Thankful

 

Thankful

Saturday, November 6^th –

            As the sun slowly began to set, I observed hundreds of tiny dust particles, brilliantly illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight shining through the branches of the old oak tree. As I embraced the gloaming moment of that waning day, I noted that the temperature had begun to drop considerably. In typical Mississippi fashion, the weather that week had been notoriously mercurial. What started as a hot and humid week had quickly morphed into a Saturday afternoon that held the promise of glacial weather to come, as the wind nipped at my nose. While my son played with his friends outside, I had occupied myself with blowing the leaves out of my garage, and away from my driveway and front porch. It was one of those lazy Saturday afternoons where I went outside and puttered around just enough to make me feel that I had been sufficiently productive in the way I spent my afternoon.

            My wife has never been a gardener. However, she will occasionally make quick suggestions or observations about how we can spruce up the landscaping or the exterior of our home. Then, just as quickly, she will lose interest or forget about it entirely. What ultimately gets done (or does not get done) outside typically falls squarely on the shoulders of yours truly. Earlier this summer, we had gone to Home Depot for one small thing (which I now can’t even recall), when these beautiful annual flowers in hanging baskets caught my wife’s eye and attention.

            One of the features that we loved about our home when we found it many years ago, is the big, long, Southern-style porch that runs the entire length of the home. Although we have a porch swing, wicker furniture, and a rocking chair which all serve to grace the front porch, the temperature seems to always be either too hot or too cold, or the pollen count seems to be too terribly dreadful. So, while we often admire our front porch and talk about how much we love it, we seldom actually sit outside and enjoy it. One of the things that we noticed when we first moved into the home is that the previous owner had installed a series of plant hooks strategically placed across the front of the porch. This was a definite plus to my wife, and occasionally through the years, she has brought home plants, had me hang them up, and then promptly proceeded to forget all about them. As a result, we often end up with a porch full of half-dead (or in some cases, fully dead) plants that are usually pathetic-looking.

            On that day in early summer, my wife came home from Home Depot with about seven beautiful annuals, all potted in hanging baskets. Joining them on the front of the porch, was an ugly, scraggly looking fake plant that had once been an artificial philodendron or some other type of vine-looking plant. Over the past eleven years, we have watched countless generations of birds who have torn the plant apart, and built nests on top and down inside the Styrofoam of the plant. Since the plant hangs right outside of our living room window, we have sort of let the birds take it over, and we have enjoyed watching generations of baby birds growing up inside of the nest and then fly away at the end of the springtime.

            On that chilly November day, as I finished blowing the leaves off the front of my porch, my wife came outside and suggested that we take down all the formerly beautiful (but now dead) annual plants that we had bought at Home Depot this summer. Wanting to make the outside of our house look a little less like the Addams family home, I quickly agreed and started the process of taking each of the plants down and discarding them in the trash can. When my task was completed, my wife suggested that we go ahead and throw away the ugly fake plant which had long ago reached the point of no return in the beautification department. As I stood up on my ladder, I peered down inside of the plant to ensure that it was devoid of any occupants. Quickly reassuring myself that there were no birds, eggs, or babies in or around the plant, I took it down and put it inside of my big 64-gallon, pink garbage can. Having completed my task, I went to round up my son and called him inside for dinner.

            Recently, I was talking to my oldest and best friend who now lives in Nashville, Tennessee. We have been friends since before our high school days and our friendship has remained steadfast through the years. As I talked to my friend, he was bemoaning the fact that his local Walmart store in Tennessee had begun to put out Christmas decorations at the beginning of October. “What about Thanksgiving??” he asked me during our conversation that day. His main issue with the Christmas decorations appearing in Walmart and in other stores at the beginning of October was the fact that he felt like Thanksgiving was being ignored altogether. While I agreed with the point he made as well as his observations to an extent, I quickly reminded him that we are to be thankful year-round, not just once a year on Thanksgiving Day. As I reminded him, gratitude is something that we must choose to actively practice each day.

            I have always been a deep thinker, and many people over the years have referred to me as an “old soul.” While I have always been a deep thinker, the older I get the truer that seems to become. In my 40s, I think deeply, feel deeply, and love deeply with a capacity that I did not possess in my teens, 20s, or 30s. Granted, a part of that has to do with my personal growth as a person. I think that as we go through things in life and gain life experiences, those said experiences touch us, change us, and transform us. If they don’t, then we should probably take a good look at ourselves internally and reevaluate ourselves as human beings.

            When I was younger, I used to believe that the measure of a man’s success came from his material possessions. Indeed, I believed that the type of car that he drove, the size of the home that he lived in (as well as the location of said home), and the size of his bank account defined him as who he was and whether or not he had been successful in life. But the older I get, the more I realize that this mindset is so wrong, and these things are so not what defines a person as a successful human being. Rather, I now feel that a man’s ability to love others, show kindness, and do the most good that he can possibly do in this broken-down world of ours is what truly defines a successful man. Now, I am not saying that men who live in big homes or drive fancy cars or possess a hefty bank account are not successful. I have known a number of men who have had all the above-mentioned things and still managed to be successful in the way that they lived their life and spread kindness around them. I believe that the true measure of being successful is when we learn how to be grateful and we actively choose to practice gratitude every single day that we are given to be alive. When we possess the ability to be grateful for what we have been given, no matter how or great or how small those things may be, is what defines us as successful humans.

            The older I get, the less material things seem to matter to me. Indeed, as long as I have my humble little house (with its oft unused porch), my wonderful son and my lovely wife, the love of my friends, and my three annoying but very devoted dogs, I am a wealthy and blessed man. Each morning when I wake up, I thank my heavenly father for all the many blessings that he has bestowed on me. I actively choose to practice gratitude. As I reminded my friend in Nashville during that recent conversation, we should be grateful every day of the year, and every day that we are alive is Thanksgiving day! Instead of looking at the Christmas decorations (which magically seemed to appear at the beginning of October) in a negative light, I suggested that he look at it as the beginning of a three-month-long season in which he could progressively give thanks each day as he moved towards the Christmas season. He thanked me for that suggestion and admitted that he had not thought of it that way before. So yes, while Thanksgiving does seem to be a forgotten holiday in the commercial sense, it does not need to be forgotten in our hearts. Thanksgiving is every day. The peace that we find through the hope that we embrace as we enter the Christmas season is not a one-day-only deal. That hope that we have in our hearts is there 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year! We have 365 days in which to be thankful.

·         For the 18-year-old car which once belonged to my grandfather that I hang on to and drive back and forth to work each day strictly out of sentimental reasons, I am thankful.

·         For the curly-haired eight-year-old little boy who has given me so much gray hair of my own, but has brought so much joy into my life, I am thankful.

·         For my wonderful wife who has never given up on me even though I have probably given her lots of reasons to, I am thankful.

·         For the humble little house that is been my home for most of my married life and has been the only home that my son has ever known, I am thankful.

·         For the tiny little stray dog who wandered up to my house and claims me as her very own human as she curls up in my lap each night while I fall asleep in my recliner, I am thankful.

·         For all the people who love me and care about me and keep me from falling into that dark pit, I am thankful.

·         For the career and the job that I did not choose, but “fell into” and grew to love, I am thankful.

As my son got situated and cleaned up for dinner inside the house on that cold November night, I went outside one more time to make sure that I had put all my tools and other stuff back in my garage. As I walked the length of my front porch to make sure that I had not left anything outside, I observed three little, tiny brown birds, either finches or sparrows, frantically flying and searching at each of the seven porch columns. As I watched the birds, I saw that they eventually gave up in defeat and landed on the swing, where they sat watching me. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in my head. “Oh no!” I exclaimed to myself. I bet we threw their house away. Quickly, I went inside to share both my observation and revelation with my wife.

“Absolutely not!” She said as I told her of my plan to get the ugly, fake plant out of the garbage and hang it back up. “I am not going to have that ugly thing hanging back up on my porch!” But you know what, my wife is a softy when it comes to animals just like I am. So eventually, after much pleading and cajoling on my part, she agreed that we could retrieve the ugly plant out of the pink garbage can and hang it up on the porch. Fortunately, it had been the last item that we threw away, so it was safely on the top and had not been damaged in any way.

Dragging my ladder back out from the garage, I proceeded to hang the ugly plant back in its rightful place. After putting the ladder back in the garage, I peeked around the corner, curious to see what would happen. Suddenly, out from a bush directly beneath where the plant was hanging, popped out the three little brown birds. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! They all flew straight into the plant and proceeded to settle themselves in for the night.

Later that night, after I was sure that they were asleep and that I would not disturb them, I grabbed a step stool and went outside. Using the light from my cell phone, I peered into the plant and watched the three little birds huddled in one mass together as they braved the fierce cold of that frigid November night. Since that day, checking on them has become a ritual of mine. Every morning, I look to see if the birds are gone, and they are; obviously, they must leave at the first light of day as they are gone by the time that I leave for work. Each night, since that cold evening in November, I have checked on my three little birds. They are always there, grateful to have had their humble abode restored to them. It does bring me some measure of comfort knowing that I had a part in making sure that those three had a nice cozy place to ride out the winter.

To my wife and I, it was (and still is) an ugly fake plant that has seen better days! But to those three little birds, it is home. And I am sure, in their own way, they continue to experience an immense sense of gratitude and thankfulness for what they have been given.