a thanksgiving epistle…
NOTE: Every year I send out a “Thanksgiving epistle” to friends and family on Thanksgiving Eve… I thought I would share it this week…
“For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven... (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
For everything, there is a season... This is the season (at least in the United States) to focus on Thanksgiving. Here, it is a holiday; for me, it is a discipline. It is a day to give thanks and a discipline to apply myself to, lest my gratitude be rote or generic platitudes that lack life's context.
As I anticipated another annual Slomka Thanksgiving letter, I was drawn to the theme of "aging"—something we all have in common—and how it contributes to the discipline of thanksgiving.
I recognize that many (if not most?) reading this are younger than me. Let me assure you upfront that this will not be a critique, commentary, or consideration to impart for your unique journeys. I am not writing to advise… simply to share. Perhaps my thoughts will echo something of your own for those my age or older. Regardless, all of us are part of an aging community on diverse journeys filled with experience and insight.
Aging presents me with a cornucopia of opportunities (how's that for a holiday metaphor?!) for giving thanks. I realize my thinking was more binary when I was younger. When we are children, days are good or bad, fun or boring, happy or sad, scary or safe. Aging permits me to have a more nuanced and expansive context for gratitude. I can be grateful amidst grief for the gift of people I have lost to death; I can thank God for the resilience challenge has produced in me; I can express gratitude for His presence amidst anxiety and uncertainty. This is not a matter of looking for the silver linings amidst life's clouds. Instead, it is the opportunity to have my capacity for gratitude enlarged by insights aging brings. Rare is the day that lacks the context and the opportunity for thanksgiving that aging provides.
Aging has multiplied my joy and, therefore, my thanksgiving. I no longer think life can be so neatly divided between young and old. I still have an inner 12-year-old who loves superheroes, fantasy stories, a good ice cream cone, fast food, secret agents, competitions, and loud music. And, come to think of it, I think my 12-year-old self had an inner adult who loved art, books, the power of story, museums, Ella Fitzgerald, the Gershwin Brothers, watching sports, innovation, and reflective thinking. All that to say, those things that brought delight when I was younger continue to do so today -- only more so.
Aging invites me to fully cherish the opportunities, people, conversations, and discoveries that populate my "todays." Since I have no promise of mortal life tomorrow, [aging]() has reminded me that life is not about longevity. How I live is more important than how long I live. Who I have done life with is more important than how many I have known across my life. The opportunities I have been given are more significant than the achievements I have accomplished. Aging has a way of recalibrating life's treasures. As I age, I am more uncertain about what, if anything, I have accomplished that has lasting value. But aging has made me more certain of the people and opportunities God has blessed me with, igniting my gratitude.
Aging has inspired me to be more observant. I am mindful that there is no guarantee that I will have this conversation, see that bird, enjoy the sun's warmth, or glean a new insight tomorrow. Far from making life somber or maudlin, aging is a daily invitation to be alert, see, learn, listen, engage, serve, and love. When I was younger, I simply presumed there would always be tomorrow; I'm not as sure today. Aging does not make me feel desperate, anxious, or insecure; it makes me feel an urgent curiosity and desire to maximize these days. Aging has made me grateful that I have more vision and yearning than I have a lifetime to realize -- a sure sign that God has put eternity in my heart... that I was ultimately made for a different time-line that mortality limits.
In one of his letters, C. S. Lewis once asked what we would do if aging and death were optional—assuming everything remained as they were—the promise of eternal life in Christ, the love of God, etc. What if the day of separating ourselves from mortality, for our true destiny with God, was up to us? He wondered whether our love for this life would keep us tethered to this compromised yet beautiful mortal coil or whether we would choose to separate ourselves from our joys, accomplishments, and loves on this for the forever life we were created for. That's where aging comes in. Aging is a process that resets my compass towards God, producing gratitude for the joy set before me. His love bridges both "shores," and aging becomes the guide who will ultimately position me to be brought safely home.
This Thanksgiving, my gratitude is more alive than ever. I am grateful to you and for you...
your faces…
your love...
your wisdom...
your laughter...
your inspiration…
your lives;
The opportunity to add more names to my Thanksgiving email list is a further sign that God blesses my life by enlarging the community I am fortunate to share life with.
The words of David's song again resonate and stir my soul to gladness: "You, God, crown the year with Your good blessings, and You leave abundance in Your wake." (Psalm 65.11)
When I awake tomorrow morning, I will awaken with life that God has made full through you.
Thank you...
Mark
