Being on the wrong side of thankful can be dangerous: it can fill your cup to the brim with negativity and smudge your lenses for seeing Life. Everything appears worse on the wrong side of thankfulness because it is, for you are living under the circumstances: appearance does become your reality. Your days grow into affirmations of what you watched on your favorite news source the night before: the world is going to hell, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. You become Eeyore, “The sky has fallen. Always knew it would.”
But being on the right side of thankful is a choice that begins when we make a conscious effort to find the good, even in the bad. It doesn’t mean we pretend the bad is good, that evil is pure, or that we don’t flee from danger when we need to. It only means that we still search for something positive in the pain and misery and loss that is so much a part of this imperfect Life.
On the right side of thankful, even when it appears that all is lost, we can recall that God is still in the messiest of messes, whether we made the mess or someone else did it for us. The psalmist wrote, “My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak, but God remains the strength of my heart; he is mine forever” (Psalm 73:6). Whether the writer’s wrong choices hastened his ill health or whether his sickness was unrelated to anything he had done, he is nonetheless grateful that God is there with him.
I like stories about wise rabbis. The rabbinic tradition values wisdom as one of the highest qualities in a person. So the rabbi’s stories captivate me, especially if they have a little twist to them, like this one about thankfulness being a matter of perspective.
In his book, How to be Decadent, George Mikes tells the story known as “Nine Men and a Goat.” It goes like this: a man comes to a wise rabbi in Budapest and complains, “Life is unbearable. There are nine of us living in one room. What can I do?”
The rabbi answers, “Take your goat into the room with you.” The man is incredulous, but the rabbi insists. “Do as I say and come back in a week.”
A week later, the man comes back looking more distraught than before. “We cannot stand it,” he tells the rabbi. “The goat is filthy.”
The rabbi then tells him, “Go home and let the goat out. And come back in a week.”
A radiant man returns to the rabbi a week later, exclaiming, “Life is beautiful. We enjoy every minute of it now that there’s no goat — only the nine of us.”
Today it’s cold and rainy. I have a choice: I can complain that it’s too wet and chilly to take my walk, or I can look out the window, turn to my wife and declare, “It’s a rainy day. That means I get to ride my stationary bike, and oh yeah, how about making chili for supper tonight—it’s a perfect day for it.”
Yes, tears still sting my eyes; the thought of another loved one dying tempts me with fear because I don’t want to suffer another loss; my health is good, but I don’t move as fast and smoothly as I used to; I could have chosen another profession and perhaps made more money. I could focus on those facts– the losses, the lag, the lack– and make myself miserable in the process.
Instead, I choose to live on the right side of thankfulness. I can thank the Lord for the time I had with those who have passed my way; I can be grateful for the health I have; and I can praise God for work that I love, a vocation that has provided for our needs and even some wants, and made a difference in the lives of others.
It all depends on what side of thankful you choose to live.
If you don’t believe me, ask the guy living with nine people and a goat.