Yesterday I heard an explanation of that old image of seeing a glass either "half empty or half full." I often catch myself looking at things as -- "Oh no! I've only got ____ much time or resources" - or - "I'm gonna miss out!" That is a bad way to look at the world, because there's never enough of anything to fill up what is unknown. And isn't that the way the world works? We can work, plan, dream, achieve, get all the things and still never be content if we see the glass half empty. There's the same amount of goody, whether the glass is half empty or half full. The exact amount. Think about that. Being "hungry" does motivate us to work and reach, but it can become the monster that is never satisfied.
This past Friday, we (meaning the Carrollton Wind Ensemble) had our spring concert. Most of the pieces were written by local composers, some of them actually playing in our group. We played these compositions, some just so-so but then some amazing. Beethoven didn't always write a winner, you know. Our conductor, Terry Lowry, introduced each composer after their piece. It took way longer than usual, to complete the concert. But it was beautiful, in the idea of it and in the courage of each of these people. Life is not always about the best and shiniest...and actually only rarely is it that. There was a gratefulness that flowed through all of the performance, from the instrumentalists to the audience. There's always a huge weight off our shoulders after so much work, but this one felt different. Hats off to the brave.
Gratefulness is a gift to yourself and to all the "others" that you bless with it. When I am grateful, I see the world with different eyes. Early in our 44 years of marriage, my husband had what I thought was a stunted idea of romantic gifts. Birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries, he would inevitably come up with something practical that I had little appreciation for. Now, with the lens of time, I see that his thoughtfulness was huge. One year, there was a white, metal basket for our anniversary. I was ticked. Then he told me that he searched and searched for it -- that it fit perfectly between the seats in our big van. It also had handles, so I could pick it up and take my purse and books and things easily out to wherever our adventures took us (we were homeschooling four children at the time). Another time, I opened a package to find an empty flute case! He had, again, searched for a new case to replace my old one that was literally falling apart. Another epic gift -- he was terribly excited about Christmas and tried to get me to open my gift early. I always refuse that, because I like the anticipation. Whatever was in that box had to be just incredible, with the way he was going on about it. Christmas Eve, I finally opened it to find a brand-new, leather-bound Franklin Planner. He was giddy. I was distraught.
My sixty-something self now understands how much thought and love he put into those and other gifts. I am sad that I did not appreciate them more at the time, and am trying to make up for it now by putting my brain into his brain, to see what he sees. Also, heavy hints from me have helped immensely (as I jingle the Brighton jewelry he bought me over every holiday this past year). He's retiring next year (Lord willing), so I'm gonna hang on to these precious items and not assume this is a future trend. I told him he can write me love notes next year and he said, "Well, I sent you a text for your birthday." To which I wrinkled my nose and suggested pen and paper. Silly girl, but I might lose those texts and that would be tragic.
As I was toying with these thoughts, I began to think on that man, who I have been both a blessing and a curse to all these years. Him, getting up very early to put on his boots, read his Bible before he leaves, follow the same patterns for now-decades, and walk millions of miles on unforgiving factory or retail floors when his knees (and hips) are getting mighty cranky. All the while, never complaining. There were years I was home with our little ones, then our big ones (they didn't get on the bus, ya'll), then years of health issues for me where he covered it with a second job. Yes, I have always worked, whether it was taking care of babies, homeschooling, painting houses or murals, selling real estate or artwork. All women work, if they are worth their salt. It might not be in a factory or business. I was allowed to have my dream of staying home and making a home with our children, with all the creative endeavors along the way. He was with me, in that dream and it was done together, as a team. But without gratefulness, it could go sour pretty quickly. He's not perfect, and I definitely am not. A long time ago, I started trying to think of one thing a day that I was thankful for, in his person. Because sometimes, we just don't like each other. If I neglect to think on what is good about him, it starts going south. Gratefulness buoys us and gives us hope.
I think on a baby that we lost a couple of decades ago. It was when our youngest child was eleven years old. We thought I couldn't have any more, so were surprised when I found out we had a nine-week-old baby in my womb. I was mid-fourties but thrilled to pieces. We named him Ethan and got busy planning. At fourteen weeks gestation, I miscarried and had to bury our little baby. I thought my daughter was going to have to be buried along with him, she was so overwrought with the death. I, too, felt so despairing and hopeless. Some might think we were crazy for actually wanting a baby in our fourties, but our whole family was deeply sad. Days and weeks went by and I could not find much to be happy about. My younger brother, our pastor at the time, prayed for me and gently read scripture to me about being thankful in all circumstances. I couldn't see how that applied to this situation.
One night, however, I woke up and padded to the bathroom. There was a little octagonal window in there, and the moon was shining like a beacon. As I looked at the inky night, the stars and the moon sparkling, I began to thank God for the beauty of it, the consistency of seeing those things over my whole life. For what a glory they are, a reminder that life goes on, that the earth still rotates, that the moon still shines.
Many have endured much worse things, but this was my "thing"' at that time. I thanked God, for taking my baby, for keeping him safe for me up there, for possibly sparing him (or us) from something unimaginable. We just don't know all the facts. My heart broke open as I thanked Him. The tears came, the release palpable.
When we find gratefulness of any kind, our heart softens, the bitter roots begin to die, and hope springs eternal. Look for that nugget...
