2021 Month of Gratitude Email Series

Finding Gratitude
Kate Ritger ’03 (SOT ’07)

“Life itself is an exercise in learning to sing alleluia here in order to recognize the face of God hidden in the recesses of time. To deal with the meaning of alleluia in life means to deal with moments that do not feel like alleluia moments at all. But how is it possible to say alleluia to the parts of life that weigh us down, that drain our spirits dry, that seem to deserve anything but praise?” – Joan Chittister, OSB

Once a week I spend a few hours facilitating spirituality groups with people in an outpatient mental health setting. We discuss topics like forgiveness, grief and loss, hope and resilience, and gratitude.

As we explore gratitude, I share an article by Jeremy Adam Smith from Greater Good Magazine: Science-Based Insights for a Meaningful Life entitled “6 Habits of Highly Grateful People.” The first five habits are fairly easy to accept, things like “take time to smell the roses,” “take good things as gifts, not birthrights,” or “be specific when expressing gratitude.” But the last habit always trips us up: “Thank outside the box: turn disaster into a stepping stone.”

Haha, “thank” instead of “think” outside the box – that’s clever. But “turn a disaster into a stepping stone?” “I just lost my sobriety again.” “I just got out of the hospital after another suicide attempt.” “I don’t know how I’m going to make my next mortgage payment.”

How is it that disasters like these can be turned into stepping stones? It begins to happen in moments like this when someone says, “I wouldn’t be part of this program if I hadn’t hit rock bottom. I’m grateful to be here with all of you.” That’s turning a disaster into a stepping stone.

Do you want to get “better” at being grateful? Here are a few ideas to cultivate more gratitude in your life:

  1. Check out Jeremy Adam Smith’s article, mentioned above, and journal about what the six habits could look like in your life right now.
  2. Write a thank you card or letter to a friend, family member or co-worker – someone who its “easy” to be grateful toward.
  3. Write a thank you card or letter to someone who its “harder” to be grateful toward.
  4. Write yourself a letter about what you appreciate about yourself.

Learning to Say Alleluia
Liz Lawyer Tomten ’82

As a longtime middle school teacher, I am well-acquainted with the eye roll. I’ve been the recipient of many over the years as I’ve redirected students who were not using their time wisely. I’ve also rolled my own eyes at staff meetings when being informed of some new initiative. Whether we’re adults or kids, we want things to work out in a way that is convenient for us, and it’s annoying when real life doesn’t work like that.

It’s hard to love inconvenience in any form: unexpected responsibilities, burning dinner and running late (especially when it’s not your fault!) to name a few. Despite internet memes and motivational coffee mugs that remind us not to sweat the small stuff, we still do. However, we don’t have to like it.

So during this Month of Gratitude, I’m going to try to find joy in the thousands of little things that go right every day, and continue to try to accept that inconvenience is a fact of life. Author Joan Chittister, OSB, calls these “alleluia moments.” She writes, “It isn’t what happens to us that counts. It’s what we do with what happens to us that makes all the difference.”

Can I reframe inconvenient situations and appreciate them as learning opportunities? I sure hope so. It seems like a worthy and mature goal. After all, I’d like to think I’m a little more evolved than my middle school self!

Gratitude for the Everyday
Renotta Baxter Stainbrook ’77

As a two-time cancer survivor (definitely something I am grateful for) my response at the time of these crises was to refocus/reflect on what was really important in life, appreciate life and live with more awareness of ultimate priorities. These changes I experienced are common responses when we face a crisis.

I recently read something that, while not written in response to the impact of COVID, I found it captured my own beliefs about our response to crises like this pandemic. It also addressed how and why we can be grateful for challenges/hard times like we are currently experiencing.

How often has someone asked you “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” and your response has been some variation of “Just the usual” or “Same old, same old”? Paraphrasing the words of a local priest: It is a cliche to prod ourselves into appreciating each moment of life as though it were our last. But think about how much goes unnoticed because we expect it will be there again and again. The routine of daily life can lull us into laziness and inattentiveness. Challenges like COVID-19 open our eyes so we can “drink in the sweetness of even normal days.” It is up to us to see “same old, same old” as a treasure.

Gratitude for Silence
Bree Auringer Allen ’10

I remember the silence experienced on the trail to the Stella Maris Chapel and the quiet of early bus rides on the Link to SJU. My brain felt uncluttered … only worried about an upcoming deadline or my weekend plans. Fast forward several years and somehow silence, both physically and mentally, has come to feel unproductive – uncomfortable at times.

Why does silence have a negative connotation? Mental and physical noise is hurting our minds, creating mostly busyness, not productivity.

During these last few months, instead of filling silence, I have been working to cultivate gratitude for the stillness. Our bodies need calm, quiet moments. Mozart said, “the music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.” Without silence, notes would be a jumble of noise. Silent moments tap into a different part of the nervous system that helps shut down our bodies’ physical response to stress. Being still can lower blood pressure, release tension and increase focus.

It’s time we sit with the occasional discomfort brought by silence. Maybe that means taking a lunch break sans device or walking and listening to the natural noises instead of music. It also means finding ways to quiet the inner noise as well as outer. Even though the world is getting louder, silence is still accessible; it just takes a little effort and creativity to cultivate it.

What Happens When My Sadness Leaks Out
Meghan Stretar ’17 (SOT ’21)

I am sad today. I didn’t even realize it until my colleague Derek poked his head in the doorway of my office, looked me directly in the eye, and asked, “are you doing okay?” After he asked a second time, gently probing, I felt a strange mix of emotion: a hot flash of shame, embarrassment. And somehow, also, a deep sense of validation, the feeling of being seen.

I sat there, speechless, searching for a way to respond that didn’t require vulnerability. The weight slowly began sinking in. My fear of sitting in the unknown and discomfort of admitting I was sad prevented me from saying anything of much substance. I mumbled something like, “It’s a lot. This transition has been hard,” and our conversation ended.

It’s nighttime now. I am alone. In my sadness, I feel heavy; exhausted. Sadness makes every decision feel equally heavy, though it convinced me to buy the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets at Target today. Even my body knows I’m sad. I’m sitting on the floor, knees to my chest, as if trying to make myself as small as possible.

I validate and acknowledge my feelings, knowing how I can sit in them while also paying attention to how they point me toward a bigger picture. That being sad today is not “just who I am.” Nor is it my fault or shameful to feel this way. That just because I am wading in the “should” of how I want to be feeling in this moment, my feelings are my own, and they are okay.

The words of the psalmists ring in my head. My own lament goes something like this tonight: “Oh Lord, I am lost, lonely in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers. Where are you, God? Show me your face.” I parallel this with the words of Psalm 40, where the psalmist is in a similar position: in the depths of a quagmire, sinking into muddy clay, a pit of destruction. Yet the thing is, Psalm 40 is hymn of thanksgiving, not a song of lament.

How is gratitude possible in these moments? Where and how can we fathom God’s presence? How do we re-energize and find hope?

Simple: Resiliency.

An unwavering trust, just like those ancient peoples whose cries are found in the Psalms, who somehow recognized, against all odds, that GOD WAS THERE AWAYS.

The psalmist who sat in the depth of the pit … they didn’t get stuck there. While we can ask “who put them there,” maybe a better question and change of perspective is helpful. “Who supported them? Who lifted them out of the pit?”

And so I sit here now, thinking of the people who support me, who ask, “are you doing okay?” (Twice, just to make sure.) This makes me feel less isolated. A little less weighed down.

This is how I navigate these difficult days: the ones where I am sad, feeling the weight on my shoulders as I feel myself sinking slowly into the clay … yet somehow, miraculously, find myself standing, in gratitude, lifting up my head, and crying out, with joy, praise and love, “Halleluiah!”

Gratitude for the Gift of Hearing
Marianne Bishop Shay ʼ82

Sound helps us experience life to its fullest. Even silence has a sound, giving us space for reflection. I’m grateful for sound and the gift of hearing.

As a singer, I appreciate the intricate blend of voices in my choir, the unique arrangements in each song, the laughter when we create our own (incorrect) chords, the exquisite sounds of diverse instruments, and so much more. As a pianist, I’m grateful for how I can create a range of sounds to express emotion. Both of my children are musicians. I’ve enjoyed being able to hear and appreciate their progress through the years.

Outdoors, I can’t get enough of loons laughing, dogs howling, birds singing, lawnmowers buzzing, wind chimes tinkling, rivers rushing, distant train horns echoing, leaves rustling, and on and on.

Hearing connects us with others through a child’s voice, a spouse’s laughter, siblings’ puns, a friend’s whispered secret, a colleague’s reassurance, glasses clinking during a toast, shared cheers of sports fans, a dog’s welcoming bark, a cat’s purring, nature’s music … the daily hum of our lives.

During this month of gratitude, I hope you’re able to take a few moments to embrace the wealth of sounds around you and reflect on what the gift of hearing means to you.

Gratitude for Moments of Pause in the Chaos
Katie Frazier Boettcher ’12

My friends and family often hear me say that I run a circus. The frenetic activity that fills my home on most days is at once joyful and stressful, a feeling many of us are familiar with regardless of the shape or form of our home or family. However, there’s a tendency in our culture to focus on the stress and the hectic duties that fill our days, and I am no exception to it. The result is an unwelcome addition of heartburn and anxiety to my routine and my voice. Over the past year, I’ve had opportunities to pause and reflect on what can help lift the burden of negativity from my home and my interactions. Unsurprisingly, the answer is simple and one we don’t have to look far to find: taking time to pause and reflect on the blessings in my life.

So in the morning when I pour my coffee with the dear hope of drinking it while it’s still hot, I take a breath. I look around me and remember that those boisterous voices and clamors for attention are what bring me the most joy. When I find myself aggravated by the need to schedule yet another doctor or vet visit, I pause to recognize the privilege I have and how that impacts my ability to provide that care. When my patience runs thinner than I’d like, I do my best to stop and remember that these days are long but the years will go faster than I’d like as well, so I try to cherish the craziness rather than hold it in contempt. When I allow stressors, big or small, to get in the way of my happiness, I attempt to put it in perspective, which is easier said than done.

Pope John Paul II once said “Remember the past with gratitude. Live the present with enthusiasm. Look forward to the future with confidence.” What if we all took little moments throughout each day to pause and give thanks for the things that we don’t often recognize? Look back on the blessings that have brought us to where we are. Actively focus on what keeps us going each day. And carry that with us to create a hope for what’s next. It’s something I plan to hold closer each morning as I drink coffee that may inevitably grow cold. But even if it does, I’ll have my energetic home to be grateful for.

No Action Is Small in the Eyes of God
Nancy Opstad Weldon ’92 (SOT ’21)

On a cold winter morning during the 1918 pandemic, my great-grandmother woke to the sound of stillness. For days she and her husband lay sick with influenza, the virus that invaded their small farming community. During the night her husband’s wracking cough resonated off walls and shook the bed. The quiet was a momentary relief, but as Otillia turned to look at her husband she knew he had succumb to the virus, his body already cold to the touch.

In those years, a family could not survive on a farm without the support of the community. Neighbors built barns and families shared farm equipment and meals as they brought in fall crops. Women helped each other with canning, baking and birthing. On that terrible morning, my great-grandmother knew she needed help for the most immediate task ahead of her: carrying her husband’s body to the barn where it would remain until spring when the ground warmed and he could be buried. She was too weak to walk through the deep snow to ask the nearest neighbor for help, and her five children were too young to go on their own. Otillia was a resourceful woman and she asked her oldest child, eight-year-old Kathryn, to let their horse out of the barn. She knew the neighbor would safely bring the horse back and she could ask for help.

For well over a year we have experienced the effects of our own pandemic. Some of us know someone who died from the virus. Some lost jobs and financial stability. Others were tasked with more work than ever before. We’ve bent and adjusted our lives in countless ways. Cracks and fissures in our social, economic and political systems have been exposed and we remain in a time of uncertainty.

At this point in the pandemic, I sense people are pausing to think how they have changed since March 2020. Frequently in conversation, people talk about a growing appreciation for supportive people and places in their life. These thoughtful conversations widen my view of the ways dependable people in my community offer support. For example, just yesterday I learned that every day the caretaker of our parish church climbs several flights of crooked, creaky stairs in the clock tower to wind a mechanism so our church bells ring. Every day! Without his faithful commitment we wouldn’t hear the bells that are like a heartbeat in our small town.

Saint Therese of Lisieux reminds us that no action is small in the eyes of God. During this Month of Gratitude, I invite you to join me and pray to see as God sees. Dare we offer a riff on Benedict’s Rule and pray to “look with the eyes of our heart?” As we increasingly see as God sees, who do we notice? Who quietly goes about their work, bringing back horses and offering support? How might we offer these neighbors a gesture of gratitude?