extremely thankful...every day

(the photo is a Brian Andreas print from the Story People)

Of all the good emotions – joy, contentment, happiness, hope, inspiration, excitement, awe, gratitude and love – gratitude is the easiest for me. (Of course, I love those I love dearly, but loving unconditionally, especially when faced with diversity, is not easy…) Being thankful, however, just flows out of my heart and the older I get the easier being overwhelmed with thankfulness seems to be.  

November is the “official” month of thankfulness and I have been focusing more than usual on how very much I have to be thankful for. The list of blessings is so long…Lately thinking of even the smallest of these brings tears to my eyes. (I’d think it was hormones, but I’m long past that type of turmoil, so I’m assuming it’s just a full heart finally bubbling over...)

I’ve not always lived in this state of extreme thankfulness. I’m a pessimist whose glass is more than half empty. Doom and gloom lurk around every corner and disaster is imminent.  There have been times when I paid more attention to the wolves at the door than the warmth inside the house. There have been times when my heart felt cold and shut, when the world seemed harsh and I could see little to be thankful for. During those times, someone or something always appears to whisper rumors of a thaw, gently in my ear…”This too shall pass”…”The sun will shine again”… “Things really will be okay”…And eventually they are and the pessimist turns thankful again.

There are also times when the depth and breadth and sheer scope of all the hurt and pain and death and evil in the world begin to overwhelm me. A devilish whisper says I should feel guilty in the face of all this terribleness, that all this flippant thankfulness is of no use, that the world really is a dark place…”Be a lamp or a lifeboat or a ladder,” the poet Rumi counters…”Look for the helpers,” Mr. Rogers’ wise mother said…

Over the years my pessimism and my thankfulness have learned to co-exist and these days they actually seem to help each other out. When every day could turn sour with some disaster or misstep, each day that ends uneventfully is truly something to be thankful for. And, I don’t mean that at all flippantly.   

So many people I know are struggling with illness or lack of work or money troubles or family issues – it’s been a tougher year of struggles than I remember in a long time. I watch these brave people and admire them. I reach out when I can; I also knock on wood a lot and thank the Lord for their strength, knowing that I don’t share it. If you doubt that you can get through whatever looms large and difficult ahead, it’s easy to be extremely thankful for each quiet well-blessed day.   

“Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion,” said Truvy Jones in Steel Magnolias. It’s mine, too.

So, this Thanksgiving, may you enjoy laughter through tears, a heart overflowing with thankfulness and a day so uneventful that it leaves you feeling very well blessed.  

 

 

Happy Anniversary, Roscoe - our "perfect demon"

“Dogs are great. Bad dogs, if you can really call them that, are perhaps the greatest of them all.” – John Grogan

Our latest rescue dog, Roscoe, will celebrate his one year anniversary with us this week. Lying at my feet in his dog bed, snoring loudly, he has no idea we’re about to mark this milestone. But, as in all other situations, when the fun begins Roscoe the no-longer-terrible Terrier will be in the middle of things, crooked smile on his face, barking loudly and prancing about like it’s all about him, which in this case, it is. 

When we first met Roscoe, he was not this way. He was a sad, broken, scared little fellow, so sick there wasn’t much life or love left in him. He’d ended up at the animal shelter after his person died and he was not doing well, at all.   

I saw Roscoe in a Facebook video a shelter volunteer posted. There he sat, shivering on the cold concrete floor, looking confused and sad, scared and pitiful, making a low moaning sound. That was it for me - I had to save him.

A rescue took Roscoe the next day. I contacted them immediately and offered to foster him – after all, people love the little dogs and all Roscoe needed was some TLC. We’d have him up and running and in a new forever home by Christmas…or so I thought.  

My theory began to crumble when I picked Roscoe up at the vet and they said, “Oh, you’re here for the biter!” What? I thought I was here for the cute little guy who just needed a bath, some love, good food and medicine – not “the biter.”     

It turned out Roscoe had the worst ear infection the vet had ever seen and even after treatment, he would still be nearly deaf. He had a mouth full of rotten teeth that needed to be pulled, once he was in better shape. Roscoe was elderly. He had one blind eye and the other one was infected, so when he gazed at you, it was with a vacuous, soul-less stare. His under-bite made his face look crooked. Flea allergies and skin infections had robbed him of most of his hair; what was left was a dull, grey-white color. Because of all of these things and some rough treatment along the way, Roscoe didn’t like to be touched - in fact, he would bite anyone who even tried.   

“He doesn’t seem to have much personality,” the vet said. “But maybe that’s because of all the health problems. Poor little guy. Good luck.” 

When we got home, Roscoe’s other issues became apparent. He ran around in a frenzy, pooping and peeing whenever and wherever he liked. He jumped on the furniture and up on the tables, searching for food as if he’d never been fed. He was like a mean little Whirling Dervish with some Tasmanian Devil thrown in.

I fed him a big meal and, to his credit, he quickly found his new dog bed and fell into a deep sleep. It was as if a full belly, a warm bed and the feeling of even temporary safety had overwhelmed his tiny tormented soul and it shut down peacefully for the night.

I fired off an email to the rescue, detailing all the reasons Roscoe wasn’t going work out. Then, something about the sight and sound of him enjoying that deep sleep touched my heart. I didn’t send the email and we gave Roscoe another chance…

Slowly but surely, Roscoe settled in. He became less wild and seemed to actually notice us – not with affection, but with tolerance. Roscoe still snapped when we tried to touch him, but he appreciated routine and regular meals and before long he would allow us to clip on his leash for walks and put a little coat on him when it was cold.    

Once he was well enough, Roscoe had his dental surgery and it worked a miracle. Without the terrible tooth pain, Roscoe became a new dog – friendly, affectionate and eager to interact. Even though he still didn’t like being picked up, the new Roscoe was a dog someone might actually want to adopt, so we had to decide if we were going to give Roscoe up or become his new forever family…Needless to say, Roscoe had wiggled his way into our hearts.    

Fast forward to Roscoe today and you’ll see a proud little fellow with a thick fluffy coat of apricot-colored hair. He likes being petted and having his head scratched; sometimes he even rolls over for a belly rub. He lets us bath and brush him. His one good eye has become expressive, dark and mischievous. He has the cutest button nose and that happy, excited, crooked smile would melt anyone’s heart. Roscoe is very vocal, too, prancing about barking orders when he thinks something needs to be done or softly yelping with his “inside voice” when he’s just trying to talk.       

Mr. Clark Googled Roscoe and now that he’s healthy, he looks like a purebred Norfolk Terrier – a breed the AKC describes as “fearless, active, compact and hardy.” They are admired for their “gameness, loyalty and great charm.” A “happy, spirited and self-confident” dog, they are known “barkers.” Norfolk Terriers are called “the perfect demon,” “self-confident dogs who carry themselves with importance and thrive on human contact.” Yes, that’s our Roscoe.

   

 

 

Sometimes the universe sends a surprise that has an obvious down side. But, if you accept it, go with it, believe and follow your heart, sometimes that down side turns around and the surprise becomes something wonderful. We got a demon who wasn’t so perfect at first, but now we can’t imagine life without him. Happy Anniversary, Roscoe!  

 

 

Man or angel? A blessing either way...

“Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing they grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise” – 18^th Century Christian hymn

 

The strains of that simple, haunting hymn always bring tears to my eyes - no matter the context, no matter the version. There’s just something about those gentle chords and humble lyrics that open a fount of thankfulness in my heart – every time I hear the song.  

 

November is the month of thankfulness and the holidays a time of generosity. But, as easy as they both should be, the business of being thankful and generous can be tricky at times. It’s nice when it’s clear that the cause is just and giving is in order; but when things are not so obvious, the suspicious gates of my heart slam shut, making it easy to look the other way. The other day I had an instance of both happening, almost simultaneously, when I encountered a man who was having a bad day.

 

I was at the hardware store buying birdseed and as I wrestled the big bag into my car, the fellow approached me. He was an older man, with a head of white hair, wearing clean, if well worn,work clothes. He asked if he could help me with the birdseed, then asked if I could spare any amount of money at all.

 

“I spent the last money I had on gas to get here from Athens for a day of work, then the guy I was ‘sposed to work with didn’t show up. So here I am, no work, no money and not enough gas to get back home to Athens,” he said, an obvious edge of desperation in his voice.

 

I could tell he didn’t like asking for money, that it embarrassed him and hurt his pride. I’ve not had to bury my pride and ask for help many times, but when I did, it embarrassed and hurt me, too.

 

Initially, the suspicious gates of my heart slammed shut and I told him, no, I didn’t have any cash on me. In actuality, I had two crisp $20 bills in my wallet and while it would’ve been a no brainer to give the man $5, I didn’t want to part with a $20. He said, “Thank you anyway, ma’am,” then went back to his vehicle, which I now saw was parked next to mine.

 

It was an old Jeep, painted flat black, with some years and wear on it. There were tools in the back, arranged in an orderly fashion, and some PVC pipe mounted along the windows, like the man stored something of use in his work there. He stood behind his vehicle looking worried and tired. He kept flipping open an old flip phone and looking at it like he was about to make a call, but he never dialed. His shoulders were stooped as if a heavy weight lay on them.

 

Damn! I thought. Who am I to judge him? Here I was, well dressed and well fed, on my way to yoga class, with $40 in my wallet and a big bag of expensive bird seed in my car…Good Lord! How suspicious and self-absorbed do I need to be?

 

I motioned to the man to come over, then rolled down my window and handed him one of those crisp $20 bills. He took it quickly, staring at it in disbelief, then stuck his head through the car window and gave me a big awkward hug.

 

“Thank you, ma’am! God Bless you, ma’am! You don’t have any idea how much this means to me, ma’am!” he cried, tears visible in his eyes, still shaking my hand through the car window.

 

At that point, the suspicious curmudgeon in me returned or maybe I was just embarrassed by his enthusiasm – it clearly communicated a need that was real. Either way, I withdrew my hand and said sternly, “Now use that money for gas and maybe a snack  - not for anything else.”

 

“I will, ma’am,” he cried. “There’s a station right over there and I’m headed to it right now.”

 

As I pulled away, I saw him open his worn leather wallet and place that $20 bill gently in it, as if it was indeed, a precious thing. Then he headed towards his Jeep with a bit of bounce in his step, his shoulders no longer stooped. There was a lightness to him that made him almost glow…Hmmm! I thought. Had I just had an encounter with an “angel unaware” as I call them, referring to one of my favorite Bible verses, Hebrews 13:2: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

 

There have been times when $20 meant an awful lot to me. During those times, someone - a friend, a family member or a stranger – always came along to help me. In those cases, they were the angel helping a person in need. In this case, the person who needed help was the angel - not me.

 

It’s good to be reminded of how blessed I am and to be made aware of how quickly those doors of judgment and suspicion can shut down my heart…“There but by the grace of God, go I,” may be a cliché, but it’s also true. And, I’m thankful to that fellow for reminding me of that, whether he was an angel or a man.    

 

 (I took the photo in New Orleans one hot Sunday morning. This man was singing "Amazing Grace" at the top of his lungs, in an alley way, beautifully and with such joy...No one seemed to listen or care. Sad, because he was definitely an angel sent down to praise God, whether people listened or not.)

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from Halloween to thankfulness...

 

 “If the only prayer you say in your whole life is ‘Thank you,” that would suffice.” – Meister Eckhart

 

This week we move from the month of ghosts and goblins into the month of thankfulness. And, even in the context of this really beautiful time of year - the trees on fire with colorful leaves and the air so crisp, cool and fresh – thankful is sometimes a hard thing to remember to be.

 

“We count our miseries carefully and accept our blessings without much thought,” a Chinese proverb says. So true, so much of the time…

 

How often do we nurse some hurt, worry or problem at the expense of remembering the many things we have to be grateful for? Try as I do, to stay focused on my blessings, too often I find myself dwelling on my “hurt, worry or problem” list. With a life as rich and well-blessed as mine, there is no excuse for having to stop consciously, breathe and focus in order to remember how good life is. That should be where my mind rests – not where I have to pull it.  

 

The other night was Halloween and Mr. Clark and I gave out candy. I like watching the parade of trick-or-treaters in their bright costumes, attentive parents with flashlights hovering nearby. I like to see what the kids are wearing and I enjoy watching them pick carefully and thoughtfully from the big candy bowl, when I tell them to choose three of any kind they like.  

 

We didn’t have as many trick-or-treaters as we used to, but the ones who came were in good spirits. A surprising number of them yelled, “Happy Halloween!” or a really excited “Trick-or-Treat!” as they came bounding up our walk and almost all of them said “Thank you!” without being prompted by their parents as they left.

 

Some of the kids wore elaborate costumes that clearly involved either a good bit of money or a good bit of time or both; others wore something slapped together at the last minute. They all seemed to be having a good time.

 

Amidst all the princesses and super heros, ninjas, ghouls and Hello Kitty cats, one little guy stood out. He looked to be about five - clearly a busy and enthusiastic fellow. He was dressed in red long johns and brown cowboy boots. His face was painted to look sort of like The Joker from Batman. He picked his three pieces of candy quickly, thanked us loudly and whole heartedly, then stood taking it all in, bubbling with energy and joy.  

 

“I like your dogs,” he said, about the motley canine crew barking and hurling themselves at our front door. “I like your candles,” he said, about the brightly lit Jack-O-Lanterns. “I like your house,” he said, staring up at the tall columns towering over our front porch. “Wow!” he said, with a big smile on his face, “Wow!”    

 

“I like your costume,” Mr. Clark said. “Are you The Joker?”

“No!” the little guy exclaimed indignantly. “I’m a Dead Clown!”

At that point we noticed his older, much quieter brother standing next to him, wearing a thermal shirt, camouflage pants and a red clown nose.

“And, I’ve got his nose!” the brother said. Then they laughed and ran down the walk, into the night, calling “Happy Halloween!”

           

Something about the little guy’s joy was contagious and, Mr. Clark and I couldn’t stop laughing as one of us said, “Are you The Joker?” and the other replied, “No! I’m a Dead Clown!” Then, together, “And, I’ve got his nose!”

 

We stayed on the porch until all the candy was gone and the street fell quiet and dark.

“That was a good Halloween,” Mr. Clark said. I agreed, as we shared one more laugh about “And, I’ve got his nose!” 

 

Not all of our Halloweens have been such good ones. A few years ago, Mr. Clark was unemployed. We only had a little bit of candy to hand out, so we turned the porch light off early and went to bed with plenty of legitimate hurts, worries and problems to think about. Back then it seemed reasonable to focus on the sad things – there were so many of them and they loomed so large…

 

“I once had a garden filled with flowers that grew only on dark thoughts but they need constant attention and one day I decided I had better things to do,” said Brian Andreas and the StoryPeople.  I’m getting better at his approach - after all there are so many people with hurts, worries and problems so much bigger and more real than mine.

 

The holidays will soon be here – a time when, for many, the contrast between “hurts, worries and problems” and “happy, thankful and well-blessed” becomes especially stark. I plan to take it all in with the same joy and enthusiasm that little Dead Clown had, laugh with the same glee he and his brother shared, and be as generous and kind as I possibly can, to as many as I possibly can. And, the one prayer I will pray will be a heartfelt “Thank you.”