"Gratitude as a discipline involves a conscious choice"

— Henri Nouwen

Oh, to be wise!

Do you ever wish you weren't so conscious all the time, and just did whatever you feel like?
Finish the bag of chips, sulk your way through a cantankerous mood, stay in pajamas all day, and skip flossing altogether.

There it is—my inner rebel.

I am only joking (kind of). But isn't it interesting that something as good as gratitude requires a conscious, disciplined choice—while ungratefulness arrives all by itself?
And it brings us nothing.

white beaches

middle seat

flowers everywhere

Roadtrip

For the past couple of months my husband and I drove cross-country from California to South Carolina in our RV—2,857 miles to be exact.

We've seen beautiful mountains, wide-open vistas, experienced bitterly cold nights, stood in awe of star-filled skies, and met up with longtime friends along the way.

And my heart was grateful.

It wasn't all play. We both work remotely—Helmut editing his film projects, and I writing and meeting new friends on my book tour, sharing “Sunday Evenings with Joni”.

And after work... we played.

We sailed to Catalina, ate steaks in Texas, spotted armadillos in New Mexico, visited the church in the rocks of Sedona, had beignets in New Orleans, walked white sandy beaches in Pensacola, smelled the flowers in Savannah, and hugged—oh, the mother heart!— our son Romeo in South Carolina.

Somewhere along the way I read Henri Nouwen’s words and I thought to myself:
Look at me—I am a grateful person.
Mature. Disciplined. Choosing well.

Or so I believed…
Completely ignoring the fact that I had so much to be grateful for.
Until I didn’t.

Poor Me

I found myself at the airport—feeling oh so sorry for myself.
A long flight to the Netherlands ahead, to arrive in time for my mother’s 92nd birthday. More blessings.

Not really.
Because my seat was all the way in the back—a middle seat.
I tried to change it, but the agent at check-in warned me: full flight.
At the gate they confirmed it.
Poor me.

My whole ‘mature, grateful, Christian self’ was gone. 
Surely someone would switch seats with me.
I mean… you understand.
Poor me.

I went to the restroom to pass the time.
Still sorry for myself, sulking, I looked in a sparkling, clean mirror.
I turned around and, to my surprise, it was the cleanest airport bathroom I had ever seen. Truly.
Every stall was spotless. Sinks shining. Trash cans emptied, and even the floors actually clean. Hello, Atlanta!

That was when I noticed her. She was about my age.
While moving her cart from stall to stall, she sang and hummed: 
"I love you, Lord…"
Repeatedly.

Not for anyone to hear, just for herself. And God, obviously…

I washed my hands a bit longer. Just to linger. 
But it didn’t take more than a few seconds, until my mind was reset.

Did I really have the right to feel sorry for myself, because—like so many others—I didn’t get the best seat?

I dried my hands, walked up to her, and thanked her for doing such an excellent job.
I had never seen restrooms this clean.

She looked at me as if I had made her day.

But I think she had made her own day long before I walked in.

Gratitude as a discipline involves a conscious choice.
I can choose to be grateful even when my emotions and
feelings are still steeped in hurt and resentment.
It is amazing how many occasions present themselves in which
I can choose gratitude instead of a complaint.

—Henri Nouwen (2013) "The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming"

What I like about Henri Nouwen is the honesty of his heart. There is no pretense with him. Strip everything else away, and what remains is almost simple.
Almost, I say— because this man was deep. Lived-through.

I credit that not only to his intelligence, but to the way he dared to face his feelings.
He stayed close to his own heart—yet, not in a self-centered way. Quite the contrary.
In a humble and vulnerable way.

My husband met him several times, and each time he came home touched.

Despite the familiarity of his themes—anxiety, gratefulness, humility, envy—his books are not easy to read. At least not for me.

They take time.

I read a little. Sit with it. Make notes. Then read some more. My process is slow—like a good, slow pot roast (which my husband appreciates too). As if all good things take time…

Just like... gratitude! Overtime, this is what I’m beginning to understand.

Gratitude is not a feeling—it’s a choice. 

We shouldn’t wait for gratitude to come around, instead it takes work. Conscious, disciplined as Nouwen said. 

This morning I was reminded how thankfulness is the antidote for worry. Just like prayer and anxiety. They are two opposing forces and can’t coexist.

The Bible speaks of it in Philippians:

The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication,
with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.

Philippians 4:6 ESV (emphasis added)

No extra steps. No striving. 
Just pray. Plead. With thanksgiving.
That’s all there is to it.

Followed by a promise:

…and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard
your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:7 ESV (emphasis added)

Don’t feel the peace?
Repeat. 

Nouwen speaks of two inner voices:
One that complains and one that gives thanks.

Neuroscience calls this our inner dialogue. The positive and negative voice. Their research proves that repeated thoughts create pathways. And when we change our thought patterns, we create new pathways. It’s a new rhytm to return to. In gratitude.

How? 
I’m sure you heard of a gratitude journal. Works great for some, but for me it didn’t. It became a task, so I started here:
In the morning, before anything else, name the things you are grateful for.
Sometime during the day, pause, and do the same. 
And in the evening, before sleep, remember what you are thankful for.

It may be small, but be specific. 
And watch it grow, overtime.

While the woman in the airport restroom understood this long before me, I got to witness the kind of discipline that rewires a mind. 
Ingenious, vulnerable, scientific, and beautiful. All at once.
 

And my heart was grateful.

Questions:

1. Where, in your life is it most difficult to give up the spiral of worry?
   
2. What would it look like to choose differently—just once? 
3. And when you can’t let go, what might help you reach toward gratitude? 
4. I’d love to hear, what has helped you when gratitude didn’t come easily?