For All These Things

I was talking with a friend this morning about the many ways Air Force life is beginning to wear on us. Issues that didn’t annoy us before now make us want to come across the table and throttle people. Blatant double standards frustrate and annoy us. Some days, the work loads our husbands are under seem close to unbearable, the days and months interminable, the pace unsustainable.

We need to be able to share the struggles. It helps us to remember that we’re not alone. But—and isn’t there always a but?—we couldn’t stay there. And we wouldn’t.

With this friend, we share the funny stuff and the hard. We swap goofy jokes. I send her pictures of the kids. She sends me pictures of her dogs. We laugh about the ridiculous parts of our lives. And I’m not saying that it always balances out, but it does help us to keep going. It helps us remember that there is more than just the struggle.

This morning as we were texting, I looked up and saw our Thanksgiving Tree, its painted paper leaves swaying in the breeze coming off the ceiling fan blades. Tiny paper thanksgiving leaves that read simply:

Dad. Fri(e)nds. (I added in the “e”.) Siblings. Pets. Mastering a piece of music. Clean sheets. Coffee. Candy. Mom. Football. Candlelight.

And so many more.

I left the text conversation and the Thanksgiving Tree and went out to run. The air bit the inside of my throat as I breathed, and I tucked my hands as far up into my sleeves as possible, since somehow one of my gloves has gone missing. I know it’s probably static-caught to something in one of the kids’ clothes drawers.

In the distance, the mountains are already capped with snow, but on base, the sun was just starting to defrost the acacia trees. Around me, the base was waking up and heading into work. A biker passed me on the trail. Cars drove in and out of the gas station as I crossed the road. A cop car pulled into the parking lot by the Starbucks. The sky was still just faintly tinged with pink, and my mind kept turning back to the conversation with my friend.

We are weary, and we know it. The more I talk with those around me, the more I begin to think that it’s just the human condition, that most adults exist in a near permanent state of exhaustion. But as I ran, I didn’t feel quite so tired any more, and the reason wasn’t the running. The reason was that I was seeing what mattered as I looked around…and I was saying thank you.

I was saying thank you for the beautiful place where we get to live (even if it’s only for another seven months). I was saying thank you for fresh air and endorphins and muscles that still work for me. I was saying thank you for the men and women who work with my husband, many of whom were finishing night shifts and preparing to head home to try to get some sleep. I was saying thank you for the opportunity to serve them in my own small way, even when it’s hard.

I was saying thank you for the Man, at home trimming his mustache and tying his boot laces, preparing for another day of doing a job that often is beyond difficult.

I was saying thank you for my kids, hopefully still asleep but possibly already lying in wait for me like the loving little terrors they can sometimes be.

I was saying thank you for the kids and moms who were in my classes the day before, classes that leave me crawling into bed at 7:55 after feeding my children pizza for dinner—I said thank you for them because I had an opportunity to meet a need they had and because they gave me the chance to use my gifts and to love them well and to do something worthwhile.

I was saying thank you for so many other things as I ran, and it helped me regain perspective before I started my day.

We don’t have to say thank you for the hard things (interrupted sleep, frustrating encounters, unfairness, injustice, broken hearts). God knows that they are hard. But we get to say thank you even while the hard things are threatening to overwhelm us.

And often, the simple act of gratitude is far more powerful than we can anticipate. Sometimes its enough to get me through a three mile run even after a sleepless night and a wearing day of teaching.

Today, I was simply reminded that while seeing the challenges is unavoidable (some days they literally slap us in the face), seeing the beauty? Finding the joy? Looking for ways that we can say, “In all these things, Lord, no matter how hard, I choose to say thank you”? That is worthwhile.

This is how we keep going: by saying thank you for all these things—near countless blessings—that often occupy the exact same space as the struggle.

And if that doesn’t work, there are still power naps.