Outside my window, the world is a glorious panorama of color. The leaves flutter red, yellow and orange in the breeze. Some break away and float like butterflies until they come to rest on the golden grass or the chocolate brown Earth. The ice blue sky is dappled with birds winging toward the south. Autumn – what a glorious time of year. The artist of heaven paints a world of majestic array of splendor.
It is so quiet now. I remember how it was back when I had five children at home. It was a madhouse trying to get ready for anything. It was a daily ritual of chaos.
I’d swoop from room to room exhorting my children to hurry up, clean up. I’d make sure they knew exactly what still needs to be done and what was going to happen if they didn’t get it done. “Where are your shoes? What? You can’t find your backpack? This is ridiculous. You need to put your clothes out the night before. Yes, you need to eat your oatmeal. It’s good for you. No, you can’t have two glasses of milk. We won’t have enough for tomorrow’s breakfast. Save some for somebody else. You are not the only member of the family. Don’t lick your fingers. Stop that. If you are not bleeding, don’t tell me about it. You don’t need to tattle to me about every little thing. No, I didn’t deposit the money in the bank; I’ll do that today after I have my parent conference with your son’s teacher. Remember piano lessons today. Don’t forget your violin. And if you don’t bring home your books, you will have times around the garden. Don’t miss the bus." Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Chatter. Chatter. Chatter.
Looking back, from the grandma chair, what was I thinking?
Why didn’t I notice the peaceful birds sail silently across the sky and the autumn leaves paint glorious patterns against the expansive blue of a cloudless sky? It must have been such a day when the Pilgrims laid out the table with their bounteous harvest and bowed their heads in humble gratitude for the gift of life and liberty.
I’d rev up the motor and tap my foot as I wait. I knew we were going to be late for the fall concert. We were always late. With five children it was hard not to be, but I thought they dawdled just to make me squirm. What were we thinking when we adopted five more kids? “You kids, come on.”
I’d jump out of the van and head for the house bellowing, “Come on, you guys. What do you mean you can’t find your tie? You had it just last night. No, you can’t go without one. I don’t care if the band teacher said you could go without a tie. We wear ties at a concert. That’s just the way we do it. Get in the van. No more tattling. I mean it. That’s it. Head around the garden. Hurry up. We are late.” Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Chatter. Chatter. Chatter.
And Grandma looks back with a frown.
The Pilgrims bow their heads and remember a bitter winter where hundreds of loved ones sleep in watery graves and in shallow icy dirt cemeteries on a strange land. They remember a ship and tight cramped quarters. The sick and the dying and the empty arms that will never be filled. They look at their Native American brothers and say, “Thank you” to ears that don’t understand the words but comprehend the look of gratitude.
At last, I settled down in my seat and waited for the concert to begin. I leaned back against the plush chair and watched the students move the grand piano onto the stage. The electric lights flooded the auditorium and the thermostat adjusted the temperature. I hoped my son, who was up in the loft, would get a shot with the video camera. But then a list of to-dos flooded my brain: I needed to wash the stove. Did I empty out those old moldy peas in the fridge? That turkey needs to be thawed out before I cook it. I’d have to talk to my daughter about her homework. Where was she anyway? I’ll have to talk to her about letting me know where she was going. What am I going to do to get the kids to do their jobs? I don’t have time to do everything. Well, I could do everything, but I must teach them responsibility. What are they going to do when they get married?
And Grandma looks back with a sigh. Did it really make any difference?
The Pilgrims snuggle together by a roaring fire while the winter howls outside. They read the Bible and remember what great and marvelous things the Lord has done for them. Parents smile down into the pale thin faces of their children and are grateful they have them for one more hour of one more day. And will praise God with heart and hand if they can keep them through the winter.
The conductor gave the signal for the students to rise and walk on stage. First, I saw my daughter. She was the one with dark hair and the dimpled smile that warms the world. She was the only one with a black tie. In fact, she was the only one with a tie. She eagerly wore the tie, and we had the fight with Paul, who would rather wear a T-shirt and tuck it in his underwear, so the waistband shows above his belt line. He learned to dress in a Bulgarian orphanage.
The song began. There was a boy on the end of the row tucked behind the piano. His expression was a little offbeat with everyone else, and he wasn’t looking directly at the conductor. Suddenly I recognized him as Austin, the blind boy at the junior high. His face was radiant with joy, and he was singing with the confidence of a Hollywood star. Austin was singing his blessings. By our standards he didn’t have much, but in a way he had everything. Every day he woke up to a hot meal and someone to take him to school. He had someone who walked with him and helped him through the darkness. That was not all. He had gratitude to fill the empty spaces in his heart. He was reaching to be successful even in the face of insurmountable odds.
Gratitude is a healer. It is a motivator and a powerful connection with God. Faith comes from gratitude. In recognizing God’s miracles in our lives with a strong soul-warming thank you, we pave the way for our hearts to recognize His power in our lives. It is easier to ask again and receive His blessings. The ask-and-ye-shall-receive promise of the Savior is only as good as the prayer of faith that accompanied the question.
The ungrateful heart only sees the emptiness of worlds unattained. Ingratitude always sees the empty dish and does not recognize the full platters on the table. The Pilgrims had nothing but their gratitude. Their huge feast was nothing like our Thanksgiving feasts. In fact, we would feel cheated if we had only what they ate on that first Thanksgiving, but they had a healthy helping of a dish we seldom serve. Gratitude.
They bowed their heads to give thanks for life, family and a glorious harvest. They were grateful for their children, who are in God’s sight, His heritage.
In the battle of raising my children, I was in the day-to-day struggle of expectations. From the grandma chair, I can see more clearly all the rushing and hurry could have been done with more love and gratitude. A thank you instead of a command would have softened the hurried process. It would have been better to give more hugs and more looks out the windows to help my children notice the world in glorious splendor of God’s creations. It would have been better to hold them close and tell them all the little things I loved and appreciated about them – because now they are scattered all over the world, and hugs at that distance are harder to give.
The Pilgrims appreciated their children because they knew how fragile life was and how empty life would be without them. Sometimes we miss that lesson because we live in abundance instead of gratitude.
“Therefore, I will give thanks unto thee, O Lord, among the heathen, and I will sing praises unto thy name.” (2 Samuel 22:50, KJV)
