The Hard Work of a Life of Gratitude

I walk into the elementary school with the flags flying out front and don’t even have to tell the receptionist why we are late again. I nod my head and she knows it was a seizure that stole our morning. After Oliver is checked in he goes off to his class and we are escorted to the physical therapy room to discuss his new wheelchair and leg braces. We have waited almost a year for the wheelchair to be approved by insurance.

Oliver has been toe walking for years and now we have to try braces, otherwise there will be a surgery that cuts the back of his heel to make sure his hips are not irreparably damaged. Our physical therapist shows us how to push his foot into the braces. He is often unwilling to comply with our prodding and I can’t blame him. I get the hang of it quickly and pull the tube sock over the lip of the brace that is right below his knee. His legs are pure muscle from hours of daily trampoline jumping and my middle aged arms are no longer an equal match for his strength.

I am struck by the ugliness of the shoes the braces fit into. They look like what an old woman at K&W Cafeteria, with a walker would be wearing. They are a far cry from his Chuck Taylors. I just keep thinking, there must be a more attractive option?! Almost in the same moment as thinking about their ugliness I immediately feel guilty for my vanity and ingratitude. Why can’t I just see the braces and shoes and feel grateful? In another country or century we probably would have already lost Oliver. Why can’t I see the shoe and thank God for it? The truth is, it is a fight to cultivate a heart of gratitude when you are watching your child squirm and fight. Gratitude is not so much a spring, but a deep well. You have to send the bucket down deep and pull it out.

Dig the well of gratitude in your heart and send a bucket down. Don’t be surprised when you have to struggle with the weight of it all to bring up the bucket. Living a life of gratitude is hard work.

Oliver is brought into the physical therapy room by his one-on-one aide worker, Ms. Kinnett. She is young and patient, with a face that looks constantly empathetic. You can tell her heart is soft and their is no hint of jadedness within her. As we are about to fit him for the new wheelchair we realize he needs a diaper change, which is now greatly complicated by the braces on his legs. The time has flown by as we discuss the many wheelchair components, the three years we have before we can get another one, and if this is the right thing for our wild child. I look at my watch and realize I am running late for a really important work event, The Inspiration Lab.

We lay Oliver down on the table to change him. Ms. Kinnet is holding a book and trying to charm him into submission. He is unwilling to lie there compliantly, so three adults are wrestling with a first grader, with large metal braces on his legs. I am trying not to rip my pantyhose or split my pencil skirt while Oliver is actively kicking us. I take Oliver’s pull-up off in order to get to his diaper. As soon as I rip the side Andrew sighs...uh-oh...now we have to take the braces off, because his pants have to come off too. We all just look at each other. I want to scream “S---” at the top of my lungs, but I’m in an elementary school. The clock is ticking. As we are wrestling, Andrew says, “he doesn’t even have a poop.” We are all greatly relieved.

It is in these moments that I want to quit. I know I am not supposed to feel this way. I am supposed to tell you that I feel like a superhero. I want to yell out “ F-You Tuberous Sclerosis. I hate you.” I hate you for stealing my dream of a big family and ski vacations. I hate you for robbing me of Saturday morning soccer games and Christmas cookie baking for Santa. For stealing the Christmas plays at church and the conversations about Jesus that I longed to have with our sweet boy.

I let out a deep sigh and leave Andrew to wrap up the meeting and decisions. I say my goodbyes to the physical therapists, Ms. Kinnet, the two medical equipment sales reps and Andrew. I speed walk to sign out in the school office. I walk out of the school, take off my visitor sticker and walk into the cold February air. I really, really want to cry. My lip is trembling, but I just keep breathing in the biting air. I want to sob, but I have fixed my make-up for the event that is now happening in 90 minutes. Emotional control is one of the by products of living in a constant medical crisis. I am not sure if it is healthy, but it is helpful. I gain my composure.

As I drive to the event space I find that bucket in my mind. I know I have to force myself to drop it into the well. I have to draw up some gratitude and perspective.

Inspiration Lab 

I walk into the event space with the river sparkling outside of the windows. There is a flurry of activity as last minute details come together. 60 women will flood through the doors in a matter of minutes. I do a mic check, fiddle with the mini unicorns on the table and thank the amazing team that helped put this together. As I stand looking at the room I finally get the bucket in my hands. I survey the room and take a drink of gratitude. My life as a mom is not at all how I imagined it would be. My life as a business owner is not at all how I imagined. One has been an unexpected calling and a life passion, one harder than I could have imagined with plot twists at every turn, but the juxtaposition is why I am at this event, The Inspiration Lab. A place for women to have authentic and vulnerable conversations about our lives, our hopes, our dreams.

The truth is that even if you are in a wasteland of parched earth— if you have a well, you will survive.

If The Source of all good things created the water then you can trust it will never run dry. You may need help getting to the gratitude, the inspiration, the hope, but it is there. If you have eyes to see them, there are wells in every single desert of your life.

What is even better than finding a well that will never go dry is having friends at the well with you. When you are out of buckets, when your arms are too tired to pull up the weight of the good stuff, when you are parched for truth, you’ll lean over to that friend and they’ll dig deep with you.

Gratitude is not so much a spring, but a deep well. Start digging...