what to do when gratitude is hard {free printable}

I do think it’s going to be okay.

Eventually.

Just not now.

We were having yet another conversation about the house and the boxes and the paycheck and the move and the girls and the season and the unexpectedness everywhere.  We were talking about the future and the hopes and the dreams and the job and the degree and the potential and the trust and the fear and the ground shaking beneath us.

But eventually, he said, I do think it’s going to be okay.

Sometimes all I can see is the unsettled.  Sometimes I see our past trajectory and how very unintentionally we are the model of downward mobility.  Sometimes I see the 4 moves in 6 months, the living with my parents for 5 months, the boxes and the boxes and the boxes out of which we live.

And then we calculate what our tithe, what our 10%, would be this month.

And it is just so funny.  Like, actually, completely hilarious.  And we laugh at our situation until our sides hurt, until I grab his arm and repeat the number and we start laughing all over again.

And I say the line to Lane about how very unintentionally we are the model of downward mobility and we die all over again, laughing until we cry.

And my question is, what do you do when you wake up one day so sure of how it would play out, and you go to bed that night reeling from the change of story?  How do you walk when the loss and the doubt and the lonely and the bank account weigh you down?  What about the hard thanksgiving?  What do you do when you have to squint in order to see gratitude?

Especially in a season such as this.  When we are reminded to do our 30 day gratitude challenges, when we pin notes reminding us to give thanks, when the upcoming holiday is wrapped up in Thanksgiving.

Lane and I went to the Denver Art Museum on Saturday night.  We walked within architecture inspired, colors magnificent, creativity completely.  The colors and the pieces authentic and the story behind each and the inspiration profound.

And then we walked upon the Monet.  The real, the true, the actually his, the not-a-replica.  And the plaque describing the artist next to the painting said that Claude Monet would often paint the same subject over and over and over, returning to a scene to see if he would be able to gain a new perspective the more he looked.  To see if he could capture something new, something that he had missed the last time.

And it hits me, that is how to do these good and heavy and hard days.  That is how to see the grateful when all your eyes fall on is the hard.

You paint your scene again.  You look at what you painted the first time, you see what is true, you process the feelings.  But then you look again.  Visit your subject once more, see if you can capture something new, maybe there’s a perspective to see for the first time.

Because I can sit once and I can see the boxes and the moves and the unexpected story and the shaking ground and the downward mobility.

But I sit again and I paint my scene again, looking and hoping for something new, trying to capture a new angle on my setting.

And I see them.  The tackles and the giggles and the Mama Please! and the loud and the developing friendship and the constant and the pitter-patter of one learning to run and the leaps across the carpet of the dancer.

I see health.  Safe, healthy, whole bodies with big appetites and bigger energy stores and good sleep and strong muscles and sturdy lungs that can take deep breaths after running to the pond down the street and back again.

I see food on our table and a roof over our head.

I see him.  The one whose side I stand by through all of this and who stands by mine.  And the ground shakes beneath us and the wind blows but our muscles grow stronger and stronger still.  And it is unknown and uncomfortable but we laugh at our meager tithe because really, what other option is there?

And these unshakable things remain.

The girls, him, the roof, the food.  And the faith on which we stand.  Always that.

And suddenly my scene looks so very different to my tired eyes and weary bones.  What amazing gifts we have been given.  Really, truly, so very much to be grateful for.

And so when your ground shakes and you have to squint in order to see the grateful and the season of Thanksgiving just feels too heavy to carry, paint your scene again.

See if you can capture something new, maybe there’s something that shimmers amongst the hard.

So go, friends, grab a paintbrush.

{also, because this is the season of gratitude, I created two free printables for y’all.  they are both 8×10’s- go ahead and click on each picture to access the printable, then print off the pdf.  Maybe in a frame on your Thanksgiving table?  Maybe pin up above your kitchen sink?  I am grateful for each of you!}