“Here powers failed my high imagination: But by now my desire and will were turned, like a balanced wheel rotated evenly, by the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.” Dante, Paradiso, Canto XXXIII
Many months before this journey began, I remember sitting alone in the dirt. The late Minnesota summer sun beginning to set, the dull buzz of insect wings far away, pressing my fingertips into the soil absentmindedly; the pleasure of feeling the coolness of the dirt; pushing deeper, mossy tendrils tautening, snapping. In this calm, my mind wandered aimlessly, more attuned to the warmth on my cheeks than any thought. And there, in the stillness of that moment, I heard a whisper in my mind: “Give thanks.”
I did not meditate then. But that afternoon, I did. I closed my eyes, and with each breath intoned silently the words – “Thank you.” For over an hour I sat there, nearly motionless. With each “thank you”, I found memories flit onto, across, and away from the backs of my eyelids -- recent kindnesses and long-lost recollections alike -- as if the holes I’d dug into the dirt a moment before had pierced some veil separating this waking life from a more elemental and eternal one where all memories still live. Of all the faces that emerged, the one that most surprised me was the face of Christine, a woman I hadn’t seen, spoken to, or really thought about, since graduating high school almost 15 years before.
Why her, I wondered? We never dated. We were friends, but mostly from a distance. I remember seeing her alone out of school, maybe twice. Yet, on that day, her compassion and kindness bubbled up so clearly into my mind.
When I was young I was often bullied. By the time I was in high school, the way I’d coped with it was to cultivate the persona of an independent and aloof intellectual – set apart from my peers and quite happy to be there. But the truth is I’ve always had a bleeding heart and in my soul I crave love and connection to the people around me. Unlike so many of my peers who believed (and didn’t especially like) my practiced personality – she always saw through that, and engaged me at the heart level. Her acts of kindness were never heroic, but she was steady, generous, and full of compassion in so many little moments; moments that came back to me in vivid colors 15 years later as I sat on the dirt.
In the past year I’ve now had several of these inexplicable, semi-mystical experiences. This was the first, and it left me dazed. So, at first, I ignored it. But many of the memories from my trance recurred in my dreams that night, waking me up into the darkness of a strange room. And in that state I decided it was a sign; “give thanks” – not only in my mind, but in my words and deeds too. I found her on Facebook, and sent her a short note on messenger merely saying “Thank you” in but a few lines.
Now, just six months later, I found myself pulling into her family’s driveway in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She appeared, a baby in her arms and two small girls at her side. Getting out of the car, one of the girls tottered toward me and threw herself around my shins. “She’s a hugger,” Christine told me with a laugh.
When I drove away the next afternoon, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and love for this family. Love for the girls, who’d wrapped their arms around this tired stranger. Gratitude for her husband Dan, who welcomed me into their home with open arms. Admiration for his strength of spirit. Joy from watching Dan and Christine’s devotion to their girls – and an image permanently imprinted onto my mind of him carrying them to bath time – one daughter around his neck, another dangling upside down in his arms. Awe for the strength of their bond, tested and proven true in the face of tragedies that broke my heart to hear recounted. But most of all, love and gratitude for my old friend, for seeing me for who I am, not who I often pretend to be – even now.
I once read that children smile 300 times a day, while adults only smile 20. As I drove away the next day my cheeks throbbed I’d been smiling so much. And to think – none of this would have happened had I not heeded a small, hushed whisper many months ago, inviting me to, “Give thanks.”
Who will you thank today? And what unexpected new love will emerge for you when you do?
