I'm Learning

He should have known.
He should have known me.
He should have known me better.

My husband this Saturday morning hands me a cup of coffee he made, for me. He offered to make it, he made it with love, he delivered it to me in bed.

I am so grateful.
I am so upset.
I am upset with me for the part of me that is upset.

"Is this the largest mug you could find?" I ask?
"I didn't really think about it," he said. "I saw you've been using this for your coffee."
"Yes," I say, "But I use the Keurig during the week. "When you make my coffee, I like to drink it from the bigger mugs." (You should know that, I imply.)

I couldn't not say it. I couldn't resist implying he should know better than to not use a giant mug when he makes me his custom coffee.

I sit up in bed sipping, but not quite enjoying, my morning brew.

I rewind to seven years ago, that October when my backpacking, solitude-loving, introverted husband took me to New York City for my fiftieth birthday. After an adventure-filled week, the morning of our departure we Googled Dunkin' Donuts and found one a mile from our hotel. The shop was a novelty for us, since at the time no DD's existed in Southern California, where we live. We had just enough time to squeeze in one last visit so took the mile walk. There I found a mug I wanted, and Brent bought it for me, an item celebrating both NYC and Dunkin' Donuts, a perfect souvenir.

While packing after hurrying back to the hotel, I was realized I had left the newly purchased mug at the donut shop. We phoned to verify it was indeed there, and Brent ran as fast as he could a mile, retrieved my souvenir, and ran back, mug in hand, to the hotel, where we caught our ride to the airport just in time to catch the flight home.

He was my hero, and I told him so.

This mug that brings back happy memories is the same mug I'm upset about this morning. It's the one he chose to serve my coffee in.

Even now, I see those words, he chose to serve, and I know I should be thankful!

I've been practicing gratitude, I really have. I know it should win over ingratitude, I really do. How I can see my husband go from hero to zero over such a thing, I don't know. But I sense it has very little to do with him and a lot to do with me.

I traveled a few steps (not a heroic mile, however) between the above paragraph and the one I am writing now. I found my husband in the garage and told him I had something I needed to ask forgiveness for. "Whatever could you have done wrong this early in the morning?" he asked. I stumbled through my apology. He somehow had failed to be offended by my remarks but accepted my apology, along with my thanks for his kindness.

"Next time," he said, "it's OK to just ask for a bigger mug."

I think I have some things to learn, about receiving, about receiving imperfectly the imperfect gifts given to me, about allowing even my gratitude to be imperfect.

Lord, I'm grateful. Help my ungratefulness.


Diane Mann 2020

End of a Generous Day

Gently the day

Having handed out

So many gifts

Says Goodbye

I smile

In grateful return

And attempt

To contain them all.

diane mann, 2013

My Journey with Gratitude

My
Gratitude Journal in Momento App.

According to the Momento app on my smartphone, it's been two years since I started a gratitude journal.  The challenge was to record three things a day for which I'm grateful.  I know many of us enter this discipline for the month of November, as I did in 2011, but I chose to continue this as a daily practice.  I began the venture partly inspired from having read "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp and "The Grateful Heart" by Wilkie Au but mostly just having become aware of something true about me:  

I lacked gratitude.  

Certainly in my head I knew that God had given me much, but I didn't experience thankfulness in my heart, my very being, toward God for all His gifts to me.  Neither did I spend much time or effort giving thanks to all-giving God.  Habitually, every day for as long as I can remember, I have prayed a prayer of thanks for each of my children and my husband, now including my son- and daughters-in-law and grandchildren.  But for quite a long time, that was where my giving of thanks began and ended.  

How I longed to be changed in this area, for God's Spirit to remake my ungrateful heart into something new, a heart that was receptive to and recognized all it had received and a heart that in response to God's generosity returned often to say, "Thank you."  I desired to be like the newly cleansed leper, who "fell on his face at Jesus' feet, giving him thanks."  Honestly, though, I just didn't see how this could happen.  I knew on my own strength I could not just "become grateful." It's impossible for me to change me!

It was then God invited me to meet with Him in the discipline of gratitude.

When I use the word "discipline" here,  I must clarify that "disciplined" is not a word that typically describes me, and that in itself is an understatement!  My husband used to joke that the only thing I did consistently was to drink a Diet Coke every day.  And at the time, he was right.  But when I look at discipline as a time of being discipled, or taught, by Christ, a time when He invites me to sit down with Him so that He can teach me gratitude, I am drawn to respond by entering into this adventure with Him.  I am not coming to Him with my heart just as it should be but rather just as it is -- sometimes thank-less, sometimes thank-some and other times thank-full!

"Thank-less" would entail those times when I come to Him totally grumpy and grumbling, bringing my complaints before Him and cannot find anything for which to give thanks.  I have an old journal from several years back wherein I recorded some struggling times, and in the margins I listed five things a day that I titled "Five things that I can stand about my life."  It later became "Five things that are okay about my life" then led to my desire to begin a gratitude list.

"Thank-some" is how I describe the things for which I am ready to say, "Thank you," but there's a huge concern attached to the giving of thanks.  For example, "Thank you so much for my job," and I really want to end there but continue, "but God, help me to get my transcripts completed," the emphasis being mainly on the concern on my heart.

And "thank-full" applies, of course, to those times where God's generosity is so evident to me that my natural response gushing forth with no effort is, "Thank you!"

I am learning that I needn't come thank-full in order to say, "Thank you," and that mysteriously in this encounter God has changed and is changing this previously not-so-grateful heart of mine.  I learn much about the heart of Jesus by experiencing His welcome of me, that acceptance of me just as I am, not as I wish I were.

 Whatever condition I'm in when I sit down with Christ during this time to which He's invited me to "reason together" He and I, to learn from Him, to allow Him to change me -- whether thank-less, thank-some or thank-full -- I let Jesus lead the time by asking Him to review the day with me and to show me what His gifts were to me from the day before (though some people may do this at the end of a day, looking over that day).  I then list the things for which I'd like to say, "Thank you," then thank Him for each one and sit for a few minutes in gratitude, a pretty special time between Jesus and me.  

Think of December 26, that day after Christmas when the gifts have all been opened, all still lying around to be enjoyed, delighted in, relished.  That's what this time is like:  an opportunity to look at the gifts from the previous day. What was unwrapped yesterday?  What was revealed about me? about God?   What did He give to me that I may have failed to notice?  What beauty made my heart skip?  What may have touched me in a deep way?

Two years after having begun the gratitude journal, my list has grown to include 573 entries.  My engineer hubby calculated this to equal 1.27 entries per day, and my goal was three per day. Some days I simply print in the margins of my journal and don't assign a number to those things for which I'm grateful.  And many days I don't "show up" at all.  Regardless of my not-so-glittering performance, Jesus with patience and kindness keeps extending that invitation to spend time with Him in this way.  Best of all, He continues to change me in the process.

And for that, I am extremely thank-full!

Diane Mann, 2013

Some Questions to Ponder:

What has your journey with gratitude been like?

Are you willing to enter into a "discipline" at which you may sometimes fail?  

Is it easy for you to come to Jesus just as you are, or do you tend to wait until you feel your heart is where it should be before you come to Him?

Is Jesus asking you to spend some time learning gratitude?  If so, together decide how this time would look.

You may want to spend time reading Luke 17:11-19 about the cleansing of the lepers and the one who returned to say, "Thank you."  What does this Scripture cause you to want to pray?

Treasures From the Trail, Part 8 - From Thanks to Praise

I remember not
The exact day of our hike
Nor the area in which we sat
But a boulder - some boulder
Somewhere
Beneath us
Seating us

I remember not
Whether it was Brent
Or I who said
"Let's say
What we're grateful for"

Feet dangling over the edge
Swinging as children's
No sensible rhythm
The popcorn of thanks
Began

One from me
Two from him
Pause
A burst of
Back-and-forth
Much like the beat
Of a toddler
With two drumsticks
Experimenting

Health, strength
To climb, gear
Flashlights, flame
On which to cook
Freeze-dried food
Shelter, air mattresses
Air, vibrant blue sky, luscious clouds
Trees that tell so many stories
And speechlessly preach
Of how we long to be

Unimaginable creativity of color
In the blossoms
Water that flows
That stays still
Inviting us to rest
Beside it

God, extremely good
Having ushered us
Through difficulties
Deaths, depression, illness yet
Therein rebirthing our love
And enjoyment
Of each other
And of Him
(The pain between two
Only those two can know
Likewise the miracle
Of healing and hope)

Silence
It seems we're finished
But sort of not
The time too sacred
To yet hem shut
And be done with it

"Let's sit with our thanks awhile"
I interject

Neither of us can say just when it happened
And certainly not how
For what human could contrive this?
But the thanks
Like morning mist
Lifting one particle at a time
Became rising raucous praise
Too rich for words

Like watching the
Finale of a fireworks show
We quietly witnessed
Gratitude
Transformed
To praise
Of the quietest, loudest kind

I remember not
Who
But one of us said
"Amen"
And we departed
From the rock
That hosted us
Never quite the same

This I shall always remember.

diane mann 2013

Treasures from the Trail, Part 2 - Bearing the Burden, and The Truth About Truth

1,000-foot climb at Mile 3 - Tired Me

I wasn't too far into my hike before I felt the effects of having packed seven extra pounds of stuff beyond what I was used to carrying.  By "not too far into my hike," I mean the road was still visible where the plush, air-conditioned bus dropped us off minutes before, while we were wide-eyed with anticipation over the adventure ahead.

Some of the additional poundage could not be avoided:  a bear canister in which all food must be stored, layers of clothing, raingear, food for a five-day journey.  Maybe four pairs of socks was a bit too much, but that is where my excess ended.

In the past I'd learned of an unnecessary, even harmful addition to the weight of my pack:  the hammer of condemnation.  At times I have necessarily imagined laying a heavy hammer down on the side of the trail as I hike.  And what a lighter load I have to carry after doing so!

The hammer pounds into me who and how I'm not compared with who and how I think I ought to be.  The  messages of the hammer go something like this:

"Real hikers don't have any extra tummy bulging above their waistbelts, and they look a lot more like the people in the REI catalog than you do, firm, smooth and strong."
"If you were really amazing, you'd go a lot faster.  You'd take those big, granite steps head on rather than finding shortcuts around them."
"Your pack needs adjusting?  It's not the pack; it's you.  Your frame is wrong and twisted or this pack would fit you fine.  You are wrong."
"Uphill shouldn't be difficult.  You are just weak and lazy.  You can't do hard things."
"How dare you enjoy this time?  People in the world -- and even people you know -- are suffering."

Oh, and this one:  "Your husband wishes he were married to a truly athletic woman.  You are holding him back and are a burden to him."

(All the above messages have been hard battles, but the italicized one has brought many tears and much wrestling with God.  He won -- well, I guess we both did -- and I came out changed, like Jacob.  And, yes, like Jacob I limp.)

Even though I'd abandoned the hammer on a dusty trail in Southern California over 300 miles away,  the ugly, heavy tool tried to get me to take on its damning lies once in a while as I faintly remembered what it previously pounded into me.  The lies now passed as quickly as they popped up because I'd learned that living, moving and having my being in Christ is more fun, free and light -- and where I was made to be.

As I see me as He sees me and live under the adoring gaze of my Creator, I dance, not as if no one were watching, rather as if Someone who is bursting with love, grace and delight toward me cannot take His eyes off of me.  Sometimes I picture Jesus hiking in front of me backwards, as though we are two ice skaters.  When I start to wonder what my husband, Brent, is thinking of me (Brent has been nothing but encouraging about our hikes, so this comes from me and the hammer),   I look at Jesus, and He reminds me of what He thinks of me and feels toward me, which is what matters most.  Best of all, I begin to believe it and live in that place.

Nevertheless, this load was a heavy one, and my shoulders were carrying the brunt of it.  We stopped to adjust my straps often, which helped slightly but did not provide enough relief for me to walk without agony.  During miles two to four, when we were hiking switchbacks over a steep, rocky hillside in the heat of the day, I began to ask God to help me shift the weight to my hips, where it belonged.  He gave me the idea to relax my shoulders and allow my whole body to help carry the burden.  I physically was bracing too much.  Just like when life gets hard and I try to shoulder the responsibilities I've been given all on myself and don't ask for help, I was overwhelmed and exhausted.  I will sometimes encounter a difficult situation with the attitude that I had better brace and strive because this is a tough thing I'm about to do, when really, God is calling me to settle into the now of my life, receive it as a gift from Him, seek to know and love Him more in that place and call on Him to help me.  He has given me His presence with me and resources (in this case, the rest of my body that needed to share the load), and beckons me to use them.

I considered a phrase I had not previously pondered, "deep-seated gratitude."   We experience gratitude in our bodies in the "seat" of us, between our hips (if you sit with your gratitude for long and sense it in your body, you will see what I mean).  I am fatigued as I try to let my life rest on my own shoulders.  But as I receive with openness what is on my life's path as a gift, what I am carrying is much more manageable and even becomes enjoyable.   

I began thanking God for His Presence with me and even for the difficulty of the trail, trusting Him to strengthen me.   It is said God never gives us more than we can handle.  I find that so funny.  I believe He intentionally gives us more than we could possibly bear so we will realize our need to depend fully on Him and His offering of grace, strength and love toward us.

My ascension of the steep, switchbacked mountainside held for me new, refreshingly different messages from those of the hammer.  Brent instructed me wisely in how to approach the too-high rock steps that drained me, leaving me huffing and puffing for air (the ones I'd previously thought I had to be amazing to conquer).  "Look for intermediate steps," he encouraged, "to conserve your energy."   Hikers I met coming from the opposite direction cheered my way, "You can do it!" or "You're doing great!" or my favorite, "Very soon you will see a waterfall!"  Ah, the promise of beauty and refreshment ahead!  I absorbed the encouragement offered as a sponge and let each word and smile that came my way fuel me.  Having laid down the lies, there is space in me to receive truth.

And truth is always freeing.

Treasures from the Trail, Part 1 - What a Difference a Decade Makes

Last week my husband and I backpacked 32 miles of the John Muir Trail from Mammoth Lakes to Tuolumne Meadows over a four-day and three-night period.  Strapped to my back was 30 pounds of food, water, clothing and other necessities.  A few ounces of the weight was taken up by a small journal and a ballpoint pen with which I jotted down some of what I noticed going on around me and inside of me as I traversed the majesty of the High Sierras.

Over my next several entries, I will unpack in a sense the scrawling contained in my tiny notebook, expressing what God showed me to be true of Him and of me and how He met me in surprising ways on my journey.  Part of what I love about backpacking is how I am forced to slow down, both mind and body.  As I stop rushing, I arrive in a place where I am able to enter each moment, experiencing life one step at a time, one breath at a time, opening myself up to noticing God's presence in the world out there and in me, in here.

What I will begin with (and will, no doubt, be woven into much of what I share) is something that is becoming an essential, expanding part of me:  gratitude.

As we started on our trail, I was thinking about how I am soon to be turning 50.  Forty-nine.  I'm 49, I thought, and receiving this new gift God has given me of being able to hike with my husband.  How good is that? I smiled and thought to myself.  My mind jumped back a decade.  What was I doing ten years ago this summer, when I was 39 going on 40?  I was preparing to begin treatment for hepatitis C, with which I had recently been diagnosed, having received the disease from a blood transfusion in 1976.  Appointments with doctors, specialists, psychiatrists, calls to the insurance company, along with much prayer and questioning occupied me that summer, not knowing what lay ahead but, with what faith I could muster, entrusting the outcome to God.

The year-long treatment, which tremendously weakened my body, to my utter devastation and disappointment, failed, as did my spirits after receiving the bad news from the doctor.  The walls of the examining room closed in on me upon hearing the words, "Don't worry.  You won't have cirhossis of the liver for at least five more years."  Plunged into a deep, dark depression, frozen with fear that I would not live long, I entered a path of illness, anxiety and despair.

But that was ten years ago.  The ways in which God invited me to re-enter life, met me in my loneliest times and gave me new strength still amaze me but are subjects for another time.

Gratitude pulses through my veins as I begin my trek on the John Muir trail, aware that God Himself has given me new energy, new enthusiasm, enough that I am able to follow the desire He gave me to join my husband for this incredible adventure.

For the things He has done, I thank Him.  For Who He is, I praise Him.  For the creative ways He gifts me, I bless Him, and excitedly step foot onto the path to which He has led me.  My heart and eyes are open wide, and I am humbly grateful, ready to receive the blessings, trials and beauty of this place.

Life

It's not always fair or beautiful or amazing as I'd love for it to be. But it's life, and it is made up of many textures, for which I am just beginning to be grateful.