Having read a meditation this week about changing every complaint into an act of gratitude, I thrust the lesson upon my students their first day back from Thanksgiving break. Before the veil could be drawn by any of them, I suggested that I bet most of them probably answered their alarms that morning by complaining, “Oh no! I don’t wanna get outa bed! I don’t wanna go to school today. I just wanna sleep in.”
Since I used my best whine imitating my inner seventeen-year-old voice, I got most of the class to smile or chuckle. Then I went in for the kill. “You could have answered that alarm with grrrattitude instead. You had a chance to say, ‘Hey, thanks for reminding me that I can even hear the alarm, that I can get up, and can wash and dress myself, and drive myself to school, and even be excited and thankful to be with Mr. Hoover in class today.’” Laughter ensued after the initial wave of contemplation.
I always remind students that I am just like them. That my first inclination that morning was to grumble at the alarm, too, until I realized I was thankful to be able to have the prospect of another day. That we all like to take jabs at the minor disappointments of each day, instead of waiting a beat to think about how we can turn the moment into grace and be thankful.
Then I reminded them that a new practice takes time to form. To that end, I used the opening of each of the next two classes to bring more examples of how to turn complaints to gratitude. We even read an essay by a double amputee who had every right to complain, but chose rather to meet adversity by seeing the potential in every situation and being gracious she could do so.
I told them that I had recently complained to a friend that I come at autumn, usually a favorite season, with a sense of ambivalence. Although I love the crisp air and beautiful colors, I also dread its latter days of cold rain and bare branches, too early evenings and scraping morning frost from the windshield–all harbingers of the winter to come.
Later, I forced myself to go for my daily walk though it was fast approaching the twilight of five o’clock. As I headed in a southwesterly direction with a full view of the sky, I saw a big bow of moon with nearby Venus and Jupiter, two points to a nearly perfect horizontal segment–all three the only lit objects in the inky blue expanse.
The clean, cool air only served to accentuate the beautiful scene before me, and I was grateful for having come out when it would have been so easy to have given in to my earlier complaint of it being almost too cold and dark to go for a walk. I remembered that this particular view only happens about every thirty-five years as I had recently read, and that I won’t in all likelihood be seeing it again. It’s beauty only increased.
It was then that I was reminded of a poem I had written a few years ago about this time of year. Liturgically, Advent begins a new church year full of the joy of preparation. But, it comes, ironically, at the time of fall that is nearly depressing. Though the tone of the poem is at times melancholic and borders upon complaint, there are hints of hope and anticipation, which exude a sense of gratitude in being able to see the miracles in each day.
Clockwork of Random Design
Advent is a dervish of down and leaves,
of birds gone south, trees letting go:
shadows frame the world in lavender.Seasons adjust to axis and latitude;
we practice solstice rites whose sun
turns away on the promise of return.Modern magi, we search the sky
for manifest miracles, metaphors
in stardust and cosmic mystery.Autumn’s feast is eclipsed by heaven’s
debris; winter whispers its epiphany:
time bends heaven toward a creche.- Michael J Hoover