Gratitude365

As far back as I can recollect, my emotions have always been hard to contain. My earliest memory of being frustrated was when I was 3 or 4 years old, and resulted in me chewing off all the fingers of my favorite doll. Both hands. I don’t know what prompted me, a toddler, to do such a drastic thing (someone had probably told me that terrible word, “No”) and I’ve often wondered what my parents must have thought back then. After all, their baby just maimed her own!

There are other extreme reactions I had in my younger years that I could relate–and maybe someday I will, because many of them are funny in retrospect and make for good stories–but my point in this essay is that controlling my emotions has always been a challenge. I knew it early on, but I had no idea how to cope. I’m sure my parents must have thought WTF? when it came to my behavior, but denial is a hallmark of ‘good’ Catholic families. My search for an answer definitely led to my choice of majors in college (Special Education, with an emphasis in behavior disorders and learning disabilities) and very probably my dependence on alcohol for self-medication.

In a nutshell, I’ve always had a problem “dialing it down.”

Fast forward fifty plus years. Seventy is knocking at the door. After shunning the religion of my family while still in my teens and being lukewarm at best in my faith throughout all my life, I’m now in a last ditch effort to make everything right with God. So, among other things, I’m working on my self. Being alcohol-free for more than a dozen years helps, but acknowledging that I was/am saved is what’s changing my attitude.

The Bible says God knows my heart, so yesterday He gave me a perfect opportunity to exercise controlling my emotions. I was in the binding off stage (aka, the END) of a knitting project I’ve been working on for weeks when the stitch fell off the needle.

The disbelief of what had happened made me freeze. I sensed anger welling up, and yet at the same time acknowledging that what had happened was because of something I had done. By the grace of God, I took a couple of deep breaths. That alone really helped.

For few minutes, I just sat still with the realization of what had happened, and facing the fact that there was no recovering it anytime soon, at least with the little bit of knitting knowledge that I have.

Here is where I think the Holy Spirit took over, because my own subsequent actions were SO uncharacteristic for me. I didn’t react like a banshee as has been the case previously, ripping the yarn off the needle in anger, or worse, taking a pair of scissors and instantly snipping it off without a second thought. Breathing deeply and slowly helped a lot. I felt sane. Two options came to mind.

One was to do nothing: just put it aside until we go back to Kentucky next week, and take it to my friend Gayla at the Wooden Needle, who would be able to fix my mistake easily. The other was to calmly take my project (3 skeins worth of yarn) off my needles and move on with life. ‘Calmly’ being the operative word.

I don’t know how long it took–10 minutes, max–but I chose the latter. It was heartbreaking to do, since I’d worked on this project for weeks and that it was 99.98% finished. But I know me. Doing that was easier than the torture of seeing ‘what might have been’ languishing day after day.

Self-flagellation tried rearing its ugly head, and with it the need to escape–another theme that’s characterized my life. I was amazed at my own observance; it was as thought I had an out of body experience. All I knew was that I had to get out of the RV. So we went to Silver Dollar City!

This decision was not entirely as impulsive as it might seem. It was something we about doing while we were here if the opportunity presented itself. And it had, albeit in a very unexpected way. So we spent the day walking around one of the best amusements parks in America, seeing the sights and wandering through the shops. It was sunny but very windy, so the only ride Dave would go on with me was the carousel, but that was okay. The thought of riding a roller coaster with 34 mph winds seems like tempting fate.

Unbeknownst to me, I’d unwittingly practiced a technique of regulating emotionally charged responses known by its acronym STOP, where one recognizes a certain trigger, Stops, Takes a breath, Observes, and then Proceeds mindfully. All I do know is that my reaction might st have been Divinely choreographed.

The change in character has taken more time than I would have liked, but at least it’s happening. Year by year and day by day, I’m seeing changes in my self, mostly for the better. I’m grateful for the change in my attitude!

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19

A dear friend gently reminded me last week that I hadn’t posted here in a while, and I’m grateful she called me on it. Defensively, I was quick to respond by telling her that I still do write gratitude every day…in my 5-year journal, that is. But I knew what she really meant.

It’s easy for me to list the things for which I’m grateful. It’s remembering to be grateful in spite of annoyances, changes in plans, unexpected turns of events, disappointments, angry people and things like that that I have trouble with. And cold weather. Lately it seems that I’ve been given my share of opportunity to practice that kind of gratitude. God gives us exactly what we need.

Today is the sixth straight day temps here haven’t risen above freezing. Lows are in the single digits. Today is Wednesday and I haven’t been outside since Sunday, it’s that cold. It’s been more than six years since we lived in a house and nearly 20 since we experienced winter in an RV–so things were bound to happen. And they did. The waterline to the icemaker in the fridge split. We didn’t close off the grey water tank, and all the water froze in the sewerline, leaving us unable to empty the black water tank. And Dave’s had to go outside and reset the breaker every time I forget to turn off the space heater when I turn on an appliance.

The weather is what it is, and I’m grateful it’s not as bad as in so many other parts of the country. I’m grateful Dave was home when the waterline broke so that he could clean up the mess. Yesterday, when he was trying to disconnect the sewerline that had frozen, he saw water pouring out of an adjacent RV, one whose owners weren’t home. He called the campground owner who did what he could, but I’m sure there was a big mess inside the rig. I’m grateful he doesn’t yell at me when I forget to turn off the space heater or complain when he goes outside to reset the breaker I repeatedly trip.

I am grateful I have everything I need. Food. Clothing. Shelter. I don’t need to go anywhere today, and I’m grateful I can hunker down inside. I’m grateful for wellness checks from my daughter, as well as making wellness checks on my friends to see how they’re doing. I’m grateful for this opportunity to be inside my little coccoon. I’m grateful to be re-learning ways to deal with ‘winter’ again. Things like leaving cabinet doors open so pipes don’t freeze and closing off the grey water so that the hose doesn’t freeze up and we can empty the black water tank when it needs it.

And I’m grateful for the little sign that reminds me to THINK. Not just to turn off the space heater so that I don’t trip the breaker yet again, but just to think before I speak or act. If I can only learn to consistently pause before allowing any words to escape my mouth, that would be miraculous.

I’m a work in progress, and that’s something to be grateful for, too, because if something’s not growing, it’s dying–and life is meant to be lived. So despite it being only 8 degrees now, the sun is out and shining brightly. I’m grateful for what promises to be a very blessed day today.

Nearly two weeks later, the saga—caused by the reaction of someone to my display of the American flag—continues, in a good way. And how I caught wind of it was remarkable, too.

Thursday is Game Day for a few of us here at the resort who have become friends. Yesterday was the first day it was announced on the resort’s Facebook pages (because there are quite a few people, both owners and renters, here now), and two new players came. I had just learned the day before that one of the newbies and one of our regulars (who’s my friend) had had words recently about the newbie’s dog being off-leash on my friend’s property next door. I did not know how having these two people at the same table was going to go, but I figured it was going to at least be interesting.

God orchestrates things beautifully.

For one reason or another, three of our regular players were absent, so it was just the two newbies and my friend and me who showed up to play. We spent a little time getting acquainted and somewhere along the way my friend and the newbie recognized the other. Even so, games proceeded marvelously with the four of us playing several rounds of Rummikub and–after an emergency phone call took away one of the newbies, another God-thing, in my opinion–learning a new card game, 7’s, from the newbie with the dog. Two hours flew by, and it was a lot of fun.

Games ended at noon, at which time the other two players began a spirited debate about the aforementioned incident regarding the unleashed dog. Each one had solid reasons for the way she felt. I remained quiet, literally stuck in the middle between the two of them while they debated. Even though both of these women are very bold and had no problem articulating their thoughts about the matter, both remained calm and civil to one another. Each one listened without interruption while the other spoke. By the time we collected our things and made our way out of the clubhouse, they were engaged in productive communication about something entirely different. It was all smiles when we said good-bye and parted ways, everyone anticipating next week’s games.

God works in mysterious ways.

The newbie and I made the long walk down the hill to our RVs, talking all the way. When it came time for us to go our separate ways, she said, “Oh, by the way, Matt (her husband) commented that you handled that awkward situation about your flag really well the other day.” What she said took me by surprise. At the time, I hadn’t noticed anyone else around except the guy who was offended by how my flag was displayed. Her comment made me grateful for my behavior that day, and especially for how the whole thing played out.

I’m also grateful for the reminder to treat people the way we want others to treat us. I’ve never regretted wishing that angry man a blessed day right after he attacked my Americanism and chastised me for what he perceived to be an affront to our flag. It not only turned my day around (and, I’m sure, his) and it might have even been the catalyst for his apology a week later.

Who knows what ripple effect this one particular incident will ultimately have? Already this is the third blog about it, just from my perspective. Perhaps the once-angry camper will come back some day and we can have a peaceful discussion about our viewpoints. Perhaps not. Either way, what started out as a negative situation has been turned into something good, at least a couple of times now.

I’m grateful for these lessons in grace and its ripple effect. As I reflect on the incident that started it all and what’s happened since, it’s easy to see that grace is key factor. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people ~Titus 2:11

October 8, 2023

You could have knocked me over with a feather yesterday when the man who, just one week ago, chastised me for the way my flag is hung and berated my Americanism, apologized. I’d just returned from a late afternoon walk when I encountered him in the street in front of my rig. He was walking his dog, a cute little Corgi. We acknowledged one another as I walked past them and onto my driveway.

I pretended not to hear him the first time he called, “Hey!” but I couldn’t ignore him the second time. I turned around, fully expecting another confrontation, when he pointed at my rig and said, “I shouldn’t have said what I said,” and used hand signals to pretend to zip his mouth. It was kind of cute, now that I think about it.

His apology confounded me; I smiled and said, “It’s cool,” and then was quick to follow it up with, “Have a blessed day,” as I headed inside. I’d wished him the same last Saturday when he was all fired up, and it quenched his anger then. His response last week gave me hope that whatever relationship we would have as neighbors would be at least civil. What happened just now completely took me by surprise.

Did wishing him a blessed day change his attitude? I would like to think so. Certainly the way he responded last week, albeit gruffly, indicated he might be a Christian—even if only to treat others the way he wished to be treated. Actions do speak louder than words.

Here it is, the following day, and I’m still reliving the moment, basking in the joy of what happened. I’m grateful for this experience and the spiritual lessons learned. Up until now, the words sometimes got stuck in my mouth, but sincerely wishing others to have a blessed day surely has ripple effects, like my neighbor’s change of heart. From now on, the words will be easier to say.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. ~Ephesians 5:22-23

9/30/23

Today is Saturday, the day after returning from a weeklong trip with family. I was in the process of loading up my kayak in the golf cart to go on a nice, leisurely, peaceful paddle this morning when a passerby brusquely and rather loudly questioned why our American flag was hanging upside down in our front window. It was just before 8 a.m. and his abruptness rather startled me.

“It signals our country’s in distress,” I answered, which really triggered him into launching a verbally abusive attack on my peaceful protest. I was still recovering from his initial salutation, so I didn’t offer up a retort. Anymore, I don’t try to change people’s minds or see my point of view. People are angry enough as it is. I just wanted to go kayaking.

As I finished putting all my stuff in the golf cart, I pondered on whether or not to say anything as I rode by him on the way to the boat launch. I couldn’t avoid him. It struck me that this transient RVer was going to be my neighbor for an unknown number of days, and that how I treated him could make or break whatever relationship we are destined to have while he is here. I had a choice: I could either speak to him or just ride past him without saying a word. I decided to say something.

Even if he wasn’t walking his pup I would’ve driven by slowly, and as I did I said that I hoped he’d have a blessed day. I’m trying to say that more instead of the usual “Have a great day.” I’ve noticed that some people actually perk up when they hear it; perhaps their spirit is answering the call. At any rate, that’s what I said to the grouch, and to my surprise, he surily grumbled, “You have a blessed day, too.” I didn’t care if he meant it when I said, “Thank you!” I did.

As I drove off, I felt good that I had made the choice to speak civilly to him. I truly understood in that moment what Jesus meant when He said, “For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?” I noticed that my response changed the way I thought about this guy. At first, I was agitated and thought the guy was a real jerk. But afterwards I felt a kind of peace in taking the high road. What could have clouded my entire day turned out to be a lesson in extending grace to others. That was my reward, and that’s something to be grateful for!

September 15, 2023

Every friend who comes into our world are gifts from God, but for one reason or another, some are more special. The news of the sudden passing of one of my special friends is the inspiration for this post, the first one I’ve written in a long time. So many emotions are coursing through my body, pouring them out is sure to help.

It was just five days ago that René contacted me, asking if we were still going to be here in late November. They were planning to spend a few days in Branson on their way to their winter home in Bandera, Texas, and I was thrilled that they wanted to spend some time with us. It was very likely that we would be, so she and I began making plans. We texted back and forth feverishly over a period of a couple of hours. Ever the planner, Rene laid out their itinerary and invited us to join them whenever and wherever we could…Silver Dollar City or maybe at the Sight & Sound Theater to see the production of “Esther.” I raved so much about the Keeter Center at the College of the Ozarks that they added another day to their trip, just to include a visit there. The one thing we decided upon definitely was lunch on Wednesday. I can just imagine René writing it on her calendar. I know I did.

Their visit wasn’t going to be until after Thanksgiving, and here we were making hard and fast plans as though it were just days away. In the course of our conversation I commented that it wasn’t for two months yet and I’m sure there’d be time to figure out the details. I was so wrong.

Shock. Disbelief. Utter sadness. Tears. All before the sun rose. I’m grateful that it was a friend who broke the news to me. I would have hated to have found out by reading it on Facebook.

I’m grateful for my daily practice of gratitude, for I’ve learned that it’s the perfect antidote for depression, among many other things. This was one of those instances when I thought gratitude wouldn’t be easy because I was so sad, but once I started, one reason after another to be grateful for having had Rene in my life came to mind. Right away I began to feel better.

Of all the places and RV parks we could have chosen to go to that first year we were winter Texans, we chose Pioneer RV Resort in Bandera. I’m grateful we did because that’s where I first met Rene in 2017; she was the winter activities director. Given her outgoing and friendly personality, she was perfect for the job. She and Terry were among the people we couldn’t wait to see when we returned to Bandera for the next five winters.

Soon after I started writing this, my daughter called. I’m grateful that she calls most every morning, just to check in. I told her about René–Kate had met her and Terry a couple of years ago when they went and hour out of their way on their way to Nashville and went to Hopkinsville, Kentucky to see Kate’s brewery. Rene had contacted me weeks ahead of time, asking if Kate might give them a tour–I guess we’d bragged so much about her business, they really wanted to see it, despite the fact that it set them back a couple of hours. That was typical of René and Terry, it was always about others and connection.

When I got back on Facebook at the beginning of this year after being absent for a couple of years, René immediately wrote me and said that she was so happy I’d gotten back on. I knew she meant it. René was the epitome of sincerity. She commented on most things I posted…so supportive, so complimentary, so René. And so my interest was especially piqued this morning when a mutual friend commented that she had read René’s comment to the photo I’d posted yesterday morning. I had not.

I was stunned to learn that René had posted a message to me just 16 hours earlier. She said she missed the morning greeting, “so Good afternoon instead.” I can just imagine her smiling as she typed. She went on and said she could go a day or two without Facebook, but that she “loved staying connected.” Her choice of words made me break down. We had a connection, for sure.

It’s said that old friends are the best friends and while that may be true, the friendships we make when we’re old are just as precious, if not perhaps more. I’m especially grateful for having a lifestyle that introduces me to many others I probably would not have otherwise met, and then to become Friends with certain ones. I’m grateful to have been friends with René these past six years. She left an indelible impression on so many others well beyond her hometown, and she’ll remain in our hearts always. Rest in peace, my dear Friend.

In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul. ~Psalm 94:19

While perusing the card selection at Mennard’s the other day, I came across this one and fell out laughing. I immediately thought of several people I could send this to, and I couldn’t wait to do so.

I sent the above photo to nine special friends individually and received their responses almost immediately. They loved the unexpected chuckle! It made me feel good, knowing I’d uplifted their day a little.

What’s special about these women is that, with the exception of just two, they are all in recovery like me. Our backgrounds and ages are very diverse, and yet our stories are the same. “We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful.” We have all been broken and brought into submission by an evil force—in our case, alcohol—but we’ve all beaten it, and continue to do so with the help the 12-Steps and our fellowship. It’s been both amazing, comforting and somewhat eerie that these special friends and I share very, very similar stories of what it used to be like, what happened, and what we’re like now. But that’s exactly what creates our special bond.

It’s because we are so alike in so many ways—the good AND the bad—that we can laugh. And as long as we keep trudging the road of happy destiny, we can laugh at ourselves and not take ourselves so seriously. I thank God for the joy of laughter!

All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continual feast. ~Proverbs 15:15

I’ve just spent the past two hours spinning my wheels and I’m frustrated. So I’m writing, which is much more productive than being disgruntled. I’m grateful for the outlet.

Our women’s fellowship here at the RV resort desired to upgrade our current free Zoom account to a paid account so that our weekly sessions could last longer than the 40 minutes freely given to us. One friend generously offered to pay the $149 that we thought was the cost, but once I got into the sign-up page, I realized that the $149 would be applied to every member of our group who would potentially start the Zoom meeting–there were three others besides me who volunteered. Before I knew it, the subtotal was just shy of $600, and I stopped before going any further.

I’m grateful for the tremendous amount of online support Zoom has, but after researching futilely for the better part of an hour, I still hadn’t found the answer to my question: Does every alternate host have to have their own Zoom license (which costs $149)?

I couldn’t find a phone number anywhere on the various Zoom web pages I researched–which made sense, given that Gen Z’ers consider phone calls “microaggression.” Finally, my friend Sue texted me a phone number she’d found. I was so grateful! I called and waited for 23 minutes, listening to the same tune over and over, until at last a human voice could be heard. She confirmed what I thought to be true. Back to the drawing board.

Denied challenges used to defeat me, but practicing daily gratitude has taught me to respond differently. Acceptance of what is comes easier, and that in itself is a blessing. It’s actually a huge blessing that the free Zoom account has worked very well since the beginning, enabling our group of travelers to assemble as we currently do, both in person and virtually. I should be grateful, and I am. God knows our hearts, and He will continue to make it possible for our group to continue and flourish.

And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to use; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks, finds, and the one who knocks it will be opened. ~Luke 11:9-10

Sometimes I’m asked why our flag hangs upside down, and I’m grateful for the door to conversation being opened. I say that it’s a signal that our country is in distress, and it is if you consider poor leadership at all levels, rampant crime, unequal enforcement of the law, homelessness, mental illness, unprescedented illegal border crossings, questionable military strength, rising educational costs with declining competency, propaganda, misinformation, disinformation, biological men competing against biological women in sports, corporate greed, unemployment, underemployment, food shortages and supply chain issues, toxic railroad spills, wildfires burning out of control, inflation, skyrocketing drug usage and fatalities, the mockingbird media, and the list goes on. For all these reasons, I am not “celebrating” today, although we are having homemade pizza on the Blackstone for dinner, if that counts.

As much as I think our country is inching further and further away from the ideals so tightly held by our founding fathers, I’m grateful this is happening while I’m still alive. I believe we’re witnessing history in the making. Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better, so maybe all the government and political absurdity is what it will take to wake people up. Too many have been sleeping for too long, accepting whatever news du jour happens to be as truth.

As the daughter of a legal immigrant, I was taught early on that the freedoms we enjoy are blessings not given to everyone on the planet, and that we are not to take them for granted. That’s why our flag is upside down–because our country is. I’m not afraid of calling out tthe elephant in the room. Like many Americans, if not most, I know the difference between good and evil and right and wrong, and ALL of the things I listed above are evil or wrong for We the People. So I’m grateful for the freedom to express my belief, and in the process having the opportunity to talk to other real patriots who feel like I do.

If our country wasn’t in the poor shape it’s in, I probably would not have sought the spiritual help that put me on the path I’m now on–one that keeps me seeking and learning and discovering my ‘why,’ i.e. my purpose. It’s much more fulfilling than being tied in a knot over situations over which I have no control, which is really everything, except for the way I react to situations. So I’m grateful for the poor shape the USA is in today, July 4th, 2023. I believe that with the help of God, the best is yet to come.

These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you ^[a]will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world. ~John 16:33

For the first time in many years, I went to church this morning. God works in mysterious ways.

I’m trying to analyze why this all happened, because 24 hours ago, it was the furthest thing from my mind. But I’m beginning to see that it was the natural outcome of the past three years of seeking Truth about what the heck is going on. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that what we’re witnessing is a battle between good and evil, right and wrong. Unless, of course, you’re ok with raunchy nudity at pride parades or drag queen story hours for young children.

Over the past few months I’ve doubled down on the time I spend reading the Bible and my devotionals, one of them being The Upper Room. It’s a bimonthly magazine, and last week I disappointingly came to the end of the May/June issue. A friend here at the resort, a bonafide member of the Methodist church, had distributed them to us at our first Women of the Word praise and prayer group meeting in April, but she has since gone to Colorado for the summer. My mom always used to say that “God helps those who help themselves,” so I considered going to one of the two nearby Methodist churches to pick up a few copies of the magazine for our group. One church is in Blue Eye and the other in Kimberling City, each about 25 minutes away.

I decided on the latter after looking at each of the churches’ websites and discovering that the one in Kimberling City had a Sunday Front Porch Gospel service at 8 a.m. A few things about it appealed: Today’s would have a patriotic theme; there’d be bluegrass and country music pickers, something I discovered I loved listening to, thanks to spending winters in Texas; and the service was also going to be held outside in the parking lot–an ideal location if I wanted to escape. After all, once I snagged a few copies of the latest issue, my work would be done.

The pickers were singing Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” as I approached the folding chairs, neatly arranged in front of the mobile stage. Joggers and walkers stopped to listen, and people pumping gas at the Conaco strained to see what the crowd was all about. After all, it wasn’t yet 8 o’clock. Eight pickers were on stage, all dressed very patriotically. I’d barely gotten situated in my seat at the end of the row when a nice woman named Rosemary greeted me and began making small talk. The music began in earnest with one bluegrass gospel song after another; it was like being at a show in Branson or Silver Dollar City, minus the crowd. I loved every minute of it.

No one is more surprised than me that I went to church today, enjoyed it, and am already planning to go next week…although the two friends to whom I gave an Upper Room to were shocked when I told them. Previously they’d both asked me to go to church with them but respected my resolve to “find God my way.” I’m getting there. And as if I needed confirmation of being on the right path, I got it when I opened the magazine to today’s reading. God definitely works in mysterious ways.

And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near. ~Hebrews 10:24-25