Pre-emptive Gratitude

Recently I heard two charming anecdotes that stuck with me.

One was the story of a Croatian nun. She encouraged a tour group to her ancient abbey to sing a song to test out the amazing acoustics of a particular chapel. They did and belted out a hymn that included the word “Hallelujah.”

It was Lent.

Even though the nun was gracious and calm at the time, it was clear that the whole episode left her a bit consternated. Finally, when one of the group talked about it with her, assuring her they meant no disrespect, the nun – who was bent and wrinkled with age – lit up. “Every day has a hallelujah,” she said. That thought eased her distress.

 

A few days later, I was listening to an interview with a poet. He described his grandmother, who kept a huge vegetable and flower garden her whole life. As she would deal with the inevitable weeds and overgrown plants, she was known to hold up the offending plant, examine it and say “Ain’t that a praiseful thing?” Everything was worthy of her praise and thanks, even the things that were bound for the compost heap.

 

These two stories have been circling around my thoughts for the past two weeks. It took me a while to realize why I needed to hear both of them so much.

I have a story that I’ve been dying to write. I’ve written it over and over in my head, jotted down some notes for it, contemplated what the correct picture would be, the works. It is a post all about thanks: deep, humble, everlasting thanks.

But I haven’t written it because the event hasn’t happened yet.

I don’t want to jinx it.

I don’t know what the outcome will be.

It’s not really my story.

(Mostly, though, I don’t want to jinx it.)

But those two stories – Every day has a hallelujah and Ain’t that a praiseful thing? – kept niggling my brain.

They told me to be grateful every day, for everything.

They reminded me that holding my breath, withholding joy, and overcautious hesitation serve no one. So here goes.

My mom needs a kidney transplant. Lupus destroyed her kidneys and she’s been on dialysis for seven years.

She’s a challenging match, as she’s Type O Negative. (That means that only 16% of all kidneys have even a chance of matching her.)

But last fall, something amazing happened. My cousin Theresa’s husband John, who is no blood relation to my mom, turned out to be a perfect match.

It’s stunning to think about. That someone would risk their health and well-being for another. That someone would be willing to endure pain, discomfort and disruption to their lives for the sake of another.

My mom and dad are extraordinarily grateful of course, but since this is my blog, I’ll focus on my experience.

I am eternally grateful.

I am humbled.

I admit that I wish it could have been me, that I could have been the one to help heal her.

I’m afraid for all of them, because even though these surgeries are done every day, there is always risk.

Mostly, though, I am so grateful.

Every day has a hallelujah.

 

Here’s the rest of the story. The transplant was cancelled. There was a problem with a couple of tests in the days before the surgery. The doctors called everything to a halt to ensure that John was indeed healthy enough to give up a kidney to another.

It was absolutely the right thing to do, even if it felt devastating in the moment.

And in the days and weeks since then, John has endured a battery of tests and analysis. Happily, he seems to be in great health and the test results were probably not anything to worry about.

Ain’t that a praiseful thing?

 

I don’t know if the transplant will happen. But I’ve decided to stop being afraid of jinxing the whole thing and instead express my thanks. My deep, stunned, transforming gratitude that John is the brave, good, giving man that he is.

Even if the transplant never happens, he is worthy of all the gratitude I can show him. The gratitude I’ve been too afraid to speak out loud until I knew for sure everything would work out.

Maybe that’s the thing. Gratitude when things work out is pretty easy. But letting ourselves feel (and express) gratitude even when the outcome is unsure is a bigger challenge.

Every day has a hallelujah. 

Even when we’re afraid to, or we don’t get a chance to speak it, we can look for and find reasons for joy and gratefulness.

I’m so happy to share this story, because whenever I do, people learn about how transplants work – especially from living donors. They are inspired by John’s story, even though they don’t know him. He’s teaching a lot of people to be a little more brave, just by his example.

Ain’t that a praiseful thing?

Thank you John, for the wonderful gift of hope and friendship and love you’ve given my family. No matter how it turns out, I am so, so grateful, and glad I’m no longer waiting to tell everyone about it.

To learn more about how you can be a living donor, or donate your organs after you die, visit:

https://www.kidney.org/transplantation/livingdonors

https://www.organdonor.gov/register.html

 

Photo taken by me with an iPhone several years ago.

 

* A note about the “Hallelujah” – for many Christian traditions, “Hallelujah” or “Alleluia” is avoided during the somber and reflective Lenten season. It is retired the Sunday before Ash Wednesday and isn’t spoken again until Easter morning.