I was taught from an early age to say "thank you" and mean it. Writing thank you notes happened on the day after our birthdays, the day after Christmas and the day after any other gift-giving occasion. When I had dinner (or any meal) at a friend's, I was counseled to try everything the host served and compliment what I enjoyed -- which, as a child foodie, was most of ANY meal. I thought that my family was teaching me good manners, when, in fact, they were teaching me to be grateful.
Grateful (adj.): the act of showing appreciation for kindness; thankful.
One of my favorite bible verses of all time is 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18. It says: "Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
Give thanks in all circumstances. (There's the kicker: all circumstances.)
In the words of Ms. Britney Spears. It's hard y'all.
This past week my grandfather has been in the hospital. He's being treated for the various things that tend to happen as people age. None of which sound less scary just because you're old.
The man has beaten cancer multiple times. He's raised two daughters. He's helped raise his grandchildren. He's been married to my grandmother for 60 years. He was a public school teacher for more than 35 years, and a professor for a solid decade when he taught teachers to be better teachers. He was in the Navy. He was raised in Ossining, NY by his Irish Catholic mother and his father, a prison guard at Sing Sing.
But, all of this tells you next to nothing about the man that my grandfather is. He is, without a doubt, the most grateful and gracious man I know. He is kind, caring, giving, compassionate, intelligent, witty, and wonderful. If I am grateful for any one particular person in my life, it is him. (Not to discount everyone else!)
I got to visit him on Sunday while I was in Orlando. As scared and as saddened as I was to see him lying in a hospital bed, I was excited just to see him. I was shaky and nervous as I navigated the hospital to find his room. The hospital's under construction and I was visiting alone; No one from my family was at the hospital with him when I arrived, and I only had a room number to guide me. It made me nervous at first that I would be by myself, alone with him in a hospital bed and all the machines that make all of their scary noises. But still, I knew I wanted to see him. His blue eyes opened wide as I walked in the door to his room. He greeted me with his standard, booming "Hi sweetie!" Then in his regular fashion, he immediately began spouting off my (somewhat exaggerated) resume to his lovely nurse, Linda. "She graduated from the University of Florida last spring," he told her as she took his vitals for about the umpteenth time that day. "Then I'll bet she's smart," Linda said. "Yes, she is." I was relieved. It was the same as always. Nothing had changed.
I've never doubted that my grandfather was proud of me. Not once. It's impeccable, this talent that he has for making a person feel loved in a way that assures them they are intelligent, beautiful, funny, and so on.
I will be forever grateful for this man.
It popped into my head as I climbed into my car to make the drive back to Tampa in the rain. Grateful: the act of showing appreciation for kindness; thankful. That is how I would always feel about him. I would be continually impressed by his seemingly endless knowledge, and always amused by his uncanny ability to transform his own Irish Catholic culture to match the ethnicity of whatever restaurant we were in. But the overwhelming emotion I feel when I think of him is unending gratefulness for the impact he's made on my life.
This got me thinking about my own life. I'm 23 years old. College is behind me, but I have so much ahead of me. Career, marriage, children, travel, grandchildren, life experiences that will continually shape and mold me into the person I will become. I can only hope that one day people will say the things about me that they say about my grandfather (I mean, seriously, everyone he has ever met loves him.) But, furthermore, I can only hope that I will live out every day of the rest of my life, grateful to be alive, and to be having the experiences that I am. Grateful the way that my grandfather is. The man, who wearing in a hospital gown propped up in bed, gave me a five minute speech on how glad he was that I'd brought him his own hairbrush from home. (It's the little things, I guess.)
Be joyful always, pray continuously, give thanks in all circumstances. It's meant more to me these past several days than it has in the entire time I've had it memorized. I've struggled with the idea of being joyful when things are so unsettling. Be joyful, Sarah. It rings in my head. Now how am I supposed to do that, God? Do it for Papa. He needs joy around him. I am a joyful person. I am full of joy because of the many blessings in my life. I am joyful, because I am grateful.
I am grateful because of Papa. I am grateful, because he has shown me how to be grateful. And I will be forever grateful for him.
Find your Joy. Choose to be grateful. Xoxo.
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If you're the praying type, I and my family would be eternally grateful for your prayers as we continue on this journey with Papa. Every day is a blessing.
