On Being Thankful

The first light frolics through the curtain. Everything aches and I’m ironing-board stiff. Ugh. Rubbing back and leg muscles, glad tidings are not filling my brain. Bitter woe is.

Stop! This is not the way to live. I choose otherwise—to push the murmuring away and take a positive view. For contrary thinking and optimism cannot exist in the same moment.

Easing off the bed, I stand tall and stretch. I say to myself, this will be a good day. I realize that circumstances could dissuade me. Yet in me, gratitude has planted a goodly growth, of a healthy “rose in young bloom.” I take in the beauty of each petal and enjoy the lovely scent with thoughts of appreciation, lending to productive action. Even when I encounter a difficult situation, there is still room for a thankful heart.

Except when life goes way off-track … and I lose my footing.

Some years ago, there was such a time …the rose was wilting on the vine. So much was going on. Although sick with an annoying head cold, I found myself in line at the unemployment office; no satisfaction there with any promising leads. Stopping at the market for a few essentials, the cashier displayed a total that was not in my wallet as I dumped it out on the conveyor belt. Plus the apartment rent and night school tuition were due. What else could go wrong? Hustling home to study for an evening exam, the car slowed. There was a putt-putt then a sputter as my favorite little car bucked like a wild colt.

Coming to a halt.

Discouraged, I wondered about my disabled motor friend. To fend the cold drizzle, I eased on the hood of my jacket, and began to walk. Down the street I saw a gas station. Paint on the building was peeling, but business appeared good with a lot full of cars needing repair. The sign over the door tilted to one side said, “OPEN.” I hustled over. But I was too late.

A car rushed by me. A woman, jumped out dragging a young child by the arm. The lady was lovely, dressed in an elegant suit with perfect hair and make-up. But vile words spewed from her mouth as she rushed in the station, flung open the door and demanded, “I have to get to work … my daughter needs to go to school. Right now! Get my car working!”

Slowly, I trailed behind them. I found a grimy a seat in a far corner of the office. Edgy, my hands shook and feet fidgeted.

Thumbing through dingy magazines, I pretended to read. I tried to figure the good in all this. No scented rose here. Finally, the elderly man at the counter looked over and nodded. His face was haggard accentuating lines around his eyes and creases in his forehead. Fatigue pressed down on his bony structure; a blanket of gloom as it rested on his shoulders.

The woman quipped, “Well, can you fix my car or not? You haven’t even checked it out yet! Can’t you hear me? … I’m late for work and an important meeting, my daughter has to get to school and you're making things worse! I demand to speak to your boss!”

The station owner politely replied. “I am backed up today…as you can see the lot is full. You can leave the car and I will check it out and see what can be done.” Pointing to his shirt pocket he added, “I am the boss here.”

“Such incompetence,” she wailed as she dragged her screaming daughter out of the shop.

The woman’s perfume stuck in my throat. The air was electric. Time to go.

“Ah, ma'am how can I help you?” asked the man at the counter, as he tipped his cap at me.

“My car is up the road. It cut off. But I see you’re busy.” I stood to leave. Our eyes locked. His eyes clouded over, wet in the corners. “Um. I don’t know you, but you seem

sad. None of my business. I can come back another day.”

Silence. The man cleared his throat and swiped his teary cheek. “I have a son who lives far away. He's very sick, not sure he will get better...can’t seem to find time to visit.” Grabbing his work jacket, he threw it on. “Appreciate that you asked. Let’s go check out your car,” his eyes brightening.

The station owner grabbed his tool box and up the road we walked and chatted. In a few minutes, my favorite little car roared again. He waved and smiled.

Life was no longer about me and a broken-down life. It was about embracing this world with others, our shared humanity. I was thankful to have met this kind man— a mechanic with gifted hands and a caring heart. He had his troubles. I had mine. For a moment, we had given a piece of ourselves to each other and exchanged the gift of kindness.

Gratitude returned. Stronger. The rose restored in full bloom.

… "and that’s how I live it."