I am a
believer in the power of physical therapy.
Thirty some-odd years ago, a well recommended orthopedic doctor in
Boston, took a look at my x-rays and offered this “Why do you have the knees of
a sixty-year old?” Finding his offering
less-than-helpful, I hurried back to my primary care doc and said ‘please, who
else do you know??’ Within a week I was happily doing some funky leg lifts with
a physical therapist who noted that although I had very strong quadriceps, the
inner head of the muscle wasn’t nearly as developed as the outer head. Many leg lifts later I was no longer doomed
to pain management & multiple knee replacements. You still wouldn’t want my legs, but
committing to a practice of exercising an easily ignored muscle made all the
difference. And that difference kept my
world open to experiences that would not have been possible otherwise. That difference kept my world open to service
that would not have been possible otherwise.
That difference changed me for the better and in doing so altered our
world for the better as well.
Just as we can alter our bodies for the
good with physical therapy, I’m a believer that we can work out our soul-habits
for the good with similar disciplines. As
minister of the week at our UU Camp & Conference Center at Ferry Beach for
a week this summer I invited 80+ youth and adults into a daily practice of
looking around at each other before meals then bowing their head and silently
naming three things for which they were grateful. “Whatever comes to mind, I told them.” For me
it had been daisies, peace and purple.
It has been love, my children and the feel of sand between my toes. It has been humor, sidewalks and
raspberries. It has been my partner,
Gini, lighthouses and clouds. It has
been justice workers, my vocation and sea turtles. “Don’t try to control it, just let it flow,”
I told them, “And trust me, it will begin to flow easily.”
I testified that it would alter their lives
and in doing so, better our world. We
then began naming gratitudes and importantly, we named things for which we
ended up being grateful even if they were difficult. Times people offered us honest but difficult feedback. Hardships that allowed us to discover new
strengths. Even loss. It was
a wonderful week as each age group led this special grace at mealtime. I enjoyed hearing stories of gratitude throughout
the week.
Just as
focusing on that one muscle changed my legs and therefore my life forever, if
we hone our ‘gratitude’ muscle, our ‘thank you’ muscle, we become better selves
and if we become better selves surely the world becomes better too.
What came as
a surprise that week was how this proof of this practice landed squarely in my
own lap. I was sitting at lunch with
several of the adults. One was talking
about how he used to practice law for a firm that specialized in defending
drunk drivers. He was telling us how he
worked hard to avoid taking those cases.
Another at the table shared how she had been involved in accidents
involving alcohol. Yet another chimed in
on how they had intersected with drunk driving.
I tried to stay but found I couldn’t.
I stood up, meal unfinished, and said ‘My niece was killed by a drunk
driver. I need to leave this
conversation.” What they couldn’t have known is that on Dec 14, 2000 my 24 year
old niece was struck and killed by a drunk driver. Her father, had died six weeks earlier from
Lupus. He was 49. She had been an angel in caring for him. On the day she was killed, she was on her way
to her job at a local hospital, wearing the engagement ring she had received
that day. Instead of looking forward to
a wedding, we all returned to the same funeral home in which we had viewed her
dad, less than two months earlier and
then listened to the same minister at the same church memorialize this
angel. They couldn’t have known. But I had to leave.
I don’t
remember bussing my dishes or even making the decision to go to the beach. My body seemed to know just what I
needed. Minutes later I was calf deep in
water, my feet sinking into the sand, my body swaying gently with each wave. Tears
flowed freely down my face, salt water drops rolling off my face and joining
their siblings in the sea, my heart broken all over again. The pain of losing her so violently. The pain of experiencing too much loss in one
family. The pain of having to share the
news with the rest of the family and of seeing the anguish on their faces while
feeling it on my own.
And then
something happened. As the sprawl of the
ocean witnessed my pain and her waters caressed my legs, an inner wave of
gratitude moved through my body and images of her alive and laughing and joking
and smiling and playing streamed through my mind’s eye. Still I stood in the water, still the tears
rolled, but my heart swelled with love and joy.
Not joy for HAVING known her but true joy for having these images in my
head and heart. It was if in that
moment, someone was treating me to the best multi-media show EVER. Images of her alive, engaged, loving and
loved. Images of her playing on the
beach with my children who just adored her.
Images of her joking with her father, engaged with her mother, laughing
with her sisters. Sounds of her
laugh, HER voice with its distinct
cadence and tone. The way she would roll
her eyes at something her father said and at the same time smile. As the images ran through my mind I was truly
awash in gratitude. Not a ‘Oh Wendy be
glad for the time you had with her.’ Not
a ‘Oh how lucky she lived that long,’ or “Be glad that her Dad didn’t
experience her death.” Not even the
analysis that says better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at
all. This was simply gratitude – and happiness. My smile was a soul smile and as real as the
heartbreak and pain that just ten minutes earlier dragged me to the sea.
The gift of this
beautiful girl now fully present in my head and heart, I reveled at her beauty,
her impish personality and my heart moved from smile to soar. She made me smile. And from that happy place I realized I was
grateful for the interaction at lunch, painful as it seemed at the time. I am certain, had I not been actively “working
out” my gratitude muscle, I would have only felt the pain.
This
experience did not make her less dead.
It did not make her loss less horrific.
It did not teach me to ‘do grief’ differently or to see death
differently. But it did alter me and for
the better. I don’t ever want to stop
feeling pain about loss. I don’t believe
in putting up brave fronts or pretending that bad stuff doesn’t happen. I’ve
lived there too. I’m not a fan. Living gratitude isn’t that. It isn’t about being allllll rosy or even,
all outward and about other people. It’s
not about shutting out the bad, the ugly, the sad or horrific ....it’s about
developing a new muscle. About making
possible, things that would not, could
not, have happened before. Living gratitude makes room for things never
scheduled to arrive, given our bodily and soul makeup.
Rumi tells
us that with each morning, a new arrival – a joy, a depression, a meanness ---
unexpected visitors all ....welcome them, let them in ...
I tell you
today, prepare the largest room for gratitude.
Leave the door open wide. Work
your thank-you muscle so well that gratitude visits each and every day and many
times each day. The others will find
their way – joy, depression, grief. But make gratitude the most welcome of
all. Know it and welcome it so well it
thinks it is at home.
And I
promise you, as I promised these young people in July, you will change. And THAT friends, is our pathway to a better
tomorrow - one of our making. Some call that heaven. Others beloved community. I call it ------------- possible. I call it -
------ ours to build. and I implore you
to join me on the way.
