Why being thankful for small things is something we should do all year

Thanksgiving kicks off the holiday season with an emphasis on being thankful for the abundance of blessings we take for granted in this country.

I’m as guilty as the next person, going about my daily life, enjoying so many wonderful benefits, and yet being annoyed over silly issues, like the tire pressure on my car is low and needs attention. These silly little items, as unimportant as they are, stand out when you examine them because they highlight how spoiled we are, especially when our attention is turned toward the plight of so many around the world who live under horrible circumstances, their lives in constant danger.

With these thoughts in mind, I try to sustain my thankfulness as best I can, knowing it’s a challenge, a fragile endeavor so easily thrown off course when life doesn’t go exactly as expected. But I find that a simple reminder each morning to put myself “in the moment” really helps. With this as a daily refocus, I can choose things I’m thankful for, with special attention to things I have been ignoring and taking for granted.

One thing I don’t ignore or take for granted is my dog, Noelle, a Jack Russell we got four years ago. She won’t let me ignore her, and for that, I am grateful and blessed constantly with her antics, habits, and excitement that she is so glad to see me when I walk in the door.

I must admit, however, that at least some of Noelle’s enthusiastic affection is purchased in a sense, influenced by the fact that I’m the “treat guy.” I dearly love sending her on “treasure hunts” in which I take a handful of her food and spread it all over the house. Then I watch her sprinting around, tracking down every single piece over the next ten minutes, relentlessly retracing again and again to make certain every piece is accounted for.

My hero, my sister Georgia

A huge item on my thankfulness list is my hero, my sister Georgia, and she looms big over the holidays. I lost her a few years ago and my life took a major hit, leaving a gaping hole. Her role as my hero began when I was a kid in Pittsburgh. My friends had big brothers who would stand up for them when things got tight. For me, it was my sister, which was both good and bad.

Georgia was fearless and would take on anybody, no matter what. While this was helpful when I was in a pinch, you can imagine how much teasing I took that my sister had to protect me. The good news is, this teasing pushed me to do something about it and at an early age I started doing pushups, sit-ups, and pullups every day, and relentlessly punching a homemade heavy bag, eventually getting myself to the point where I could handle my own business.

One reason among many that Georgia is especially heavy on my mind at this time of year is a story I tell anyone polite enough to listen. I call it the “Best Christmas Ever,” and it makes the point about being truly thankful for the right reasons.

The ‘Best Christmas Ever’

Growing up, we had few material possessions. Our house was a tiny 700 square feet, cramped and in a constant state of disrepair. But, since everyone else in the neighborhood was in the same boat, we never thought of ourselves as being as poor as we were. Both my mother and father worked long hours, so as Christmas approached each year, Georgia took charge and made sure one way or the other that Christmas was special with handmade decorations for the tree and front door, homemade cookies, etc.

When I was 12, she was in nursing school and as Christmas approached, she was in Philadelphia interning at a psychiatric facility. The only thing I could think about was her coming home because it couldn’t be Christmas without her, and I counted the days with great anticipation.

Then we got the news. A massive snowstorm hit Philadelphia and there was no way Georgia could fly home. Her phone call was devastating, and I can still feel the bleak hollowness of that Christmas Eve with everyone trying to pretend. Everyone except me. I moped and felt sorry for myself and at the midnight candlelight church service I prayed hard for a miracle I knew couldn’t happen.

The next morning I was awakened by a tapping on my back. “Go away,” I said, ducking further under the covers. I wasn’t ready to face Christmas and hoped the day would pass quickly. My mother tapped me again and told me it was time to get up and there was a cup of hot chocolate waiting for me in the kitchen.

“I don’t want any,” I said.

Then I heard, “But, I fixed it with marshmallows, just the way you like it.” It was Georgia’s voice.

She had talked her way onto an overcrowded train to Pittsburgh, as only Georgia could do, sitting all night on the floor, getting home just a few hours ago. I jerked the covers off, turned, and saw my family standing there around my bed. Wow! I can’t recall any of my gifts that year, and it didn’t matter. Having Georgia home made it the best Christmas ever.

Admittedly, I’m sobbing as I write this, but it’s tears of joy and thankfulness for all my blessings, and especially for Georgia, my hero. Have a Merry and “Thankful” Christmas!

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