Published

I opened the card in front of me, grabbed my pen, and found myself stuck once more.  How could I properly express my thanks to Shirley?

My supply of thank-you cards rates first prize.  I have flowery spring thank-you’s, cat and puppy cards, winter hearth scenes, dried flower wreaths, rabbits surrounded by pastel hearts, and razzle-dazzle million-dollar thanks.  I can’t pass by the rack of thank-you cards in the store without picking out a new set, a new picture, a different approach to thanks that will come in perfect somewhere “down the road.”

One of the best parts about sending a thank-you to a friend is deciding whether it will be a bunny or a million-dollar thanks.  Maybe a friend called to cheer me up, or went out of her way to give me a ride, or remembered my birthday with a plant.  I always have a proper thank-you note on hand.  Except for Shirley.

Thanking Shirley is different.  It’s impossible to let her know the impact of her act of kindness with a simple card and note.  No clever joke or sentimental rhyme will work this time.  I must thank Shirley for thanking me.

It was really no big deal.  I had wanted to write a story to enter in a contest, and right off the bat I thought of Shirley and her husband.  After five years of marriage, her husband was so taken by the joy of their marriage, he had asked her to marry him—again.  She said yes, of course, and they renewed their vows at a small chapel I attend.  Their story of love needed to be told.

I spent a wonderful afternoon interviewing them.  At home, I transcribed my notes, wrote and rewrote sentences and paragraphs, building their story, and with my husband reading it over to give me feedback, I polished a few spots and tucked it into an envelope addressed to the magazine.  I sent a copy of the story to Shirley along with a note thanking them both for taking the time to meet with me.

Weeks passed, and I busied myself with new projects and family responsibilities.  My mind had long ago set aside the story of Shirley’s wedding.  To be truthful, life was approaching the mundane.  My new writing project was a monster.  Day followed day, as I spent long hours at the library doing research and picked up dinner on the way home from Taco Bell.  One evening, opening our bag of burros and tacos, my husband came into the kitchen with a twinkle in his eye.  “You have a letter here.  I think it will perk you up.”

I reached for the flowered envelope.  From Shirley.  When I opened it and pulled out her note, my heart did a double-beat.  There were three pages written in the most beautiful long-hand.  Ignoring dinner, I sat down to read her letter.

She began by thanking me for interviewing her, for honoring their marriage with recognition.  She and her husband had taken their copy of the story to share with members of their marriage bible study.  They had used it to express their own thanks to the leader of the group who had been so instrumental in guiding them through difficult times in their marriage.  Shirley carried the story to the chapel where they had renewed their vows, and the Sisters had rejoiced again for helping this marriage “made in heaven.”

On a very personal note, in her thank-you, Shirley told me of a current trial she and her husband were sharing.  They were struggling to support the very life of one of their children.  She let me know how heartened they had been during this crisis to have a story of a life triumph, something to read and renew their thankfulness to God for his many blessings.

I laid her letter down and looked across at my husband.  I couldn’t speak.  How could I begin to measure the encouragement contained in three pages of kindness from my friend?  Just five minutes earlier I had wondered if this chosen career of mine, writing words upon paper, was worth it.  My “monster project” seemed too immense, too impossible.  I had begun to let little doubts come together into major discouragement:  maybe I should quit.

As I read Shirley’s thank-you yet another time, I was consumed by the realization that her letter testified to the power of a grateful heart.  Her words revealed the qualities of gratitude that make thanksgiving so rare and yet so marvelous.  Gratitude takes time.  It requires attention.

How many times have I listened to someone talking to me, while my mind is actually wandering, pondering the errands on my list?  How many times have I wanted to let someone know I appreciated a kindness, only to forget myself ten minutes later?  How many times had I jotted off a quick note of thanks to a friend, failing to reflect on the minute details of their effort that might be worth mentioning?  Being thankful takes time.  You can’t hurry thanksgiving.

I could actually picture Shirley setting at her kitchen table as she wrote her note.  There was no hurry in her handwriting.  She went beyond a quick thank-you to pay attention to the details of thankfulness.  She put herself into my place as a writer, taking time to imagine what it’s like to sit for hours in the quiet at a computer.  She shared the story with others, and she took time to tell me of their own celebrations, celebrations that mean a lot to a writer who longs to improve the lives of people with her words.  She allowed me to “see” their smiles, to hear their “ooh’s” and “aah’s.”

Now, I must find the words to thank Shirley for the lesson she taught me about thanks.  I want to find the words to tell her how she has filled my heart with encouragement.  She has given me the reason to tackle “the monster” once again, a reason to think it might be worth the effort in the end.  I will be a writer for a little while longer.  This is a lot of thank-you to fit into one card.

And as I set my pen to a thank-you card for Shirley, I am suddenly overwhelmed with how small my efforts at thanksgiving are when I take the time to pray to God.  I realize how often I want to skate over the surface of gratitude, not giving the time to pay attention.

How God must thrill as he hears us give attention to our thanksgiving!  Slowing down, listing God’s blessings, one at a time, I know there is no way to hurry gratitude.  It is a lifelong attitude, a prayer ever upon our lips and in our hearts.

I begin to write.  I slow down.  A grateful heart does not count time.

_____________________________

It is good to give thanks to the Lord,

to sing praises to thy name, O Most High;

to declare thy steadfast love in the morning,

and thy faithfulness by night,

to the music of the lute and the harp, to the melody of the lyre.

For thou, O Lord, hast made me glad by thy work; at the works of thy hands I sing for joy.  (Psa 92:1-4 RSV)