Dig Deep

It hung for decades in the farmhouse kitchen where I grew up – a wooden plate sculpted with a harvest of fruits and vegetables encircling the words, “In Everything Give Thanks” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

Like many a wall hanging, it went without notice except when a visitor might occasionally spot it and comment, or when we’d glance up and see it as our gaze turned out the window. But quiet though it was, it did its magic. It seeped into my system.

Now it hangs above my kitchen sink and I notice it more often. Sometimes I think, “Really? In Everything Give Thanks?” But perhaps because I’m growing older, or because it reminds me of cherished wisdom from my parents, I pause to take it in. I’m helped enormously by recognizing it doesn’t say “For Everything Give Thanks,” but instead “In Everything Give Thanks.” It instructs me that, on occasion, I must dig deep.

Giving thanks doesn’t always come fast or first, certainly not in the case of tough news. Thanks can be late in arriving. Other emotions rise to the forefront – frustration, dismay, anger. And sometimes those emotions don’t ever go away, but they’re tempered by time and the search for acceptance and gratitude.

The November sky is spectacular with stars. I step out on my balcony in the early morning hours and gaze in awe at the grandeur above me. In the daylight, the carpet of golden leaves covering the ground is a call to beauty and comfort.

In some of life’s circumstances, it’s often much easier when you’re looking back to see reasons for thanks: the job I resigned from under duress brought me to another “best job ever”; or my beloved country retreat, claimed by the government for flood control that resulted in a buy-out, gave me hope for a new outdoor retreat.

The recent election catapulted me into a cauldron of emotions. As an independent but left-leaning voter, I was actually speechless at the results. Which was fortunate because it gave me time to absorb and think. I couldn’t understand how a person who lacked the character traits necessary for a good leader could possibly be elected.

I know it’s a troubled and divisive time, but since quite a number of people whom I really like voted for President-elect Trump, I needed to reconcile my thoughts and future actions. How was I to do this?

In situations not to your liking, a good exercise for mental health is the attempt to dig deep to find some tiny ray of hope. It doesn’t always work and may not work quickly, but it can be kind of rewarding – and a way to sidestep disappointment or despair. Bottom line is you’re not going to change the circumstances, but the aim is to change yourself or your perspective.

I tried that with the results of the election. It took a few days, but then I actually found some relief and a reason or two to give thanks. At least, we won’t have to wade through two months of this election being called fraudulent or rigged. We won’t have to survive another call to take over the capital, with injuries and deaths resulting. For me, small mercies, but at least for the moment – and this moment is truly all that we ever have – these are reasons to give thanks. Most importantly, reasons to help ground me.

Grounding is what it's all about. Joyce Sequilchie Hifler, in her book, A Cherokee Feast of Days, says “Whatever is loudest gets our attention, and all that delights and comforts, slips by without our seeing it.” I’ve learned to be diligent and disciplined – in the midst of what is “loud” – to find moments to see and cherish.

Oftentimes those moments for me happen outdoors. The November sky is spectacular with stars. I step out on my balcony in the early morning hours and gaze in awe at the grandeur above me. In the daylight, the carpet of golden leaves covering the ground is a call to beauty and comfort.

I recall the day my niece, a teacher, was involved in a horrific school shooting. The echoes of the sounds associated with that event – and the impact on her and others – played loud in my brain. I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat on a bench on my balcony, seeking solace. Cardinals are beautiful songbirds, yet I’ve never seen them around my home. That day, as I sat in sorrow, a bright red cardinal landed and sat on the railing. Peace landed in me too. I’ve never again seen a cardinal on my balcony.

Lifetimes on earth are short. “The days of our life are seventy years or perhaps eighty if we are strong . . . they are soon gone and we fly away.” (Psalm 90:10). My brother died at 50 years of age, my sister at 60, and my husband at 74. While I have mourned those losses and dearly wish each one had lived longer, I try to honor and give thanks for their lifetime with me by having an open heart to gratitude. How do I do that? Dig deep, be still, and find all I can. . . in the people I meet and the situations I encounter. . . for which I can say “Thank you.”

The pathway to peace is aiming to find in all events something of value or beauty. Something that gives us glimmers of hope. Over time, this practice builds a storehouse of touchstones that we can return to again and again for grounding and for gratitude.

Gratitude for Len Danielson, photographer. Pictured: “Whimsical” or “Dr. Suess?”