Giving, accepting thanks

I remember waking up at five o’clock on Christmas morning as a 4-year-old excited to see if I made Santa’s good list. Still wearing slipper-socks and pajamas unwrapped the night before; I quietly peek from my bedroom door to see my sister sitting under our Christmas tree. Waking earlier than I, she plugs in the tree lights and stares at the multicolored glass bulbs sparkling on the tree. I quietly sit next to her and am memorized by the twinkle of the glass bulbs that redirect their light to the shiny paper and ribbon under the evergreen. We look at each other and smile. For this memory, I am thankful.

Standing at the altar of the Tuolumne Methodist Church with my best friend and best man James, I wait in anticipation as my fiancée prepares to walk down the isle of the church. Rush’s “Broon’s Bane,” plays on an acoustic guitar as my fiancée links arms with her father. The double doors of the parsonage open and the guests react with awes and tears as my beautiful wife begins her journey to my side. Halfway through the ceremony it begins to rain. The pounding of the storm on the tin roof is so loud it becomes difficult to hear the minister. My wife and I look into each other’s eyes and smile. For this memory, I am thankful.

The maternity nurse warns me to quickly leave the surgery if my child is in stress so they can save her life. I decide to stay no matter what happens. Standing in the operating room, combing my wife’s hair with my fingers I look over the sheet separating my wife’s head from her body to see the surgeon gently raise my screaming daughter from my wife’s midsection. The doctor declares, “This girl has healthy lungs, do you want to cut the cord?” I take three snips with the scissors as tears roll down my face.

A nurse cleans the body of our new family member, places her in a bassinet and asks if I wish to walk with him to the nursery. I accept the offer and on our journey the nurse laughs, “Looks like you have yourself a redhead. She’s going to be full of fire.” I reply, “I hope so!” Again, I am thankful for this moment.

Giving and accepting thanks feel good. I can remember vividly, important thankful experiences from my past while struggling to accept thanks from those who offer it. Being humble, unworthy, self-deprecating, embarrassed or egocentric prevents one from accepting the kindness of others while offering kindness liberally.

I am learning the gift of accepting gratitude. I feel a warm fuzzy feeling in my belly when a person offers a thank you but have dismissed the offer in the past as unimportant or me being unworthy of the offer. Now I understand the thanks is as important for the messenger as it is for the intended receiver. If a person offers gratitude, it is often offered from the heart and if not graciously received, the sender feels unfulfilled.

Being thankful requires acknowledgment. If a person in your life does something to make your life more important or purposeful, acknowledge their role in your betterment. Send a note, look into their eyes and truly say thanks, email or offer a public declaration of their importance. This announcement of thanksgiving completes the cycle of kindness.

The cycle of kindness perpetuates itself. When one is thankful for important life memories and casually kind offerings, one tends to easily and readily offer thankfulness to those around them. Thanksgiving becomes a warm and inviting virus that slowly and contagiously infects all fortunate enough to be emotionally close to the creator’s heart.

One last thanks. This spring break my wife and I travel to San Francisco to attend a conference focusing on positive behaviors, interventions and supports. Months of planning, scheduling, sacrificing and preparation is necessary to make this trip a reality. With loaded suitcases, dogs in the kennel, mail held and house locked, we jump in the family highway cruiser and head for California. Our goal is to drive straight through ensuring we make it to the conference on time, so we start at 6:30 a.m. hoping to make it to the city by 10:30 p.m.

Making great time we decide to top off the gas tank in Madras, Ore., and grab a bite to eat. “Fill’er up with regular,” I smile as the gas attendant accepts my debit card and begins to pump fuel into our tank. Casual conversation between my wife and me turns to concern as I turn the ignition to start the engine with no effect. The dashboard lights but the car won’t start.

Numerous attempts to start the car by turning the ignition key, reengaging the transmission into park, pounding on the ignition switch and checking fuses proves futile. Nothing works — we are stranded.

We open the hood of the SUV and begin troubleshooting our situation. The gas attendant states, “It must be the starter.” I say, “I think it’s a fuse.” My wife Googles the trouble and decide we both might be right — time to call for help.

Twenty minutes later the tow truck arrives as a passer-byer states, “I know a great mechanic. It’s Antonio at the top of the hill.” My wife thanks the man as we get hooked up to the wrecker.

Sitting in the cab of the truck the driver asks where we want to go. Looking at each other, my wife and I chuckle. I offer, “We have no idea. We’re 400 miles from home and are not really even sure what town we are in.” The driver replies, “Well, you’re in Madras. There are a few mechanics in town. I can call my buddy to see if he can get you fixed and back on the road.”

Skeptical but without options we agree. As we head up the hill toward the shop, my stomach begins to knot. Four hundred miles away from home, driving to a shop of someone I don’t know, to fix my car which I value greatly, to continue a trip that I hope to complete tonight, hoping not to get financially gouged or otherwise taken-advantage-of, we continue up the hill.

Pulling into a small strip mall, the driver and mechanics swap pleasantries as my Sequoia is unloaded from the truck. We bounce out of the cab and head to the small waiting room where we sit down and wait. A black Lab walks up expecting a scratch as the owner comes from the shop. “I think it is an ignition but let me keep checking.”

Forty-five minutes later we hear the engine roar to life. The engine stops then starts again. Our car is fixed! The owner’s wife walks into the office with her two small children and we talk. We talk about her truck, about the kids and about the dog.

The owner reenters the office and again my tummy feels like I am on a roller-coaster. The bill is presented and it is fair; not exuberant. Excited about our experience, we shake hands, offer a tip and thank the shop worker for saving our journey from certain doom.

Driving away my wife and I look at each other and smile. From the time we broke down to this moment, everyone we encounter is kind, ethical, helpful and honest. From the kindness of strangers, our faith in the human condition is renewed.

I firmly believe that people are intrinsically kind, want to be helpful and wish to do the right thing. What reinforces this belief is the kindness offered our fellow humans. As kindness is offered, one becomes kind. When kindness is void, the world becomes unkind.

By the way, if you are passing through Madras and need work done on your car, give Antonio a call at (541) 475-4441.

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Send comments or other suggestions to William Rutherford at bprutherford@hotmail.com or visit pensiveparenting.com.