It’s been decades since I have been in grammar school, so when I think of Thanksgiving and the gratitude it’s designed to evoke, pilgrims or Indians don’t generally come to mind. I think of whose bringing what, where am I supposed to go, when will I get my Christmas shopping done and why, oh why, do men watch so much football.
Back in 1621, there were no parades, no Black Friday circulars, and no grocery stores to buy the bounty. There were just groups of people from different cultures celebrating thanks.
I would have liked to be an Indian though – to wear my hair in braids, with a papoose of babies in the front and bow and arrow on my back. That would have been super cool. It appeals to me so much more than being a pilgrim and wearing one of those confining bonnets tied around my neck.
But whether you wear braids or bonnets or flat iron your hair, most of us celebrate Thanksgiving. It makes us feel good to count our many blessings ranging from hot coffee to warm hugs, and having an excuse to eat copious amounts of food is like adding gravy to the mashed potatoes. It just makes everything better.
I only wish the spirit of this holiday lasted more than a day – that I could remember to be thankful all year long.
But somehow, I forget.
I tried to start a gratitude journal once. I committed to writing down three things every day that made me thankful. On the days that I did it, I never wrote just three. There was no way I could limit myself when so many came to mind. By the time I wrote three blessings, three more came to mind and then six, and then nine. At some point I realized math was happening- that gratitude was increasing exponentially and that the more I acknowledged my thankfulness the more there was for me to offer thanks.
I wrote about such moments as holding my nephew, going on a trip with my husband, coming home, lunch with my mom, walking with a friend, a song that reminded me of being pregnant with my first born, and for times when his younger brother gently played with my hair.
I also wrote some dubious things on my gratitude list that included sweating, hiding under the covers (no doubt from myself), and cleaning mildew.
It didn’t matter that it sounded kind of hodge-podge. It mattered that I felt gratitude and that I took a few measly minutes to acknowledge it.
If it were an algebra problem, and it is perplexing enough to be one, then the unknown in the equation would be if it was indeed so great, so magical to recognize all the things I had to be thankful for — then why did I quit?
It was the giant X in a problem that ultimately had a very simple answer – choice.
To know gratitude is a blessing, but it doesn’t happen on its own. Like so much in life, it is a choice. It is a decision we make, the time we take, and selfishness we forsake. (That has a nice rhyme to it, so don’t be surprised if it shows up in a rap song someday.)
Yet when we don’t take time to acknowledge gratitude, we choose otherwise.
Perhaps the lyrics of the song Freewill by the rock band, Rush, says it best “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.”
We can choose to pause, to notice, and to acknowledge, otherwise by default, we’ve made an entirely different choice. We inadvertently ignore the blessings of gratitude.
Each day we have the chance to notice the abundance in our lives, the beauty in nature and hope in humanity.
It’s easy enough to make the choice on a day such as Thanksgiving when we are surrounded by food, family, and if you are a fan, you could even add football to that list. It’s the rest of the days that the choice of gratitude often gets left undecided.
I am thankful that the Indians and pilgrims chose gratitude, and for the generations who followed who kept the tradition thriving into a new millennium. So that centuries later, I am reminded of my own choice.
If we choose to decide, the legacy of thanks is one that can expand into infinity, and if we don’t, well, we still have made a choice.
Three things I am thankful for today.
Sleeping cats
Goodbye kisses
No mildew to clean
And of course, each of you.
What are you thankful for today? ... See MoreSee Less
Photo
I received the new American Girl catalog in the mail today. I don’t have girls but for some reason American Girl has been sending me their catalogs for years. I even moved and continued to get the catalogs. It’s rather remarkable in a creepy ‘these dolls don’t look like the dolls I used to play with kind of way.’
Anyway, sometimes I flip through them to see how the other half of mama’s live who are surrounded by sugar and spice and everything nice. Then I am secretly grateful that I don’t have to buy an overpriced doll or any of the countless accessories that will enable the doll to look like a gymnast, skateboarder, ballerina or worst of all, a gamer! These dolls even come with little replicas of gaming devices that just make me want to go on a Fortnight tirade. (Honestly, everything makes me want to go on a Fortnight tirade.)
I went through the catalog because I have no life and that’s what people who have no life do on a beautiful Friday afternoon. I tried to find a doll that I liked and even though they had 5 billion to choose from, none of them looked like a middle-aged woman with a second cup of coffee as an accessory. I don’t think I need a replica of me anyway.
That’s the beauty of aging. You realize it’s not perfect hair, pouty lips, or trinkets that that make us special. It’s that we know that our messy wonderful selves are enough. We know the difference between real and replica. Even though real is wrought with imperfection, it’s the best possible accessory.
American Girl meet the American woman. ... See MoreSee Less
Photo
I always wanted to be a mom. I thought the experience would be neat and tidy like perfectly folded clothes in a department store. Obviously, I didn’t have a clue. The longer I am a mama the more I realize how little I know and how impossible it is to fold clothes the way they do in a department store.
The experience is humbling. Not in a warm fuzzy way either -- but humbling in an ‘I hope I don’t get declared an unfit mother by the state’ kind of way.
Today I insisted on taking boy 1 somewhere that he will have to drive to by himself tomorrow so that he (and I) could feel confident that he knew where to go. And you know what? I missed the exit – the one he told me to take.
We laughed and figured out a different way to go. If it’s one thing I have learned as a mama, it is the blessing of a different way. (Because sometimes the routes we intend to take our full of missed exits, projectile vomit, and God’s healthy sense of humor).
Meanwhile, I had to abandon boy 2 at the orthodontist’s office because I had this uneasy feeling I left the oven on. And just so you know that I am not paranoid, I did indeed leave the oven on. Maybe that means I am winning since I didn’t burn our dinner or the house down?
But the point is, either I am really not good at this - or, more mercifully, being a mama is really hard. We have the biggest hearts and the best intentions and somehow, some days, we just come up short.
Still, there is an important lesson in there for or children to learn. No one is perfect. We all make mistakes. It mostly works out. And all that really matters are big hearts, best intentions, and that mama didn’t burn down the house. ... See MoreSee Less
Photo
I voted today.
There were so many questions on the ballot that I kind of felt like I was taking the SAT. I guess it’s similar in that you prepare, answer the best you can, and hope that it turns out okay.
But the real reason I vote is for those who can’t. Kids today don’t get much of a say in the world we create. The “I voted” sticker I got today, I wear for them. I know that I may not have answered every question correctly but I care enough about the future to try. I hope you will too. ... See MoreSee Less
Photo
I was walking back to school on a Kindergarten field trip when I realized that my classmates were ahead of me. Panicked, I whirled my head around so fast that strands of dandelion colored hair lashed my face. My fears were confirmed. I was the last of my peers, only the chaperones were lulling behind. I darted forward to catch up but somehow tumbled over myself landing face first on the sidewalk.
I remember the sting on my hands and knees from the fall. The scabs on my face lasted for weeks before they faded into a bad memory. More than anything, I remember that feeling of being left behind.
In some ways, I still feel like that five-year-old girl, always trailing the pack, never on pace. Too often I feel like my life is not my own. I am pulled here and there by needs greater than my own ambitions. And I get frustrated. I wonder when it will be my turn. I think tomorrow will be different and the anomalies of today will pass and the plans I make can prosper.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future,” (Jeremiah 29:11 NIV.)
I am glad God knows his plans for me but sometimes I think maybe he should clue me into them. After all, I am having a lot of interruptions in my plans and so maybe I am on the wrong plan. Maybe I could finally get ahead if I knew where he was leading. I would follow, God. I promise I would. It would be easier though if you could give me some direction, some yellow brick road so I can get out of this traffic jam to nowhere. READ MORE: mercymatters.net/2018/11/06/walking-the-race/#more-2152 ... See MoreSee Less
Photo
Last year, seventh-grade parents were given the assignment to write their children a letter explaining the meaning of life. Seriously? Why not just write the cure for cancer? Or, solve the problem of world peace? Or do ninth-grade algebra? The meaning of life?!
I spend a lot of time with the devil I know. A lot of us do. We are stuck in careers, relationships, routines, and ruts that we long to change, but don’t. There is a litany of reasons for this: fear, laziness, uncertainty, and lack of confidence. It boils down to the notion that the devil we know is better than the devil we don’t.
In grade school, at the beginning of the school year, students are often asked to write about their summer vacation. However, as the sun begins to set on the season, I am contemplating how to live like its summer all year long.
When I was a child, I considered freedom to be something grown-ups enjoyed. They can eat what they want, stay up as late as they want, watch what they want, buy what they want, and do what they want.
I have never been a horse person. In grade school, some of the other girls had pictures of the shiny brown mammoths on the cover of their Trapper Keepers, the eighties in-vogue binders with the velcro flap. The horses had perfectly straight hair and were frolicking in a pastoral scene of rolling green hills. I suppose it was designed to inspire students to organize their notes, which much like the attraction to horses, was a concept lost on me.
I want to be on fire for God, but sometimes I feel more like the worn edges of two sticks that were furiously rubbed together but never produced a spark.
I’ve been on a search for the holy grail of vacuums. This isn’t a new thing. I’ve been at it for years. Other people travel the world, I buy (and, often return) vacuums.