game face say thanks

We love receiving gifts. But receiving a gift when it's not a) a birthday, or b) Christmas, it kinda stresses me a bit. 

Here's why: when it's near Xmas, or near my birthday, I've prepped myself to express appreciation. My 'thank you' face is primed. I'm prepped to sufficiently display my gratitude.

Subtelty ... it's an art form

But showing thanks when it's neither my birthday, nor a holiday?? ... well, my spontaneous gratitude face seems less than stellar.

Smooth

The raised inflection at the end really brings it home

Note: Air quotes do not add authenticity

Words from Psalm 100 make me feel like I need to perpetually wear that calcified 'thank you' grin. 

Wow. 

Do I ever feel THIS exuberant? Not that often. Not unless I've consumed too much caffeine.

After all, isn't there SO MUCH to be thankful for (short list to follow)?? Education. Food. Faith. Clothing that fits. Good smells. Dental floss. Fantasy football. The grace of God. 2-ply toilet paper. Trees. Music. Deodorant. Sleep. Decent water pressure in the shower. Elevators. Modern dentistry. Anesthesia. Chocolate. People that look out for us. 

The list goes on. 

When I ponder this, I feel some conviction because my 'thank you' face isn't eternally lit. And if I'm not making a 'joyful noise' (whatever that means) like Psalm 100 says, then I must be some ungrateful jerk.

But then, a friend graciously told me of other ways we also show thanks, to God and to one another:

a) the exhausted, quieter thanks when you finish a long exam, and you're ready for a nap ... "thank goodness that's finished" 

c) the muffled sound of thanks with a delicious home-cooked meal [no words because you're eating, and joyful thanks is the sound of you eating]

d) the exhale of thanks when you receive a text that dissolves your anxiety "thank you for messaging me - didn't know how much I needed to hear this today"

e) the muted, finally-get-to-unwind thanks when you get home from a long trip "it's so good to be home, and in my own space again"

f) the  thanks when you clamber into bed after an exhausting day -- and bonus, the bedding is newly washed [no game face or words, just zzzzzzzzzzz]

These are not exuberant, energetic, effervescent expressions of gratitude. But they are no less genuine.

What are you thankful for? There's probably a decent list. Should you, today, verbally express thanks to someone/someones for where you are, and who you are? It wouldn't hurt.

Yet, we can express gratitude in so many modes. Showing thanks isn't something only done with shouted words, and a rehearsed expression. It can be a whisper. A hug. A written note. A job well done. A resolve. A gesture of respect. A text. A fist bump. Holding someone's hand. A wink of the eye. A tired head nod, and a bit of a smile.

So, please ... ditch that feeling like you gotta plaster a lukewarm 'game face say thanks' across your face.

Give the thanks -- genuinely and in one of the many, many ways to communicate it -- and get on with the day. It's a better day when you do it like that.

reflections on Heather's passing

As a kid, I presumed that people I went to school with, we'd all grow old to some agreed-upon ancient age -- an uninterrupted timeline.

Heather and I performed together in many plays through junior high and high school. That's how we met, and became friends. She handled a variety of roles: farcical invisible person in one play -- coming-of-age newlywed named Emily in 'Our Town' -- prophetess in another short story. 

Heather oozed an easy clarity and simplicity on the stage. Offstage, she was friendly, cheerful, buoyant. A warm, welcoming presence in the high school hallways. She volunteered as a manager for the varsity football team. She spoke at graduation.

As they always seem to say, her future shone brightly. I lost track of her after graduating.

Two years later: I was at college. My high school friend Anne lived in the same res hall I did. She called one Tuesday evening. She asked if I'd heard any news from home. I said I had not. She told me to come up to her room right away.

When I got there, I saw Anne's facial expression as flat -- though she knew she had to share something horrible -- and forced.

Heather. Our friend Heather was dead.

Dead from a highway car accident while driving home from college. A truck driver had fallen asleep, crossed the median, and hit her car.

Anne's voice sounded to me like she was talking while underwater -- this extra ambient noise flooded my ears while my eyes welled with tears. The news made me feel sad, tired, cranky, like I didn't want to eat -- and incredulous with disbelief. "What? How??!? Who -- OUR Heather? Are you sure?!? WHAT??!?" We sat there, crying, running out of what to say without repeating ourselves. 

Heather was the first person I knew who'd died this young.

Of course, we share connection to the people  from our high schools, our elementary schools, our middle schools. That common bond means something different for everyone, but it means something.

It's an awkward sort of grace to muck through the shared struggle of growing up. It helps to do so around others. We grow accustomed to the faces that comprise this backdrop, these months and years spent hustling to and from our lockers, forever speed-walking to get to our next class, or to lunch, or to practice, before the bell rang.

A part of me  hoped the world should at least slow down a bit -- as a small gesture of respect -- to honor this awesome person now gone from our sight. The world did no such thing.

My school assignments never stopped. Deadlines still loomed. Laundry kept piling up. We all still moved through the days of life too fast, not cherishing enough all the blessings before us.

Friends of mine said awkward stuff, trying to console me. I'm sure many of you have experienced this. At the time, I remember feeling supremely frustrated with their fumbling ineptitude. In retrospect, I not near as frustrated. They were trying.

Young, familiar faces filled the funeral service, which was at our high school. I wanted to be there, and also wanted to be anywhere else.

These years later, it still feels unfair.

It feels unfair that Heather's smile doesn't get to gradually collect the creases of age and life that we see in each other's faces at reunions. Sure, it still pains to be reminded of her absence, but it hurts differently than before. I also smile at recalling those slapdash plays we performed in so long ago. Good times, and some cool memories. Some pain remains, but the memories bring some grace too.

My pastor often says that to be sad is an act of sanity. It's proportional to feel sad about sad things. This makes sense to me, and relieves me. I haven't found a way to get over the sadness of losing Heather. And yet, we've had to unhurriedly learn to live with it.

To this day, a memorial marker for her stands at the entrance to my high school's football field. 

Heather's unfairly forever 19 years old.

begin the begin

Ready, set ... wait to start? That's not how it goes.

Life successes almost always begin boring, unremarkable, unnoticed, ordinary. Making a change is like that sometimes. What are you waiting for? What's it gonna take for you to take that tiny step forward?

See, a friend of mine recently announced that she's been sober for more than seven years -- a sensational accomplishment! That's 2,556 days in a row -- WOW.

It got me to wonder ... how would it be if *every day* in that first year, she sent her friends a self-celebratory message: "Hey y'all ... I haven't had a sip of alcohol in FOUR  days!!!" ... "Fifteen days without a drink, go me!!"

Seven years choosing sobriety? That reeks of prolonged, accrued success ... grit ... determination.

Four days, or two weeks of choosing sobriety?? It's a good start, but it's not the same kind of grit as the seven years.

Yet here's the thing: to get to seven years sober, my friend had to get past four days sober. Actually, she had to get past a lot of four days sober.

It illustrates a timeless truth of life: extraordinary feats are quite often ordinary routines followed for an extraordinary swath of time. And starting toward such accomplishments is almost always marked by a ho-hum, yawn-worthy, nobody-paying-much-attention sort of beginning.

Hear me out: in 1995, MLB Hall of Famer Cal Ripken broke the baseball record for consecutive games played. He ended up playing in 2,632 consecutive games (each regular season is 162 games).

But the start of this record was a May 30, 1982 game in Minnesota. Cal's journey began with few people watching. He couldn't know that his next time off would be ... 15 years later! It was just another day doing the ordinary routine.

Similarly, my friend's first few days of sobriety weren't much different: she went to work, just the same. Brushed her teeth in the morning, just the same. Let the hangover fade away, as she'd done before. Folded her laundry, just the same. Texted with her friends, as usual. There were easier days, and more challenging days. Every day was another day of choosing an ordinary -- but preferable -- alternative to taking a drink.

So ... what are you waiting for?? What's it gonna take for you to take that tiny step forward?

MAYBE you'd like to stop an unhealthy habit, like checking your phone when you're with people.

Sharing gossip about acquaintances and friends. 

Biting your fingernails.

Spending money you don't have.

Choosing familiar pain over unfamiliar hope.

Skipping class.

Going to that website that you know is toxic and debasing.

Reaching out to someone that you should probably let go.

Selling yourself short.

Odds are you have an array of unhealthy habits you'd like to stop. So pick one!

Or, MAYBE you'd like to begin a healthier practice, like taking a walk every day to exercise.

Flossing. 

Putting your clothes away right when they come out of the dryer.

Praying while you walk to class.

Choosing to drink water instead of soda at meals.

Finding new ways to interrupt your anxiety when it tries to take over.

Telling your friends and family that you love them with more regularity.

Binging a bit on the wholesomely funny show from your childhood.

Telling the truth instead of the half-truth.

Going to the gym twice a week.

So ... what are you waiting for?? What's it gonna take for you to take that tiny step forward?

Of course, now's not a good time for a variety of reasons. It's true. But right now is as just as inconvenient as any other future time. Turn and face the light. Yes, you will stumble, and trip, and not do it perfectly. Discipline takes time, a bit of boredom, and some fumbling attempts at patience with yourself. You'll get there.

The start of anything worth doing usually feels ordinary, ho-hum.

Today's just as good of a day as any. Get out of your own way. 

Begin the begin, all over again.

5K Race-1, Me-0

Disclosure: some years back before I was married, I participated in a charity 5K race [Actual Full Disclosure: I was trying to impress a girl who was into running; in hindsight, I can attest that wise outcomes seldom follow these sorts of motivations]. I had hopes of clocking a decent (ie ... impressive to the girl) time. Even though it was my first 5K, I thought the race would be a cinch.

Nope.

For starters, the solitary bowl of stale corn flakes cereal I hurriedly consumed beforehand (because I overslept) wasn't near enough to sustain me.

Secondly, the evening before the race, I stood up as a groomsmen in a dear friend's wedding. So my nutritional intake ... diverged (shall we say) from the norm. Catered, high-sugar food; boiled shrimp and crab dip galore; celebratory glass of champagne; subsequent toasts to the bridge and groom to follow; all-night reception dancing in rented shoes; (certainly) not drinking enough water; ears ringing from the music.

"I should've gotten to sleep earlier, but it'll be OK," I told myself as I crawled into bed mere hours before the 8AM race. "How rough could it get?"

Rough.

Atrocious finish time. "I didn't realize a 5K could feel this long!" I wheezed. I felt so [EDIT] hungry. And bleary tired -- coffee could not put me right.

[And yes, for those wondering, of course the girl I longed to impress finished ahead of me. Way, way ahead of me. I tried to console myself by thinking that perhaps her spirit was moved by my gallant effort to slough through this impossible event, though I knew this scenario also seemed improbable.]

Trouble is, I just wasn't thinking about cause-and-effect. I thought of myself as able to get the outputs I wanted, regardless of inputs. How often do you sometimes live as though you're cobbled together this way?

Turns out that the way we're created, all that comes together and stays woven together.

When Scripture talks of growing in wisdom, it always includes growing in the relational sense of who God is, and how we are to enjoy God. But there's more. It's not limited to that though. We also incorporate wise living into our routines, to make less challenging the pursuit of wise, loving, and Godly matters.

Our emotional/spiritual/overall health never untethers from what we eat/when we eat. Sleep? It's forever influenced by that too. It's connected by how and when we pray, what/when we consume for entertainment/news, what physically surrounds us, our friends/family, and their moods. 

It's just how we're created. 

It's OK to be reminded of this ... everyone needs reminders. Maybe this is some of why we're advised to think about stuff that's pure, right, true, lovely, admirable, praiseworthy ... it affects everything else we have going on.

With life experience, we grow in discerning this, which is truly happy news. Instead of disconnected quadrants, we begin to see ourselves as an adapting layout of pulleys, levels, buttons and switches ... you don't know what all the switches do or exactly how everything works, but you're learning all the time that it's all connected.

Take heart, friends ... getting wiser in these ways takes the slow pace of time for everyone. As for me, if I should ever choose to participate in a race again, at least I know some of what not to do beforehand -- and that's not a bad place to start.