My son Thomas was born with the gift of gratitude. Any of his typically boyish tendencies to break, build, and burn are quickly forgotten in the light of his thankfulness.
One birthday a few years ago Thomas received a pair of sunglasses from an aunt and uncle. His reaction will go down in Roy folklore, as everyone was so uplifted at his joy and enthusiasm. He laughed and clapped his hands and went around to everyone he saw, excited to show them his new frames. We all started laughing and secretly hoped our own gifts for him would get the same reaction.
A few months ago I was asked to crochet a scarf for a friend. But this was no ordinary scarf. It had the head and tail of a fox, and the yarn was so fluffy and soft that my kids couldn’t keep their hands off it.
Thomas kept asking me if I would make him one, and I kept replying, “no.” But when I finished the scarf, I looked at the little pile of leftover yarn and as quickly as I could crocheted a little fox-face pillow – ears and all. I finished it literally using the last inch of yarn to stitch up the sides.
The pillow was put in a gift bag and stuck under my bed for Christmas. I forgot about the fox until I heard the squealing on Christmas morning. The moment Thomas saw that fox he lit up the room with his happiness. He came to me to thank me and hug me, then returned to squeeze the fox. Then he thanked me again. Every night he grabs it and squishes it to sleep.
It’s what I’d call a natural virtue for Thomas, and I pray it outlasts any temptation the world will offer to selfishness or entitlement. His gratitude spreads joy to the people who witness it.
I’d like to say I’m a grateful person, but if I’m honest I would say I’m seasonally grateful. In spring and summer my quiet moments are filled with a brimming thankfulness for every new flower or bird I see in the yard. Everywhere I look I see God’s hand, his goodness, beauty, and truth, and I wonder that he shares it with me.
Come fall and winter, I lose a bit of that wonder. The natural child-like virtue wanes in the cold barren dirt of my garden. (Although Christmas and other seasonal events bring joy and every chickadee that hops up a tree branch outside my window reminds me beauty is still alive.)
When I think of people who are grateful, I usually think of people who are joyful. When I think of people who are joyful, I think of people who are hopeful. And if ever the world needed hope, it needs it now.
I’ve written before of an old habit Scott and I had of writing down normal, everyday things we were thankful for. On a magnetic notepad on the fridge the list ranged from “popcorn and butter” to “tiny unborn heartbeats.”
A first step in growing in gratitude, joy, and hope is the deliberate taking note of things we are grateful for. It helps one to grow in humility as well, seeing all the things we are gifted with that we did nothing to deserve or accomplish.
A chapter on gratitude in the book Parenting for Character by Andrew Mullins convinced me the second step in gratitude is the act of making a return on a gift. That may sound materialist in a way, as though after receiving something good I am obligated to give something back.
This wasn’t quite the way it was explained, and the idea is fairly simple: the knowledge that something has been gifted to you should inspire acknowledgment. That acknowledgement can take many forms, but it must be deliberate.
A neighbour drops off a casserole for you, and when you return the clean dish there is a thank you card inside saying you will offer a prayer for them.
Your child receives a gift, and you help them to send a picture of them enjoying the gift.
You are given a gift card and you use a small portion to buy a chocolate for the person who gifted it to you.
It isn’t complicated, but it does involve intention and action.
In the bigger picture of things, when we look at all we have been given by God we should be flooded with an outpouring of active gratitude.
What can we do in return for all he has given us? I think we (I!) must stop talking about loving God above all things, and our neighbour as ourselves, and start doing it.
When we realize all we have to be thankful for it will become apparent that the sight of a wildflower, a little child laughing at the park, an increase in pay, a good deal on a major purchase, a prayer answered, or a pillow to sleep on are things that deserve some acknowledgement, some return to God.
If we succeed in gratitude, we will grow in joy and soon be filled with what St. Paul called in Romans “the hope that does not disappoint.”