There’s an ice pack on my shoulder that I’ll soon switch out for a hot water bottle. That jump-twist-roll ended with a hard crunch on my right shoulder. I guess I’m not as invincible, nimble, or strong as I imagined.
Meanwhile, social media buzzes around the attacks on Paris and Beirut…on top of the crisis of the Syrian refugees. I guess they weren’t as invincible, nimble, or strong as they thought either.
Of course, there is no true comparison between my simple injury and the tragic loss of life. And if you think I’m belittling these terrible events, I apologize. Because these historic moments just remind us all once again how things are not quite right in this world. It’s easy to get caught up in this week’s dinners, Spring 2016 fashions, and Instagram’s hottest hashtag.
But then, something like this happens. Startling us for a moment out of our continuous scrolling through life.
I always get overwhelmed in the face of such attacks, such loss, such opinion, such Facebook profile picture overlay, such everything. Everyone saying everything. Everyone responding. Everyone adding to the noise. Rising up to support those who face this trauma.
What do I do in the face of this? Changing my profile picture on Facebook shows unity, but I want more than that. When life is disrupted by loss, I don’t want life to go back to the continuous scroll but it will. It always does. Always will.
I’m coming back to thankfulness.
As an American, November is almost synonymous with thankfulness and gratitude. In the next week, the web will be swamped with lists upon lists of gratitude. I can hardly wait. I can hardly wait to see the pause to celebrate the present.
Is it callous to celebrate life when so many grieve the loss of life recently or even in the past year or even another year without that beloved? I don’t think so.
Looking at my own year, I mostly see ashes where I had hoped to see a sunflower garden. I tended to those blooms so carefully but the flames came anyway. It’s hard to find thankfulness.
Right now, my injured shoulder aches dully, but when I move in a moment to take the cupcakes out of the oven, the ache turns sharp. That’s how loss is. And thankfulness feels bitter sometimes when loss is your walking companion.
A curious thing happens when we dwell on gratitude, though.
For me, it has to come in baby steps. Start small.
- I can breathe.
- My flatmate just boiled the kettle for tea.
- Cupcakes cool on the rack.
- Christmas Markets in Austria start this month.
- My parents visited me last month.
- The gift of skyping my grandmother while she was on her death bed.
- Friendships and new growth sprung from an ended relationship.
- I’ve had the opportunity to visit 7 new countries, experiencing growth in every journey.
- A clearer view of my giftings because of my failings.
- Terrorist attacks waking a sleeping world, desiring change and peace.
- Refugees pouring from the Middle East and testing the hospitality of the rest of the world.
- Facing challenge and finding what I’m made of.
So it may seem stupid or overrated or cliche, but sit down for a moment. Open up the notebook on your phone or grab a sticky note and a pen. Look at the most painful parts of your year, and magnify in on those events to see what came out of it. Where can you find thankfulness?
It’s there. If you look long enough, you’ll find hope along the serrated edges of pain.
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