The Anti-Thankful Tree
‘Tis the season: the season of the Thankful Tree.
This year, the kids somehow managed to talk me into making them each their own personalized Thankful Trees. So, yes, I drew seven different Thankful Trees this year, which, on the whole, is still better than last year when they managed to con me into carving everyone their own personal pumpkin.
Question for next time: why am I so susceptible to ridiculous ideas posed by adorable children with large brown eyes? Also: why did we have so many children?
Anyway, point being that we have been on Thankful Tree overload in our house, which somehow led to me thinking about what I would put on an Anti-Thankful Tree. You know, the tree upon which you would write all the things you’re not thankful for.
I realize these wouldn’t be terribly popular because we’re all very invested in our mental health (and because some of us had 1 Thessalonians 5:18 misquoted to us our whole lives—it’s thankful IN all circumstances, not thankful FOR all circumstances), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how cathartic it might be. So I started texting my Anti-Thankful Tree entries to a pair of non-judgmental friends.
Because I could.
Some of the items that would make up the leaves of my Anti-Thankful tree are:
Shaving
Hairs that stick relentlessly to your clothing
Badly done grout (ugh, mildew)
Carpet stains
Cramps
Yappy dogs (autocorrect almost got me on that one, but I am definitely thankful for happy dogs)
Errands that take more time than they should…or cost more money
Hot flashes
Mosquitoes
Water that leaves stains on your toilet
Not being able to find a book you’re positive you have on a bookshelf
And those are the light weight leaves. The ones that drag the tree down are lost jobs, broken marriages, damaged relationships, mental health struggles, pretty much everything making the news right now. Those are the ones we don’t want to immortalize in pen and ink on any tree. Because they hurt in deep ways.
This morning, though, as I was running (surprise, surprise), I was thinking about the magnolia tree with its leaves that are smooth and green on the top and fuzzed and silver on the other side. And I found myself thinking about the Anti-Thankful tree again.
What would happen if I flipped over the leaves of the Anti-Thankful tree? What would I find written on the other sides?
Could my frustration with errands lead me to be thankful for the wiggle room I have in my schedule, even if it’s being used in ways I wouldn’t choose? Could the water stains in my toilet allow for thanksgiving for indoor plumbing (and heavy duty toilet cleaner)? Could the carpet stains remind me to say thank you for the joy of messy kids and pets?
And even more so: could the brokenness of our world move me to prayer? Could it allow me the blessing of walking alongside the hurting? Could it help me look forward to Christ’s return? Could it remind me of what really matters? Could it open the door for more kindness, more compassion, more grace?
Every day there are things I could add to my Anti-Thankful tree.
Having to repeat myself over and over again to my kids
Kitchen counters and floor tiles that show every spill and crumb
Not being able to fix the griefs that burden the people I love
Cats that wake me up by lovingly kneading me with their claws until I get up to feed them in the morning
And every day I get the opportunity to flip over the leaf and look for how God is providing me with opportunities for joy even in the struggle.
Maybe you’re not there yet. Maybe you’re looking at the items on your Anti-Thankful Tree and thinking: there is nothing on the other side of these leaves that could possibly make this feel any better, make this be any better. And you may be right. All I’d ask is that you look at your Tree and leave the possibility, the hope that you could be surprised if you could see what was on the other side of the leaves.
For the rest of us, if this year your Thankful Tree is looking a little bare, maybe take a risk.
Write out your Anti-Thankful Tree…and then flip over some leaves. Use a little hope and imagination. Who knows what good there might be on the other side of annoyance or frustration or inconvenience…or even grief or pain or struggle.
