'Nothing Left to Wish For': Thoughts on Thanksgiving

Before the movie Race to Witch Mountain (with Dwayne Johnson) came out in 2009, I watched the 1975 original: Escape to Witch Mountain. Two mysterious orphans—a brother and sister—possess strange powers, including telekinesis and mind reading. I felt that I had a special connection with them because I can read my sister's mind. (No, really. One time I told this kid at church I could read Katie's mind. I told the kid that Katie was thinking about a tuna fish sandwich. When we asked my sister what she was thinking about, guess what she said? A tuna fish sandwich.)

Anyway, the two kids stay temporarily in this huge mansion with these rich people. They don't know it yet, but the rich people want to steal their powers somehow. In the meantime, though, the kids have this huge house with all of these awesome toys and pretty much everything they could ever want. When I was 8, I thought the house in the movie looked like the coolest thing ever. But before the kids even figured out the nefarious motives of their adopters, the sister tells her brother why they cannot stay there. She says something like: "We have to leave. If we stay, there will be nothing left to wish for."

I didn't understand it. Didn't they want a family? Weren't all of the toys and the house enough to make them happy? Why would they leave? But they did. In my little 8-year-old mind, I thought about what it would be like to have nothing left to wish for. It didn't sound like a bad thing. So what was wrong with that concept?

Like birthdays and New Year's, Thanksgiving is often a time to reflect on the happenings of the past year. Some families might squeeze 10 people around a too-small dining room table—every inch of it covered in plates of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey, and apple pie—and take a few minutes to share what they are thankful for. We're thankful for our families, country, friends, God, education, etc.

I'm thankful for some of the same things all the time, but every year I have some new blessings to count. For instance, this year, the Lord answered three of my prayers for this semester, all in ways I did not expect. All three were cases in which I noticed something was missing from my life, and I asked God to fill it. He did.

Thankfulness is kind of like binary code. The things you have are 1's, and the things you don't are 0's. Because you have, for example, food to eat each day, you might consider what it would be like if you didn't know where your next meal would come from. On the other hand, maybe you don't have a job, and you're looking for one. You think about what it would be like to find the right job because it's something you notice that you don't have. The reason we notice we have something to be thankful for or that we don't have something we want is because the people around us either lack what we have, or they have what we desperately want.

I don't think Binary Thankfulness really covers it because that's operating under the assumption that 1) we know what we need and 2) life is only about getting what we need or want. So many of my unanswered prayers brought me to praise God years later because my requests were foolish, and the Lord had different plans. So often God provides me with blessings I didn't even ask for, and I wonder how I didn't notice the emptiness in my life beforehand. I have found new joy this year in trying to give back. We are the hands and feet of Christ, and it is a great privilege to figure out how we can show the love of Christ to others.

This year I didn't get the first summer job I applied for, but I got to do a writing job from home and spend time with my family. I don't see my parents much because they live 13 hours away. I got to do some really neat work this semester in grad school, and I made some new friends. I could write an entire blog post about all of the things I'm thankful for, but it would take years to write and probably break Blogger. I'm primarily thankful for the people in my life: my parents, sister, extended family, professors/mentors, pastors/teachers, old friends who still put up with me, and new friends. I see a little bit of Jesus in each of my Christian friends, and spending time with them makes it easier to be like Him.

For the first 22 years of life, most people I knew did the same thing: go to school, get into college, go to college, and graduate. Now, though, people are branching out and doing different things. Some people are married. Some are having kids. Others are teaching overseas or pursuing artistic goals. Still others are moving up the corporate ladder or looking for the perfect job. Then there are a few like me who are in college part 2 grad school. We all are doing different activities; we all have different blessings; we all make different contributions, and that is okay. Though it is important to use your time wisely, you don't have to do what everyone else is doing. Look at all the unique blessings the Lord has offered us!

I don't have everything. I'm not yet sure what I'm doing when I graduate (despite the 70,000 people who have asked me what I'm doing). I have so much to learn. I want to be a better writer. I want to understand people, ideas, health insurance, directions, savings accounts, taxes, and politics. I want to do things and go places and serve people and get to know God better. Who knows how much time I have left here on Earth? I want to live every day like it's the day the Lord has made. (Oh, wait... it is!) I am learning to be thankful for what I have without slowing down. How far I've come is no reason to stop. How far I have to go is no reason to complain.

Have you ever heard the saying, "If you had everything, where would you put it?" I always thought that was a stupid saying. Because if I owned everything, no one would be telling me to put my stuff away. I'd just walk around and think, "Well, I own that tower, and that beach, and that library, and that walrus. Oh, look, it's my collection of rare amphibians." But what does it mean to have everything? I'm certain that even if we all could wish for whatever we wanted, we would not be able to ascertain what is best for us.

At the end of the Escape to Witch Mountain (spoiler alert!), the two kids meet up with their long lost uncle and escape in a flying saucer. I'm pretty sure it was implied that they are from some distant planet, which is obviously different from Earth. Beside the fact that their adopters were going to try to steal their powers, the kids would not have been happy living in the Giant Mansion With Everything... because they didn't belong there. They belonged in a different world.

C.S. Lewis wrote, "If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probably explanation is that we were made for another world." That is why—in this life—we will never be left with nothing else to long for. We do have Jesus now, but we don't belong in this world. Thanksgiving is a wonderful time to recognize the many blessings God has given us, even in this fallen world, even when we don't deserve them, even when we don't immediately recognize them. It's a good time to become the kind of people who serve others so that they will have more to be thankful for. And it's a great time to remember that this world cannot satisfy, but one day we will be with Jesus—the reason we exist, the reason we have anything, and the reason we can be saved.

"When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we'd first begun."
—Amazing Grace

I'm Jack, and I'm Here

I'm Jack, and I'm here. A bed stands between me and my life. My life is a 5'3" Norwegian woman with smudged mascara and a mound of blonde hair wadded up behind her left ear. She is shaking; she has been crying. She holds my destiny in her hand. My destiny is a gun, and it's pressed against her temple.

If she pulls the trigger, I will never want to see the sun again.

"Shannon," I say, holding out my hands. "Shannon, it's Jack. Your husband. I'm here. I'm here." I'm not sure how many times I repeat it, but it's the only thing I know for sure. I've stopped her once before. Before it was a knife. She said it was an accident. She said she wouldn't try again. Those two statements are obviously at odds with one another.

It's December 23rd, and The Accident happened four years ago today. I should have called someone. I should have known this would happen today. That's another thing I know for sure: if she pulls the trigger, it will be my fault.

"Shannon," I say again. "Just put the gun down. Talk to me. I'm here." I start to walk around the bed toward her.

"No...no!" she says, her teeth gritted and her eyes bloodshot. "Stay back!"

I stop walking, my heart beating in my ears.

"I should have been watching her," she continues. "It eats me alive. It won't leave me! It's here now, tormenting me!" She gestures wildly with both hands before jamming the gun against her head again. Fresh tears squeeze out the corners of her eyes.

When she tried the knives, I caught her in the middle of it. She said she was cutting vegetables, but I don't know how the underside of her forearm would have gotten in the way. I took her to the emergency room. I was glad I was there.

I feel myself start to cry, too. Crying is okay, as long as I don't panic. I wonder if I could call someone. But I know if I reach for the phone, it will set her off. She is determined this time.

I try to relax my stance. "It wasn't your fault," I say. "You couldn't have known! You know—Jenny—liked to get into things. It wasn't your fault." It is still hard to say her name.

Shannon lets out a sob. "Don't say that!" she yells. "I knew she liked to get into things! We needed another gate. I should have been there. It is my fault." She looks around the room as if there are others here, as if they are all pointing and accusing her.

I don't know how I can convince her. We went to all kinds of counselors and therapists and pastors. We did yoga and meditated and went to church and moved to a different town. We even lived with her parents for a few months. I held her while we sobbed. I let her throw things at me and scream. I lived alone even though she was there. I worked 60 hours per week because she wasn't fit to work anymore. I came home to her, and I came home to no one. I came home and set down my papers and took off my jacket and looked at her, sitting at the table, exactly where I left her. It was like she didn't even know I was home. I am Jack, and I have always been here.

"You're all I have!" I say. "You're all I want. Put it down. I love you. I'm here."

"I don't want to be here!" she screams. She presses the gun more forcefully into her head and squeezes her eyes shut.

I consider leaping over the bed and tackling her. But what if she pulled the trigger once I grab her? What if I could have changed her mind? I can't do that. That will never work. "She wouldn't want this," I say, feeling the panic rise in me.

"Jenny was 3! She wants her mother!" Shannon says through her teeth, shaking worse than ever now.

Four years ago, our daughter wandered into the backyard and somehow opened the child safety lock on the gate. She fell in the pool and drown while my wife was making dinner. I wasn't home. Every year this day is hard, but this is the worst it's ever been. I have never brought up trying to have more children because I'm afraid of what she would say. Most nights she goes to bed early, and I sit and watch TV until my mind is numb, and I can't keep my eyes open. She can sleep because she takes those sleeping pills the therapist gave her. I just run until everything hurts, and then I can sleep.

"That's not how it works," I say. "I'm here. I'm afraid. Don't leave me." I don't know how many times I've told her it isn't her fault. I had to go to a therapist, too, because I couldn't bear to tell her that I saw my daughter's round blue eyes in my own every time I leaned close to the mirror to shave. I don't know how many times I've made two plates of food and thrown out one because she won't eat. I don't know how many times I've begged her to leave the house for something other than therapy. I don't know how many times I've sped down the highway, screaming at God and asking why He had to take my daughter and my wife, too. I just wanted her to try to heal with me, but it's like she's not even here.

I'm Jack, and I'm here. I'm here, and yet this is her choice. No matter how hard I tried the past four years, in this moment, I cannot stop her from killing herself. I repeat empty words and beg her to stop. I tell her the truth: that I love her, that I need her. I'm here; I'm here; I'm here, I say over and over and over. Stay with me. Don't do this. Stay with me. If she's here, there's hope she will come back to me, even if it takes years. If she's gone, I am lost forever.

"I'm going to do it, Jack," she whispers. "I'm so sorry..."

"Please..." I'm panicking now. I can barely see because my eyes are making tears faster than they can escape down my face.

"I'm sorry..." she whispers. I see her hand tense, and I know I'm about to watch my wife take her own life.

And then I turn my back to her. "I can't make you live," I say, "but I'm not going to watch you die." I hear her ragged breathing continue. She cocks the gun.

I sink to my knees and start to sob. I want to cover my ears, but I know I'll hear it anyway. The next few moments feel like an eternity, and I wish I'd never been born. My human soul does not have enough room to contain the pain it will have to hold in a few moments.

Then I hear it. It sounds less like a gunshot and more like a clatter. She dropped the gun. Footsteps. My wife is beside me. She's touching my shoulder. I look over at her through my tears. "Jack?"

I take her in my arms. "I'm here," I say. "I will always be here."

The Personification of Days—Which Day are You?

If you've been following these posts on facebook, thanks for humoring me. I wrote this because I believe every day is some kind of holiday. Have you noticed that the days of the week seem to have different personalities? You haven't? Well, they do. These might describe someone you know. Or someone I know. ;) Which day are you?

Once upon a time, it was Sunday. Sunday sends birthday cards to people she hasn't seen in years, eats only gluten free and vegetarians foods, and can sing even the most cantankerous baby to sleep in minutes. Sunday gives almost half her salary to charity and is the only one who is nice to Monday. Friday often calls her a "goody two-shoes." Sunday replies, "Well, that is better than a goody one-shoe." Her jokes aren't very good. Sunday is kind and pleasant all day... until around 9 p.m. when she remembers all the tasks she didn't accomplish. Then she turns crazy. Rumor has it she has even—on occasion—directed a few snide comments at Monday.
(Sunday would like to remind you that she is the first day of the week, not the last. Happy Sunday and God bless.)

Once upon a time, it was Monday. Monday is often sarcastic and is known for being cynical. He tends to brood about his past and watch his surroundings with suspicion. Sometimes he wishes he had friends, but then he remembers he would have to talk to people. And people are stupid. You know that cruel (but funny) meme you saw on the Internet? Monday probably created it. Monday enjoys sending the world into a state of panic and despair. Though the sun rises like every morning, darkness seems to shroud the minds and hearts of those who rise from this beds. But eventually they always remember that we get to move on to Tuesday, but Monday never does. We drink coffee and smile.
(Bring it on, Monday. We're not scared of you. And we know you secretly watch Disney Channel and purchase groceries for your elderly neighbor.)

Once upon a time, it was Tuesday. Now, Tuesday, is Monday's little brother. Everyone dislikes Monday so much that even if Tuesday misbehaves, no one seems to notice. Tuesday likes to pull pranks, such as telling you that you forgot to turn in work on Monday. (This is doubly fun for Tuesday because it annoys you AND Monday.) He's unnaturally energetic and doesn't like to sleep. When it's Tuesday, we might be slightly groggy from the first weekday, but we drive to work anyway, this time remembering to pack a lunch and thank the Lord we have a job. Tuesday is a little weasel; for some reason we don't mind him. We drink coffee and pretend to be productive.
(Hello, Tuesday. Do your worst.)

Once upon a time, it was Wednesday. Now, Wednesday is a bit prideful; she likes to point out that she is not only the middle of the work week but also the middle of the ENTIRE week. She is a bit snotty and vain. Wednesday loves that little children have trouble spelling her name. And she HATES that someone gave her the nickname "Hump Day." By the time Wednesday rolls around, we are in a groove, and we've accepted that we're living through a work week. Some of us may hate to admit it, but we actually like Wednesdays.
("MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE! Guess what day it is?! HUMP DAY!" Do something, Wednesday.)

Once upon a time, it was Thursday. Thursday is the most unappreciated of the seven. He watches the world through his jet black bangs and scribbled furiously into his journal whilst listening to depressing music. Thursday doesn't cause much trouble and is actually a pretty nice guy; also, you wouldn't expect it, but he can sing impressive tenor harmony when it's applicable. We don't anticipate Thursday, but we don't dread it, either. Everyone wants to rush past poor Thursday to get to his older, cooler brother, Friday.
(I like you, Thursday. Don't listen to the haters.)

Once upon a time, it was Friday. Friday is the type of guy who can look cool doing anything, even if it's just putting on socks or eating an ice cream cone. And let's face it—NO ONE looks cool eating an ice cream cone. He gets the right number of ice cubs from the dispenser on the first try. The bus driver would wait for him, but Friday never takes the bus. The party starts when he walks in, even if originally no party was going to happen. The only girl who won't go out with him is Wednesday. The only person Friday openly hates is Rebecca Black. He's a lot of fun when he's there, but he's never around when you need him most.
(Happy Friday. Gotta love him.)

Once upon a time, it was Saturday. Saturday has lots of friends, loves Nutella, and believes in the healing power of Netflix. She has started 52 Pinterest crafts but never finished one. (Expect for that one time her sister Sunday made Pinterest cupcakes shaped liked Cookie Monster. Saturday "finished" those.) Saturday falls asleep during movies, class and occasionally rock concerts. But she doesn't often go to rock concerts unless she can wear her pajamas. She has never been awake before noon.
(Hello, Saturday, We like you even though you only last 8 hours. It's not your fault.)

I'm Tuesday. ;)