Growing up the youngest of five children, I was not only referred to as the “baby,” but I was also treated as such. As the baby, I never worried about much because my parents and older siblings handled all of my life’s details while I just, well, lived. Not too surprisingly my outlook on life was therefore light hearted and simple. I would watch others around me quarrel over what I considered the mundane and cluelessly wonder what all the fuss was about. Why did they make it so hard? Why couldn’t they all live in peace and harmony? Life was good, so why didn’t they appreciate it as much as I did? My birthorder as the family’s baby allowed me to be, in essence, a groovy girl.
Somewhere along the journey from my role as the youngest of five to the mother of four, however, this groovy girl grew up and matured. I have studied through college, law school, and graduate school. I have worked as an attorney and a teacher. I have married and birthed four children. As a result, I’ve grown into adult who now handles her own life’s details and rarely sits back and plays it cool. And while there are many upsides to this transformation, I’ve also noticed that my responsible and mature sensibilities often surpass (and even to a degree quash) one of the more endearing aspects of my former groovy self: gratefulness.
Something about the ever-mounting pressure that comes with adult responsibility, for me, often tips my behavior towards a personal over-exertion, over-ambition, over-tiredness, and in the end, an under-thankfulness to God. And in effect, I find myself living a joy-challenged life.
Granted, it might have been easier to show gratefulness when my life simmered on the low heat of a a middle class “baby.” Recently reading the beginning of Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts, however, I was reminded that my maturity should never replace the gratefulness in my soul if joy is desired. Although she does not do so from a Catholic perspective, Voskamp nonetheless points to the Eucharistic table as a key to understanding our salvation. Drawing from the original language “eucharisteo,” meaning “to give thanks,” she suggests that grace and joy come from the very act of giving thanks for all of life’s moments we encounter.
Oh, how this proposition alone convicts my soul.
How often do I undervalue those special small moments deserving of thanks–the hug from my son when I’m down, the nape of my daughter’s neck that is perfect for kisses, the way my husband lights up when he sees his children? How often do I forget to count the blessings in the difficult and even stressful times to show my gratitude to God? And consequently, how often do I feel the emptiness that comes from a lack of joy?
I am therefore determined this month and on to rediscover my former groovy gratefulness. If Voskamp is right, it might take effort; it might take an act of faith that uses the same tangible approach Voskamp used: simply writing down the moments where thanks are due.
Whatever the methodology, my hope is that I can once again find the daily joy that will allow me to embrace life, and all of its chaos, with thanksgiving to the One who has given me it all.
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