11th Day of Thanksgiving: The Ugly Word

As I’ve been thinking through a summary of this year’s Thanksgiving experiment, I’ve realized that thoughts have not come as easily as they did in the 2008 rendition. Some years are just like that. Some days. Last year, my mind was hopping with post ideas. I was still high on the joy of a new Baby Girl, and one day’s post produced a whole list of other ideas for the next. This year, thanksgiving thoughts have not come as freely. The process has been a little more labored, and it’s required more discipline to fulfill my commitment of posting on twelve consecutive days.

Discipline. What an ugly word. It implies actual work, actual intention, actual effort, actual choice.

It’s so easy to think about giving thanks in terms of circumstances. And circumstances can be challenging. This year has been hard for our family. In some ways it carries a sense of loss. And loss does not readily co-exist with gratitude.

In February, my father (Paw-T) suffered a fairly severe stroke. As severe strokes go, it happened in the best way possible, and he has been recovering nicely. Still, it represented the loss of some skills, the loss of a carefree way of life, the loss of comfort, the loss of the familiar, and I suppose the loss of my last “fragments of childhood” as I wrote at the time.

This summer, for finanical reasons, Quiver decided to close down the small landscape design business he’s had for the last four years. The challenge of finding a job to use his incredible design and construction skills has been difficult in these times, and he has been so diligent and humble in the process. Still, it represented the loss of his dream (at least temporarily), the loss of his control over a very full “Daddy” schedule, and I suppose the loss of some confidence in his own decisions.

With the weight of loss, how can I find a way to be grateful?

As I’ve forced myself to look at that question in black and white as opposed to in the hazy abstract of my mind, I realize it’s shamefully easy. For, these things are true:

The loss is not as great as some have experienced this year.

Dad can walk. Dad can speak. Dad can think. My parents can spend the night with us and keep their grandchildren on a day like today. They can travel with us to the zoo. They can laugh. We can visit the farm and enjoy it’s carefree experiences. We have them.

Quiver has work. He can play despite the stress. He can give baths at night and read stories. We have a home we enjoy. Our gifts are vibrant. They are healthy and growing–laughing and singing and dancing. We are here. We are alive. We are together.

We are blessed. And to recognize blessing is perhaps the most treasured of disciplines. Yes, there’s that ugly word again. As I sum up these 12 Days, I’m not at the same uninhibited place of joy I was last year. But, I AM at a place of joy–once again at a deeper, more tested and, therefore, richer place of joy. And I find it’s very natural to say “thank you”– to God, to one another, to new friends, to old ones, even to loss. The lesson of these 12 Days:

A thankful heart is a discipline that can flourish independent of circumstances.

1st Day of Thanksgiving: A Thread of Joy

“O come. Let us sing for joy to the Lord. Let us shout joyfully to the rock of our salvation. Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving. Let us shout joyfully to Him with psalms.” (psalm 95:1-2)

A year ago I began my first 12 Days of Thanksgiving quest with this same verse–with the phrase “come before His presence with thanksgiving.” In looking back at the writings from that time, I saw a consistent thread through the posts. It was a thread seeking to assuage doubt and fear in troubled times, to embrace trust in God anew and more fully. And, the gateway I found to do that was thanksgiving. This year, as I’m beginning the same 12-day adventure, I looked more closely at the entire verse and found an echo of where my heart has been of late. It’s funny how that works.

While the last year’s reading of this verse found a connection between trust and thanksgiving, I’m wondering if 2009 will show a thread of connection between joy and thanksgiving. This past year has been one of many changes for our family, and I’ve noticed a greater emphasis in my inner workings on life beyond just living. It’s possible to survive a life of just existing, of just getting by, of floating through experiences from one crisis mode to the next. But, survival isn’t really the same as living. As I’ve been seeking to pay closer attention and to make conscious choices about how my time, energy and love are spent, I’ve realized that one of the greatest blessings our Creator has giving his children is the opportunity to live a life of joy. Throughout the Bible, we are reminded that God is not a half-way being. His work doesn’t center on just enough. His love and grace and blessings are lavished, not simply doled out on an as-needed basis. Yes, they usually seem to come just when we need them, but I’ve found they are rarely limited to just squeaking by.

I don’t know where these next 12 Days will take me, and I don’t want to presuppose. But, when I read the verses above, I can’t help but see a thread of joy, the fibers of which are thanksgiving. From the looks of things, it seems that thanksgiving offers (once again) a passageway for all kinds of singing and shouting as we follow it into the presence of Providence and behold the depth of who He is. Joy.

I begin this year’s 12 Days of Thanksgiving with another prayer, similar to where I’ve started before. It seems like a good place:

1. I repent of a complaining and murmuring spirit, and ask God’s forgiveness for taking His character and blessings for granted.

2. I ask God to open my eyes to His goodness that is evident in my life, His faithfulness, His love and mercy.

3. I choose to thank Him for what He shows me. I thank Him for His works. I thank Him for His character.

4. I ask that this Thanksgiving season be one of experiencing the life of greater joy His word describes as I give credit where credit is due. Let me shout joyfully this season.

6th Day of Thanksgiving: Two Years with Squiggle

My little Squiggle Man is two years old today!  He doubled my joy on that Tuesday before Thanksgiving in 2006, a joy that continues to grow every day.  His birth made one of my most memorable Thanksgiving holidays.  When I went to the doctor on the Friday before, he decided that we would induce labor on Tuesday, November 21.  We had already determined that Squiggle would be the namesake of both of my grandfathers.  It wasn’t until I got home from the doctor’s office that the date sunk in.  He would be born on November 21, my Grandaddy’s birthday.  We knew, then, his name was well-chosen.  By 10am, I had him in my arms.  After two nights in the hospital, we brought him home–on Thanksgiving Day.

I remember that day as one of the most peaceful and joyful holidays I’ve experienced.  It was sunny and crisp, but not too cold.  A beautiful Autumn day.  We hardly knew it was a holiday, but we had much to be thankful for.  I was so glad to see and touch him on the outside and to be relieved from the pressure of having his 8 lbs 15 oz taking over my belly.  We got home just after lunch with big brother Little Drummer Boy all dressed up and proud of his new playmate.  I remember just wanting to soak them both up.  My nights at Oktibbeha County Hospital with Hub bunking in had been the only nights we’d spent away from Drummer Boy since he was born.  I was so happy to have them both home in our house–safe, healthy and in hugging distance.

It took us until the early afternoon to get home, get settled in and realize we were hungry.  Starkville is a university town, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving every other year brings in fans for the State/Ole Miss football game.  We’d never been in town for Thanksgiving, but we hoped the extra visitors for the upcoming game meant the standard take-out options would be open despite the holiday.  We called around and found out Ruby Tuesdays was one of the few restaurants available and placed our order.  There, around the table with a high-chair and a basinette, we enjoyed Thanksgiving lunch from black styrofoam take-out boxes–loaded fries, the sustenance of gratitude.

We had our traditional Thanksgiving meal on Saturday with a few sleepless newborn nights under our belt.  We cooked it and ate it at my house.  Although we spread the table with the same dishes cooked from the same recipes, it was another first.  Every year before and since, the menu has been reserved for Grandmother’s house, MeMa’s house or Mama’s house.  Still, it was a precious change filled with the comfort and joy of being in the first place your children belong.

The blessing of getting to know Squiggle is just two years in the making now.  We are basking in joy that pops in and out, sitting just beneath the surface of the frustration inherent in parenting a toddler through those first tough lessons.  As with Little Drummer Boy (and I’m sure Baby Girl to follow), we are sometimes heavy with the realization that so much of who he is becoming is who we are, and who we are training him to be.

Squiggle is intensly resolved.  Some might call it strong-willed, that character trait we so often admire in adults, but chide in toddlers.  Even in the womb he was resolved.  He would straighten both his legs out to push against the constraints–one foot on each side under my ribs.  It took more than a few pokes and pushing back on his heels to get him to move, releasing my lungs to take a deep breath.  He came out of the womb determined to make his own way.  Even as an infant, he would never simply rest his head on my shoulder like his brother did.  He would always push back to take in his surroundings.  Only now does his loving spirit sometimes give in and allow me that fleeting luxury at bedtime.  Squiggle is passionate about everything.  He does everything and feels everything at 110%, fully giving himself to it.  He is the most fun-loving of my children, the most willing to test his wings with abandon.  This trait has prompted more than one person to tell me, “he will be the one to watch.”  He learned to smile very quickly, and practices often, along with his trademark squeal-fueled giggle and the universal animal roar he has made his own.  His eyes often reveal the twinkle of joyful mischief within, and he is the one most likely to fling himself into your arms–for two seconds before moving on to the next passion.

I love this picture from our first photo shoot.  He’s wearing the same white outfit each of my children have worn home from the hospital, and a baby blue sweater–the perks of being born in November.  I see an earnest expression, brow almost furrowed in thought. I still see that today sometimes when he is trying to make sense of his little world–resolving his passion for whatever is before him with the joy of life his heart seems to exude.  He will be a spectacular man.

God, please help us to get him there with his vibrant spirit unfettered.

3rd Day of Thanksgiving: Bright of my Life

On this, the third day in my recognition of Thanksgiving joy, I’m taking a cue from my Squiggle Man and starting with THREE.  In my life list of things I’m thankful for, THREE top the list.  Here they are in portraits by their own hands (thank you Fisher Price.)  The brightness of the photos is tangible evidence of the almost painful extent to which they brighten my life–a glow so brilliant I can’t turn my glistening eyes for fear I might lose the blinding joy of the gifts within.

Self-portrait in angel-glow by Little Drummer Boy.

Self-portrait in angel-glow with Poppy by Squiggle.

Baby Girl at breakfast with spot of angel-glow by Little Drummer Boy.