and walk away feeling like you don’t know one another at all. I want to skip the getting-to-know-you part of the relationships. I want sweatpants and you snorting when you laugh and me accidentally breaking into song without noticing from Day One. But as it turns out, most people don’t want to talk about family histories and their biggest dreams and how afraid they are of being a mother (and, equally, of not being a mother) fifteen minutes after meeting someone.

I’m a classic introvert – I greatly prefer one-on-one interactions to groups of people.  Parties both terrify and exhaust me. Most people would never guess that 9 times out of 10 I have to push myself out the door to keep a social engagement. The night of my junior prom I got all dressed up, hair and makeup done, and promptly burst into tears because I didn’t want to go. I suppose you’d call this social anxiety.

But unlike some introverts I know who fade away into the background at a gathering, I’ve always tried to combat my social anxiety by acting self-assured. Ironically, it is in social settings where I am least comfortable that I am loudest. I try to be the funniest, the friendliest, the most interesting. It’s like watching a train wreck from above where I can’t seem to stop myself from blurting out the first thing that pops into my mind.

Believe me, the irony of trying to make deep connections with people while putting on this party persona is not lost on me. I know that it makes no sense and is even counter-productive. But sometimes I feel like something comes over me and I can’t stop myself even as a part of me watches in horror. I am desperately uncomfortable, but something in my subconscious screams that if I give in and stand quietly against the wall no one will like me and I’ll never have friends. And what could be worse than having no friends?

***

As a child I fell in and out of best-friend-ship on a yearly if not monthly basis.

My problem with friends wasn’t the cattiness or pettiness that ruined so many other playground friendships. It was the intensity I brought to friendship that seemed to overwhelm my peers.

I loved too fiercely. I chose someone and I clung to them with a loyalty that sometimes frightened us both. I wasn’t possessive – wanting to be their only friend—but when I chose someone I longed to show all of myself to them and to have them choose me back. And often, who I was was just too much.

It wasn’t that these friends didn’t like me – they just weren’t prepared to or maybe even capable of putting as much into the friendship as I did. I cared about all of their details. I wanted to show that I loved them by learning as much as I could about them. And inevitably, the day would come when I would realize that I knew all their favorite songs, their middle name, and what kind of sandwich they brought for lunch, but they didn’t even know my favorite color even though I’d told them three times. My feelings would be hurt and they would be freaked out that I had a notebook where I recorded all of their preferences (just kidding!) and we would move on to different friends.

***

Eventually, I learned to be self-protective in my friendships. I learned to expect that others would not love me with the fierceness and loyalty I felt towards them. I learned to guard myself from sharing too much too quickly and from expecting that everyone I chose would choose me too.

And then, in college, I made a new kind of friend – the kind I’d longed for growing up and nearly given up on. I found my people, the ones who will forgive you when you’ve hurt them and will join in when you make up a song about your toothbrush. And I learned something crucial about friendship – you can’t make it happen the way I try to at parties.

True friendships are divine. Yes, they require attention. They require effort. But mostly, they are gifts. Like love letters from God himself.

A friend isn’t a possession. You don’t collect friends like souvenirs from places you’ve been. You can’t make friendship happen. But when one comes your way, you say thank you. You treat that friend like a spectacular sunset or a stunning concerto – you thank God for its beauty and for letting you experience it, even though it’s something you can never wrap your grubby hands around.

I have a friend I’ve known since high school. She’s a few years older than me and we didn’t do a great job of keeping up once she went to college. We have seen each other only a handful of times over the past decade. We don’t talk on the phone. We only occasionally chat online. I try to see her when I’m in town visiting my parents. But she is precious to me beyond words. She is a friend of the heart –someone I trust completely and admire deeply. She is one of the first people I think of when I need support and one of the people whose encouragement means the most to me. I cried when I saw the first pictures of her daughters and on my wedding day she gave me a handkerchief she’d used at her own wedding to use as my “something borrowed.”

This friendship is not the work of my hands. It’s not a credit to my engaging personality or a testament to what a good friend I am (because, as I said, I am rubbish at keeping up with this particular friend). It is pure grace. And all I can say in response to that kind of grace is, “Thank you.”