Gratitude in Everything?!

Thanks & Gratitudes, 1001-1006

What are you thankful for? Are there things for which you’re thankful but not grateful? Maybe, like me. you’ve wondered what the difference is. I tried to explain it in a sermon once but didn’t convince myself. The words mean different things to different people. There’s no consensus.

“What am I grateful for today?” is a regular part of my practice but I don’t usually talk about it until November (and then I feel guilty) so I’m writing this now. For today, thanks is what we express and feel in the moment and gratitude is when we’ve allowed ourselves to be affected, and potentially changed, by someone or something.

I’m regularly thankful for breath, food, drink, sleep, family, friends, health, house, body, clothing… That’s easy. With practice, finding things for which you’re grateful can become equally simple, at least on our better days. During a book study at the Appleton church we were encouraged to keep a gratitude journal, recording five things each day. “The rain” doesn’t really express gratitude but “The rain soothed my frayed nerves” does. Having said that, I admit to using shorthand, only seldom writing complete thoughts. I know what I mean as I write it. And I’ve moved to only recording three things.

Today though, I’d like to explore the idea of being grateful for the hard things because when we allow these experiences to affect and shape us, we become more alive to the moment. We become better versions of ourselves.

If you cannot consider the idea today, I respect that. But I want to examine it for myself, at least. I suppose the idea first took root during an e-book study a few months into my medical leave. Something one of the women said helped me realize that, in at least one way (which I’ve since forgotten) I could view the Lyme disease was a gift. If this is a gift, what else is?

A difficult marriage led me to lean on One greater than myself and, perhaps through that, to accept that I have value just as I am and to cultivate friendships with people who accept me. I learned not to focus on my weaknesses. This might have happened anyway but it came in the context of marriage. And I’m grateful.

While I would not wish my situation on anyone, this time apart has been good for me. I could probably write a small book about the negative aspects of having chronic Lyme disease and having to go on unpaid medical leave. There has been a fair amount of grief. And yet…

I’ve grown. I have time for the inner work. Stress is nearly absent. Only months into the medical leave, Kay* voiced her opinion that my job had been slowly killing me. As I’ve learned more about myself as an autistic person, I’ve come to accept that, for me, pastoral ministry – a job that doesn’t accommodate difference kindly or easily – was a perfect storm. The expectations on every level, the assumptions about how pastors behave, the hours, the people who prefer familiar ways at all costs… My blunt manner, perfectionism, sensory processing issues, need for rest, inability to read non-verbals… Add Lyme disease and it was impossible.

I’m grateful for my life as it is today. While my mind and body slowly heal, I can visit my kids, go on a Boundary Waters adventure, and refinish the 100-year-old front door of the house. I get to tutor Afghan women in English, participate in a tai chi class, and sing weekly with the Lyric Choir – none of which I’d have had the time and energy for if I was pastoring a church.

Through living with chronic illness, I’ve learned compassion at a depth I might never have known. Granted, I’m around fewer people but I’m more patient than I used to be and less likely to challenge their opinions. Believing that people are doing what they can in that moment, kindness comes more easily. My rough edges will always be present but maybe the light shines through me a little clearer now. In the “Better Person” category, I’m most grateful for this.

Yet I feel the hypocrisy. Gratitude is easy when one’s life is as good as mine. If one of my children was to die, I might be grateful for my strength but never for the loss. That a loved one might someday disappear into dementia terrifies me. Easy words fall silent here.

While I recall reading that gratitude leaves us happier, I can offer no promises. I only hope and pray that when we each face the impasse that cannot be borne, we both invite and accept the help of others until we can again smile and sleep and feel grateful.

* My daughter, not her real name