Gratitude for Expensive Car Repairs... Really?

Yes!  I try to practice gratitude everyday.  Some days it's easy... some days it's tough!  But if I'm serious about having an attitude of gratitude, then I need to be grateful EVERY day.  This morning, during rush hour, my little white Saturn quit running while going up the ramp from MacCorkle Avenue to the South Side Bridge.  Still in the shop tonight.  Repairs are going to be expensive.  The inconvenience is one thing... the expense is what I have trouble with.  How can I be grateful for this unexpected expenditure?  The first things that come to mind are things like "at least I didn't have a wreck and get hurt," "at least this didn't happen going to or from Pittsburgh last week," etc.  Somehow I feel the need to rise above the it could have been worse kind of gratitude.  So... after some thoughtful consideration I find much to be grateful for in today's situation.

I HAVE A CAR!  I had a car yesterday, I have a car today, I'll have a car tomorrow.  Most everyday of my life, I have the convenience of hopping into my car to go to work, shopping, on a trip, or wherever I want to go. 

I have the MEANS to pay for the repairs.  I don't have the cash, but I do have a credit card.  I'm not crazy about using it... but nevertheless, I have the means to pay for the repairs. 

The guy who is fixing my car, does this for a living.  Because he has customers like me, he can provide for himself and his family.  And, thank goodness there are people and companies whose business it is to fix cars.  Otherwise, for most of us, when a car broke, that would be the end of it.  My car will be FIXED.  The mechanic will EARN A LIVING.

Things circulate... including money.  I spend some today.  I get some tomorrow (well, at least on payday).  I'll earn most of it, some of it will be a gift.  Actually, all of it is a gift.  It's a gift to have a job.  Having a car, even one that needs fixed, is a sign that I have GIFTS in my life.

If I choose to live a lifestyle that necessitates owning a car, then I must realize that that car will require repairs now and then.  Other people will benefit from my car repair needs, I will benefit from their skill and knowledge.  It's a trade-off... and having a car is a sign I get to CHOOSE my lifestyle.

Today has been an opportunity to PRACTICE not stressing out and not worrying.  If I want my life to be peaceful, and I keep saying that I do, then I have to find peace in the midst of whatever is going on.

Lastly, I feel there is some unknown BENEFIT, some blessing in this event and/or in each step of my day today.  Had I arrived at work as usual, I would not have had encounters with these people:

• AAA lady who answered the phone
• Steve & Jenny on the morning radio show
• The Charleston Police Officer who came to direct traffic
• Ray, the driver of the tow truck
• The folks at Appalachian Tire
• Facebook friends who responded to my goofy posts about my car breakdown
• A nice chat with a friend in the building where my art studio is (where I waited for my car to be finished)
• Our friend Matt, who brought me home from work

That's a lot of people!  Why were they in my life today?  Why was I in theirs?  I must trust that there's a bigger picture I can't see - where everything in this day makes sense, and it works better if I make an effort to flow with it. 

Now the real challenge:  Can I hand that credit card over tomorrow with a SMILE?  :-)

A Real Bargain!

Ever had an experience where a child in his or her innocence completely misunderstood something you said?  A chance to see something through a child’s eyes?  I once gave my Dad that opportunity!

I don’t recall my age, but know I was pretty little.  Daddy was trying to get me to do something (don’t recall what, perhaps some kind of household or yard work or taking care of pets chore).  To give me an incentive to do whatever it was, he said “I’ll make you a bargain.”  I felt a thrill well up in my entire body!  A bargain!  A real bargain?  I could hardly contain my excitement.  My dad was going to make a PLAYHOUSE for me!!!  I have no idea why the word “bargain” meant a little playhouse, but that’s how I understood it at the time.

So, I waited and waited and waited... for weeks.  No lumber, nails or paint in sight.  No sounds of hammering in the night when my parents thought I was fast asleep.  No giggles from my mom and dad as they planned what colors they would use on the walls.  Nothing.  I was so disappointed.

Then it occurred to me that he may be building my bargain someplace else, and the whole thing would be delivered on the back of a truck when it was finished.  There, that was it!  So my excitement grew again.

One day, weeks or maybe even months later, Daddy was reminding me that I hadn’t done something I was supposed to have done.  I straightened my shoulders and pronounced to him, “Well, you haven’t done what you promised to either.  You never built my Bargain!!!”

I can still see the perplexed look on the faces of my Mom and Dad.

(My dad worked long and hard to provide for our family.  We weren’t poor, but certainly didn’t have extra money for things like building materials for a playhouse.  However, upon realizing they had inadvertently disappointed me, my parents cleared out half of our back porch, which was to be for my use only – as a playhouse area.  They found a little table, some chairs, tablecloths and such, storage for my tea set, etc. and that became MY space.  I sometimes invited them to join me for tea in my Bargain.)

Footprints... A New Telling

This is the Unity version of a familiar story:

Imagine you and Jesus, the Christ, are walking down the road together.  For much of the way, His footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.  

But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures, and returns.  

For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Christ, soon paralleling His consistently...

You and the Christ are walking as true friends.

This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: Your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus' are now walking precisely in His steps.  

Inside His larger footprints are your smaller ones, you and the Christ are becoming one.

This goes on for many miles, but gradually you notice another change.  The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger.  

Eventually they disappear altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.

This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse!  Zigzags all over the place.  Stops.  Starts. Gashes in the sand.  A variable mess of prints.  

You are amazed and shocked.  Your dream ends. Now you pray:  “Lord, I understand the first scene, with zigzags and fits.  I was learning.  But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with You.”

“And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely.  When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that I was becoming like You in every way.”

“So, Lord, what happened? Was there a regression or something? The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first.”

There is a pause as you feel the answer, with a smile you feel His voice inside you whisper...  

“It was then that we danced!”

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance.  Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

A Thought Path

As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single THOUGHT will not make a pathway in the mind.  To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again.  To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.

~Henry David Thoreau

Chasing the Ice Cream Truck in Mexico

But first... The Mexican Whistle

Mexicans have this very special kind of whistle that’s used to call for each other... guys use it to call for their friends... and mothers use it to call for their children. It’s shrill and loud... very loud. What amazes me is that guys recognize each other’s whistles and children recognize their own mother’s whistle! In the middle of playing a game in another neighborhood, one little girl out of ten will stop when she hears her mother’s “call,” say adios to her friends and run home!

Now... The Ice Cream Truck Bells

One of the coolest days from my recent trip to Mexico was when I had occasion to run down one of the cobblestone streets in my daughter and son-in-law’s neighborhood.

Dogs can be barking and the music can be up loud... but my 3-year old granddaughter, Amaya, can hear the tinkling bells of the ice cream truck from blocks away.

One afternoon Amaya and I were busy playing cars, and suddenly her eyes lit up and she said, “Ice Keam Tuck!” We quickly jumped up and rushed down the path through their garden to the street and opened the gate. But no ice cream truck! We heard the bells again and ran down the street, trying to follow the sound. When we turned the corner, the ice cream truck was going through the intersection up ahead of us!

Laughing and giggling, we ran and turned at the corner, with several men standing by watching a fair-skinned gringa grandma and her little nieta running as fast as they could, chasing the ice cream truck... which was continuing down the street oblivious to the fact that we were trying to catch it!

Instead of laughing, the men let out that famous “Mexican Whistle” and the ice cream truck stopped dead, then backed up to meet Amaya and me!

Little smiling Sami, who looked like he’s spent 80+ years in the sun, lifted Amaya up so she could look inside to pick the flavor she wanted. We gave him some pesos and thanked him for coming back to us.

Walking back to the casa with one of Amaya’s hands in mine and her ice cream cone in the other, I realized that even though I couldn’t get a photo of the scene, it will forever be a picture in my mind... running through the cobblestone streets in Mexico with my granddaughter... chasing an ice cream truck!!! An experience that won’t be found in the tour guides.

Gratitude

There’s something to smile about every day! Every single day. Even on a bad day! There’s always something to smile about when I stop to remember what I’m GRATEFUL for in my day... and in my life.

Of course, this is not a new idea, but it is a good idea. There are so many things I take for granted, because I expect things to be good and to go well. But when one of those days comes along when everything seems to go wrong and I begin to think my life is a mess, I find it’s good to take the time to think about what was good that day and let it be a reminder that most of my days are pretty darn wonderful. Keeping a Gratitude Journal makes me aware that my life is not a mess, but blessed!

The things I record in my gratitude journal can be something as big as all of our kids and grandkids were here for Christmas to something as little as I had a great cup of hazelnut coffee this morning to something as silly as blue post-its! Some days, I write of things I absolutely take for granted, like running water, my car started this morning, a comfortable bed. There are no rules as to what I write down – it doesn’t have to be serious or profound – I leave it open to be fun and ridiculous as well!

I was told once that keeping a Gratitude Journal is selfish, because it becomes one of those “it’s all about me” things. I even stopped writing for a long time. Now I realize it’s like a prayer. It’s at least the one time a day, that I stop and let God know that I’m grateful for my life and everything in it. I suppose I’m even grateful for the troubles and stresses, because they give me a chance to rise above them, and of course... take that look around and see all that much is good, despite the problems.

Keeping the Gratitude Journal is even a blessing in itself, because I often enjoy going back to entries I made years ago and finding things I had long since forgotten. I get to smile about it once again!

Goofy Gratefulness

Looking back through my old journal entries, I find:
JUNIOR MINTS
HIGHLIGHTERS, especially blue and purple
GARBAGE TRUCKS (imagine... someone picks up my trash and takes it away!)
PENS
SOCKS
PILLOWS
TISSUES
TOMATOES
CHILI
CHAPSTICK
CHOPSTICKS
EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND RERUNS
WINDSHIELD WIPERS
FALLING DOWN AND HEARING PEOPLE LAUGH (they wouldn’t laugh if I was really hurt)
FALLING DOWN AND HEARING PEOPLE GASP (grateful part is being able to get back up)
DIET CHERRY 7-UP
MITTENS

Really-Reaching-For-It Gratitude Days

SCOOPED CAT LITTER (Why not? At least they have a specific spot to “use the bathroom” and scooping cat litter means I have cats!)
DID LAUNDRY  (Love the scent of clean clothes, fresh out of the dryer)
WASHED DISHES  (I like an empty sink)
VACUUMED  (Now I won’t have cat hair on my socks)

Gratitude "Themes"

Sometimes when I've had a so-so day, nothing spectacular happened, it wasn't necessarily bad, just one of those uneventful days... I resort to THEMES!  I may write down 5 people I'm grateful to have in my life, 5 favorite foods, 5 all-time favorite books I've read, 5 vacations I remember well, 5 things I was grateful to have experienced with my grandma or grandfather.  It's a time to get creative... and then, of course, be grateful for creativity!

Gratitude on a Tough Day

I was recently reading old gratitude journal entries and came across some from September 2007:

“My Dad has Alzheimers. He went to the bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth. He combed his hair with the toothpaste-filled toothbrush. I can no longer deny it... my dad is losing his mind. So what is there to be grateful for TODAY?!?!

There’s still TIME. Time to reminisce with him and recall favorite memories and share stories. There’s time to tell him how much I love him. There’s time to do special things for him. There’s time to tell him how glad and proud I am to be his daughter.

“I’ve had a wonderful life with my Dad. He’s encouraged me to write, to play the piano, to run, to paint... he’s taught me to be compassionate, even towards people whose faces I cannot see... he’s taught me to value and respect other cultures... to laugh, especially at myself... to love God. When I was the tallest one in my class in the 6th grade, being teased about it, and very self-conscious... Daddy taught me to pull my shoulders back and stand even taller. He gave me the gift of feeling beautiful.

“He showed me how to meet a challenge and see it through. How? He taught me how to drive! :-) I’m an emotional, artistic, dreamer sort of being... my head’s usually in the clouds – mechanical things don’t come easily for me. Like learning to drive. Daddy was patient and persistent. (He did let out a scream one time – when I went up over a hill and ended up in the wrong lane on the other side.) He never yelled at me, not even when I failed my driver’s test because I knocked over the pole while trying to park and got red paint on the side of the car. He kept teaching me how to drive... because he knew without a doubt that I would eventually get it. All these years later I still possess the knowledge that whatever I really want to do, whatever I set my mind to – I can do!”

The next day I wrote:

“Flipped over my Far Side Calendar this morning and there was the same cartoon that was mailed to me anonymously several years ago... In this dramatic turn of events, testimony against Mr. Pumpkineater is about to be given by his sister, Jeannie Jeanine Eatzucchini. Found out many months later that it was Daddy who sent it to me. :-)

“I’m still recalling lots of memories. I’m so grateful Mom and Dad gave me the opportunity to take piano lessons and insisted I continue when I was ready to quit. They always listened when I practiced, “requested” favorite songs and provided an abundance of encouragement. Playing the piano has always been a ready emotional outlet for me and is now one of my greatest joys.

“I also recall having a school assignment to write a poem or short story and being absolutely confounded about it. I couldn’t get started and was frustrated and crying. Dad kept encouraging me and telling me I could do it and then would leave the room. Finally I did do it – because he would not let me give up.

“Dad and I ran the Distance Race in Wheeling, WV, one year – 12.4 miles. He finished ahead of me, even though I clearly remember passing him during the race! He eventually confessed he got a “ride to a restroom.” The cheater.

“I remember when Mom was in the hospital once and Daddy fixed eggs for us for breakfast. They were runny, not fully cooked and nicely scrambled like Mom made them. They really grossed me out, but I choked them down, so I wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

“One of Daddy’s favorite memories of me was when I was little I would stand on the toilet in the bathroom to be able to see to comb my hair in the mirror above the sink. One time I was wearing a pair of new red shoes and forgot to put the lid down before I stepped up... ‘er in. Mom and Dad laughed their heads off. Even if it was at my expense, glad I made him laugh! :-)”

So, there was that day I knew things would never be the same with my dad again, but because I was in the habit of looking back on my day with gratitude, I realized on that very same day... that I was the daughter of an extraordinary man... and was amazingly blessed!

Even on the day he died in August of 2008... though I was grief-stricken beyond anything I had ever imagined, I was still grateful Charles William King was my dad.

Thank you God for these very special gifts... awareness of the reasons to be consciously grateful... and to be the daughter of “Bud” King.