Winter seasons have often tempted me to long for things I didn’t have. A cold, northerly breeze made me yearn for summer (or a thicker coat). A dateless Valentine’s Day inspired hunger for companionship and tenderness. Dim light and bare trees made me long for color.
Times of scarcity, no matter what form the deprivation takes, can make me forget to savor the gifts that remain. I focus so much on what’s gone missing that I become blind to subtle joys. Anyone who has recovered from a long illness can attest to the unexpected thrill of being able to take a walk, to cook a meal and do the laundry without assistance. A period where something basic is denied makes the simplest blessings stand out in sharp relief.
I know that life would be easier if I could skip past the harsh lessons that eventually teach me gratitude. A more proactive approach would be to nurture thankfulness in all circumstances. Then the inevitable misfortunes, the heavy tolls we pay as we journey through life, would probably sting a bit less.
I doubt that I’ll ever succeed in turning into a Pollyanna always looking on the bright side. And I wouldn’t advocate that everyone, especially those who naturally follow the Path of Eeyore, should force themselves into becoming cheery backslappers. I believe, however, that taking time during a crisis to find brief nurturing moments can be an act of mercy. Mercy to ourselves and others. When a load of pressure builds up on my shoulders, when I start snapping at the least irritation, I know that I need a gratitude break. And if nothing in my immediate surroundings inspires thankfulness, then I must make a blessing of my own. Stopping to pray, taking a nature walk, listening to beautiful music, sipping a good cup of coffee aren’t indulgences during hard times.
And if these remedies fail to bring relief, then it helps to recall that I am a child of God. I may feel stranded in misery, but I’m not an orphan lost in a storm…I once described a visit to a dying man to a friend of mine. I marveled that a person suffering from a terminal disease could smile, tell jokes and swap stories. My friend answered, “He knew where he was going.” Home.
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