When Gratitude Makes You Grumpy

 So, it's that time of year when everyone is posting about how they are so blessed and how grateful they are. Maybe you are seeing their happy pictures and thinking as you roll your eyes, "Oh, good for you! I'm glad everything is so hunky-dory and perfect in your life!" And maybe you are annoyed because Thanksgiving is coming up, and you are not feeling thankful, and you are annoyed that people are telling you to be grateful. I've certainly felt like that. 

Well, to myself as much as to you, stop it. 

You know these people. Don't think for a second that they don't have problems. Everyone you know, at any given time, will have something that they're struggling with. Celebrating a good thing does not mean that's all there is to the story. Being grateful for something isn't lying about having no problems at all. Gratitude does not betray your sorrow.

Or does it? If someone asks you how things are going, it's probably a lie to say that it's all good, and that everything is fine. Usually when we say that, I think we're saying that we're handling our struggles. It may be a desire to look capable or pride in not wanting to admit things are not fine. It's a quick exchange, usually. We don't want to go into the complexities of our issues or sound like a bitter, complaining soul (that we feel like we are sometimes), especially if the person asking can't help us. You may not even want help. You may find that your struggles are chronic and view them as unsolvable. 

So, what then? Shall we just be grumpy this entire holiday season, feeling inadequate and un-festive while our communities throw jolly plans and decor at us? Shall we isolate ourselves further in this time of cold, dark, and viral infections? Am I just going to turn into Ebeneezer Scrooge a little more every year?!

Here's the thing which I'm sure you've heard before: it's all about perspective. Aaand that's probably annoying to hear again, but I think it's true. Two people can go through the very same circumstances and have vastly different versions of the story without lying at all. Two brothers and their families for example (See 1 Nephi 17:1-3; 20-21), suffered for eight years in the wild. One was grateful for their blessings, strength, and experience gained, and the other was mourning what could have been, counting their sufferings, and saying that it would have been better to die. That's a bit of a downer. It all depends on what they focused on. Look at any situation, like where you are now. There are bad and uncomfortable things, but I'll bet there are good things too, even if it's only a joke that still makes you smile. For me, there's the insomnia I still struggle with (which is not as bad as it was), and there was the kind lady who offered me her own umbrella when I were walking in the rain. What am I going to focus on? And you?

As I see it, there are always reasons to be unhappy, and the reverse is also true. There are just two ways we can go about it. Our memories are like a dinner we attend where the host gave us two drinks and we sampled both: one left a horribly bitter taste in our mouths, and the other is sweet. Drinking one won't make the other disappear. But which one will we decide to focus on?

Life is also like a blank page in a coloring book. It has harsh black lines that state the facts, and we didn't get to choose what the picture was. Maybe it was an octopus. Maybe you don't like octopuses. You didn't ask for it. But there it is. And here's the thing: you get to choose how to color it. My 4-year-old daughter decided her octopus would be a rainbow, so she and I colored a downright magnificent rainbow octopus with our markers. 

You color your world. I'm telling you that you are not helpless. If you're too tired, maybe just fill in the polka dots today. Even if you only have a pen or pencil in your life's drawing, you can get creative and draw mustaches and glasses. You can color with friends. The people you let in your life can add things with their different perspective that you'd never think of, in good ways and bad. My brother once took a Thumbelina coloring book and changed her eyes that were too close together into one eye, and renamed her "Cyclopsina." That still gets me.

This time of year is hard when you aren't happy and you feel like you should be somehow. And when you feel like things aren't getting better, when your goals are astronomically far away instead of just down the street like they used to be, and you wonder if you will ever be okay. When you feel like that, STOP. Things will get better. You WILL be okay. I care about you, and I do not want you to believe something so slimy and false that will destroy your happiness. Don't ever think that you'll never be okay. You will be okay. Even if you have to wait until the long, dark night is over. It will end.

The first Thanksgiving, as I learned it in school, was celebrated by Pilgrims and Indians--fine--Native Americans. The pilgrims had left everything behind in their old world and almost died their first year in the new one. The Native Americans helped them survive, a kind example of friendship that is not common. Were they celebrating perfect lives? Hecks to the no! They were celebrating having an actual harvest. Friendship. Survival. Improvement. They took those gloriously orange pumpkins with the bland squash flavor and turned them into pies. I mean, eventually they did. Probably not at the first feast, but you get the picture. Life can always be better, but you can still color yourself a mean rainbow octopus. You can taste the sweet drink instead. You can count the good things instead of the bad things. The choice is yours, every minute of the day. 

So, fine. I'm grateful for quiet time to write this morning, my own laptop, and WiFi. For that kind lady who offered me her umbrella. For you, since you're probably one of my friends if you're reading this.

Thank you for helping me color my world.

And if you want cheering up, Strongbad's kid's book. This still gets me too. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT4SGdq0ZyU

And another fun thing: the fantastic Poets of the Fall song "Choice Millionaire." The video is odd, so read the lyrics if you don't fancy it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=biZpPNzt3II 

The inspiring and relatable scripture story of the two brothers that I referenced as well: https://abn.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/scriptures/bofm/1-ne/17?lang=eng&abVersion=V04&abName=GLOB88

When Change is Somehow for the Better, or Two Wise Suzannes

So, when Ron and I finally bought our first house, where I went to church changed because of where the borders were drawn for each congregation, or ward as we call it. I was just barely starting to feel comfortable where we were going, and this was a bummer. But when I was discussing this change with a friend from that ward--Suzanne, was her name--she told me that sometimes change is for the better. I didn't believe her. But sure, I accepted that it was a possibility.

It's a long name, but I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which I truly do believe was restored by the Lord through Joseph Smith, and has all the priesthood authority and saving ordinances necessary to change our lives for better now, and to enable us to return to live with God in heaven. That's why I've kept going to buildings full of strangers even though it's been uncomfortable. Our congregations meet in units called wards, and for the last 7 or 8 years now, mine has been the Eastmont Ward. 

I wish everyone had the chance to live in the Eastmont Ward at some point in their lives. I mean, it was awkward at first. It was slightly comforting to be greeted by a young, bald father when we came, since there was a young, bald father who'd been our friend in our previous ward. The bishop warmly welcomed us at a Christmas activity, and that was nice to be noticed and befriended so soon. For a while, I felt like I just kind of floated along without getting to know anyone well, but I was determined to get involved this time. As I sat next to people and talked to them, I got invited to activities and get-togethers, and I could barely tell the lifelong friends apart from the new move-ins like me. That was unusual. 

The change of wards was actually for the better! Sorry, old wards, but Eastmont is simply my favorite. It is where I've found acceptance. It's where I was entrusted with things that were difficult, and was lovingly and patiently encouraged to keep trying. I was praised even when I thought I'd flunked the whole thing. Is it entirely peopled with saintly grandparents? No, but the more I've gotten to know people there, the more they feel like family, and like true saints: sinners who keep on trying. I was asked to teach children in Primary and play the organ for the whole congregation, things that I had barely any talent or ability for. These things forced me to work hard to keep up with and get better, which has brought me more satisfaction than if I'd just gotten to sit still and listen. Working hard in the gospel is a good thing.

When my husband stopped coming due to his changed beliefs, I had to decide if I was going to go alone and sit by myself or not. By divine inspiration, they gave me reasons to come (and to come on time!). This strengthened my faith when it might have shriveled up entirely. Any anxiety that I felt with an upcoming lesson for a chaotic class of 7 and 8 year-olds and/or playing the organ badly in front of everyone--and I did feel anxiety--was overcome by the desire I felt to serve the Lord and these good people I was getting to know. Not because I'm so unselfish, but because I was needed. I just sang pleading hymns in the car while I drove there to keep from breaking down from nervousness. It helped. And then I sang thankful hymns on the way back. Lots of singing in the car.

One time I played the organ so, so, SO badly that I went to the women's bathroom to cry about it instead of going to Primary to sit with my class. I think it was another Suzanne, the one who showed me how to play the organ, that inadvertently found me, and instead of agreeing that I'd done badly, she just said something like, "Oh, there you are! Come on, we need you."

And that's what it's been like with pretty much everyone! You show up and try your feeble best, and they love you for it. They seem to accept that everyone has made mistakes, and through Jesus Christ's Atonement, you are forgiven. They accept that everyone still makes mistakes, and everyone is in a growing and learning process. And it's not like everyone who lives in the borders of this ward is the same. We all have widely different circumstances, hobbies, favorite sports teams, and political preferences, but two things unite us: the mere location of our homes, and more importantly, our faith in Jesus Christ. That's why we all go. Not because we're a tight group of friends, or that we need to pretend that we're perfect. What I've experienced there is solidarity, sympathy, and encouragement. With that atmosphere, I've been able to grow, learn, and contribute.

I don't know why this ward is different. Many people have come and gone, some of whom I'd call the backbone of our ward, and the borders have been changed at least twice. I still feel like it's a place of faith, acceptance, and love. I feel that everyone there is needed, even someone as bad at helping people as I am (seriously, my piano skills are not the best). I feel like it's a place where people actually, actively live the gospel of Jesus Christ. Where they accept you as you are, but encourage you to grow, and help you along the way. I couldn't even begin to list the people that have helped me. That list grew astronomically when I had a baby and I needed someone to hold her while I played the organ. She did not like being held by other people, either, so that was especially kind of them. So many of them have moved away, or are in another ward now, and it's so sad. I do know that where they are now is so much the better for their presence. Their new wards and communities are downright fortunate to have them. And you guys had better appreciate them! 

I still don't like change; it's scary and unfamiliar. It tears holes in our friendships and comforts. It can make our struggles--our needs--overwhelming. But I've learned that yes, sometimes it can be good, and even better than before. I've learned that our needs in life bring us closer to people we never would have gotten to know, and I wouldn't trade knowing them for any level of mundane comfort. The harder we try to serve and help others even while we are struggling has, oddly enough, made us stronger and better able to endure or overcome our struggles. The sweet overcomes the bitter somehow. Somehow. It's kind of a miracle. But then, we believe in Jesus Christ, who was born of a virgin, performed countless miracles in his life, and then rose from the dead. Our God is a God of Miracles, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.