You know, sometimes life doesn't make sense. It feels random and leaves us with more questions than answers. But I've learned it's a good place to be. If I allow it, it opens my heart to learning some amazing things. I'd love to have you come along and together, take a look at things like leadership, relationship, and my very favorite...listening to the stories of others with a heart for truth. ***This podcast features music by Scott Holmes including the titles "Think Different," "Deep Thinker Logo," "Celebration" and "Corporate Vision" available under a Creative Commons License Attribution-Noncommercial license.
Unforced gratitude makes a surprising appearance right alongside of grief. While grief can become the only story, gratitude writes its own, bringing the color back into our world and breathing hope. Gratitude is not reciting a list in an attempt to be positive. But a deeply felt experience that helps our hearts stay open when closing down would be much easier.
Music by Scott Holmes - A Wee Tipple Non Copyright Music
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For the past several years, grief has been a constant companion. Grief could be felt while I did everything and anything waking up, getting dressed, driving to work, helping others, filling up the car with gas, sitting in doctor appointments, or cooking holiday meals, even falling asleep.
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Grief showed up in numerous ways and still does...
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that flu like ache in my skin,
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gray days,
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numbness and not being able to lean into living,
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in tears that suddenly run down my face in the middle of whatever I am doing in the
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moment,
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in that searing pain in my chest,
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the ache in my stomach,
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the tightness in my throat,
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or in turning away when music just hurts way too much.
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What happens sometimes is that the story of grief can take over, becoming the major theme in our lives, especially during extended seasons that are full of darkness and loss. Time slowly piles up into days that are spent in aimless wandering or busy avoidance, and eventually can define our life.
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I've discovered, though, that there is another story that is growing, a story of gratitude. Unexpected moments of deeply felt appreciation for beauty, however it shows up.
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The kindness of a stranger,
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the appearance of spring,
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the soft breeze on my face.
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I have never been a fan of gratitude practices. Usually, when I hear someone recite a list of things they are grateful for, I find myself rolling my eyes, inwardly if not outwardly. Only because much of the time being grateful is forced, it is not deeply felt or is used as a pretense for positivity. And that positivity has a sound of falseness around it. It's an avoidance of acknowledging what is really hard.
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When I come across someone who is deeply grateful, they also have intimately known grief. It comes through in their voice and posture. Their eyes hold a depth that come from knowing loss and powerlessness and having somehow found open-hearted surrender. Those are the people I want to be close to.
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What I'm discovering is that grief and gratitude walk together. The one keeps me honest, and the other helps my heart stay open when I want to close off.
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So today I'm sharing a story in which gratitude appeared unexpectedly right alongside of grief, and reminded me that both exist and that their stories grow right alongside each other.
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My work had taken me to a new area and I was alone. I knew well what it was like to walk around in the world, feeling unprotected, aware of the target on my back and how little room there was financially to accommodate the unexpected.
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My van had been showing signs of its old age, and I often wondered when its time would be up, leaving me without options. And the concerning sound suddenly emitting from my van made me take in a deep breath as fear flooded my belly.
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"What do I do now?" I wondered.
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A few minutes later, a little gas station and what looked like a garage came into view. Unsure of the quality of people who work there, and fully aware of the almost empty wallet beside me, I pulled in. Feeling the worry and fear churning within, I stepped inside, the bell on the door announcing my arrival.
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"Um, I don't know what is going on, but my vehicle is making a loud sound, and I don't know what to do."
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I remember feeling stupid.
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Stupid for being alone
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Stupid for not having more resources.
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Stupid for not knowing anything about vehicles.
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I managed to swallow the tears, always so close to the surface, waiting to see what would happen next.
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A few minutes later, an older man stepped from the garage, wiping his hands, obviously having interrupted a job he was in the middle of. Again I described what I heard, and immediately he walked over to the van and began making his inspection.
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A short time later, I looked up, confused.
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"Wait, what did you say?"
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"You're good," he said, then showed me what had caused the sound.
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"How much do I owe you?" I asked, bracing for impact.
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"Nothing," he grinned.
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"What? Are you sure?" I asked. Shock and relief flooding my body.
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"Yeah, I'm sure." And he walked back into the garage with a wave, wishing me a good day.
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Grief and gratitude both flooded me. Grief for the aloneness that had become my life so much so that I did not know anyone around well enough to call for help, and gratitude for the kindness of a man who stepped away from his work and made time to attend to what was causing me worry.
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Grief and gratitude both went home with me that day, keeping me real, heart open, in the middle of loss and aloneness, and upping the chances of making it the whole way through and coming out on the other side of what I hope is living a life more loving, more authentic, and more whole.
