There’s never a time when saying “thank you” should feel inappropriate, and never a time we can say we’ve gone beyond the need to be grateful
Dear Journal,
Thanksgiving’s a day when the words “thank you” tumble easily off the tongue.
Not every day’s like that.
It’s hard for some people to say “thanks.” It makes them feel beholden and vulnerable. Yet they know it’s important.
Even those who know nothing about other languages usually pick up on foreign words for “thank you.” In Spanish it’s “gracias.” French speakers say “merci” and the Germans utter “danke schoen.”
But you knew that.
Like music, expressions of gratitude are universal.
Of course, thanking others must be more than a knee-jerk habit — an example of parental training.
True gratitude is a frame of mind, a complete point of view. There’s never a time when saying “thank you” should feel inappropriate, and never a time we can say we’ve gone beyond the need to be grateful.
Fifty years ago I lived many days on the high plains of Bolivia with people who lived in adobe huts and one-room shacks. I spent a lot of time listening to them pray. Often their prayers would never even get to the “asking” part. The whole prayer would be a prayer of thanksgiving.
I remember one ragged young man who spoke in our tiny cinderblock church. He told us — through tears — how he’d read a story about a prisoner of war who gave thanks for the dab of beef fat that he found in his food. The boy had only one pair of socks, yet he wanted us to know how much he took for granted.
I thought of Ryokan, the Japanese monk who had one possession: a rice bowl. One night he came home to find a thief had stolen it. He looked out of the window, saw the moon, then gave thanks the thief had left it behind for him to admire.
No matter how much we have, someone else has more.
And no matter how little we have, someone else has less and feels thankful for it.
As someone said, every night most people in the world pray for things the rest of us take for granted.
Some 44 years ago this November, I was a man with a wife, a son, a dog, but no job.
What I did have was a full bag of brazenness. I walked into the Deseret News and asked Bill Smart, the editor, to put me to work.
I’d never been in a newspaper office before. I’d never taken a journalism class. The idea of working for a newspaper occurred to me, oh, maybe 30 minutes before.
I guess Bill felt — before hiring me — he should ask a couple of questions.
He asked what I thought of newspaper reporters.
“The ones I’ve met,” I said, “seem a bit pushy.”
He asked what my goal would be.
I told him I hoped to become the new Hack Miller, the sports columnist.
That wasn’t the worst answer I could have given; but it was easily among the worst three.
I gave him a little sheaf of things I’d published and hoped to publish. Then I walked across the street, sat down in the Crossroads Mall and put my head in my hands.
A week or two later, I got the job.
I’ve never been so thankful in my life.
Until today.
Today I look back at the past 44 years and I’m blown away. I think of the people I’ve met, the places I’ve gone, the things I’ve seen and learned. Every day has been a banquet.
I have a friend who ends his emails with the word “Thanxamillion.”
But right now, as I type this, I feel a million thanks would just be a good start.
Email: jerjohn@deseretnews.com
from Deseret News https://ift.tt/33hu29O
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario