2 posts tagged “gratitude”
Originally published at file under "Miscellanea". You can comment here or there.
What a weighty title, no? But as I started to write in my new gratitude journal, I realized the end product would, indeed, be a compilation of the best moments of my life on a daily basis. I was inspired to start this journal by Michelle Ward’s tweet linking me to this post by Trent Hamm at The Simple Dollar.
I’m writing the entries in a small book made for me by a friend who was learning bookbinding, and it feels like the appropriate precious vessel for all these memories. Each evening or the following morning, I review my day and write/sketch something that records the best part of that day: a conversation, something shared, an epiphany.
I started the journal yesterday, thinking that the winter solstice—when our days start to creep back toward the light—was an appropriate time to start paying attention to the light in my life.
December 21
Putting up the tree this year was victory enough, but I was surprised by the end of the night to also feel some ownership of the tree—not just that I had put up my mother’s Christmas tree. Sometimes, I think I’m going to be okay.
NB. I should probably explain the drawing, eh? It’s a small (like the size of my pinky finger) white plastic skeleton hanging on our Christmas tree. When I was a kid, he was revealed from behind a store-bought advent calendar—I have no other memories of that advent calendar, but surreal li’l Mr Skeleton has been part of my family’s Christmas tradition ever since. After each holiday, my mum took great care to make sure he was found on the tree and wrapped up in his own bag so he wouldn’t get lost amongst all the other ornaments. Coming home for the holidays whilst in college, I love searching the tree for his creepy bones. Now he hangs on my tree and is still my favorite ornament.
(Note: I spoke at my local Unitarian Universalist chuch today as part of the "Personal Reflections" series where volunteers from the congregation are asked to speak for a few minutes on the question in this post's title. The following are the remarks I made.)
I’ve knelt in Catholic pews, lit candles in European cathedrals, danced barefoot in the moonlight with Starhawk—but none of these experiences ever led me to imagine standing in front of a congregation as I do here and now.
I originally let that lack of imagination, as well as my newcomer status, dissuade me from volunteering to speak. That didn’t stop me from thinking about what this church means to me, of course, as I’m sure many of you have found yourself reflecting after the answers previously shared by Kathy, Dan, Richard, Rose, and others. Eventually, my gratitude, along with some nudging from Reverend Garmon, has led me to hope that I can gain something from putting myself up here and that my relatively fresh perspective will be beneficial to us collectively.
The discussion at last month’s stewardship lunch reminded me that, during our first visit, a few members of the church apologized to Kristi and I for the fact that the majority of the congregation is older than us. I want to acknowledge that the combined age, wisdom, and experience of this church’s members is actually one of your gifts to me and not to be apologized for. Once a week, I get to sit down for coffee and discover the person next to me marched for civil rights, the woman across from me provided protection and comfort to women entering a planned parenthood clinic—I discover the stories of men and women who stood up when they or others were disenfranchised or discriminated against. This first-hand perspective is otherwise absent from my formal education and my life; I’ve encountered such stories only through the interviews of Studs Terkel or the songs of Utah Phillips. It is my great privilege to be part of and learn from this community. You provide me with wisdom, mentorship, and challenge me to live a life I can someday be proud to share with a younger generation. Thank you.
In 2006, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She was, quite simply, the most important person in my life and, after many struggles, was finally creating the life of her dreams when this diagnosis rocked us both to the core. I was so incredibly angry—I saw the cancer and its timing as a huge injustice—and, in my anger, I shut the door to my experience of the Divine. I didn’t know how to celebrate anything in light of her illness and her death at 49 years of age. I was 28 and my brother, who I now raise with my husband, was only 11. I showed up here nearly eight months ago trying, in part, to make sense of her death.
Today, I accept that her death is something I do and will continually struggle with. I don’t know what helps with that or what I thought I might find here to undo that pain.
What I have found is a community of compassion that tells us it matters that you were born, it matters what you do. (I love to hear Kathy Stevens say that; she does it in a way that just makes my heart feel huge with love and purpose.) That blessing—which is both little and all encompassing—along with your stories, the reflective space offered in these walls, the inspiring words and music that fill our worship, and the amazing mentors I have met as part of this community—instead of resolving the grief I experienced with my mother’s death, I am learning what to do with my life. Again, I say thank you.
