A Gift

I'm reading a book called, "Tracks Of A Fellow Struggler." Here is an excerpt that makes me contemplate this thing we call life.

"When World War II started, my family did not have a washing machine. With gas rationed and the laundry several miles away, keeping our clothes clean became an intensely practical problem. One of my father's younger business associates was drafted and his wife prepared to go with him, and we offered to let them store their furniture in our basement. Quite unexpectedly, they suggested that we use their washing machine while they were gone. 'It would be better for it to b running,' they said, 'than sitting up rusting.' So this is what we did, and it helped us a great deal.

Since I used to help with washing, across the years I developed quite an affectionate relation for that old green Bendix. But eventually the war ended, and our friends returned, and in the meantime I had forgotten how the machine had come to be in our basement in the first place. When they came and took it, I was terribly upset and I said so quite openly.

But my mother, being the wise woman she is, sat me down and put things in perspective. She said, 'Wait a minute, son. You must remember, that machine never belonged to us in the first place. That we ever got to use it at all was a gift. So, instead of being mad at its being taken away, let's use this occasion to be grateful that we ever had it at all.'

Here, in a nutshell, is what it means to understand something as a gift and to handle it with gratitude, a perspective biblical religion puts around all of life. And I am here to testify that this seems to me to be the best way down from the Mountain of Loss. I do not mean to say that such a perspective makes things easy, for it does not. But at least it makes things bearable when I remember that Laura Lue was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned or deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift, even when it is taken away, is gratitude, then I am better able to try to thank God that I was ever given her in the first place.

Even though it is very, very hard I am doing my best to learn this discipline now. Everywhere I turn there are reminders of her --- things we did together, things she said, things she loved. And in the presence of these reminders, I have two alternatives. I can dwell on the fact that she has been taken away, and dissolve in remorse that all of this is gone forever. Or, focussing on the wonder that she was ever given at all, I can resolve to be grateful that we shared life, even for an all-too-short ten years. There are only two choices here, but I believe me, the best way out for me is the way of gratitude. The way of remorse does not alter the stark reality one whit and only makes matters worse. The way of gratitude does not alleviate the pain, but it somehow puts some light around the darkness and creates strength to begin to move on"

I try my best to think of you as a gift, but so often I get lost in the darkness and I dwell in all the reminders and how much I miss you so. I will try so hard to keep reminding myself that you are a gift and just like he says it won't ease the pain but maybe it will keep me from the dark side of remorse. I love you so much honey! Always and for the rest of my life....your baby girl. xoxoxox