The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next.

                                  --Mignon McLaughlin

Suddenly and inexplicably, more often than anyone ever suspects, life stuns us with loss. A phone call in the middle of the night, a TV bulletin across the screen, a pounding at the door or a raging invisible pandemic that sweeps around the world in less than eighty days, ravishing and destroying lives faster than we can count. And what was, only a moment ago—what we took for granted—serenity, sanity, security, safety, sameness, the sacred ordinary—has been ruthlessly snatched away.  Now we are left helplessly behind—bewildered, bereft, and incredulous at the unimaginable facing us--as we take a number in the waiting room of heartbreak.  

The litany of loss seems enormous, the chasm between our past and our future fathomless. Will tomorrow be another day?

There are simply no words to express, or to console or encourage and yet, I can’t not write to you.  In the realm of the unspeakable, there are no countries now. No politics. No borders. No outsiders.  No wall, nor fences stops the Pale Rider we were warned about.  When was that? Oh, only two thousand years ago. It seems like yesterday.

There’s no explanation, no reasoning, no self-help mantra, no belief big enough to surmount the anguish so many people feel at this moment. There’s no secret on earth to help us come to grips with the vast unknown. And yet, for hope, for inspiration look at the bravery of our First Responders, our doctors, our nurses and hospital staff—our heroes and heroines in the trenches and on the front lines, all the people rushing to help.  God bless you and your families. Thank you for your courage and compassion. You are collectively our Comforters in Chief.

I’ve written for twenty five years about the power of Gratitude to change our lives for the better.  It’s easy to be grateful and to write about gratitude when life hums—when there’s money in the bank, when you’re healthy and have a roof over your head.  But what I’ve not shared or written about enough is how Gratitude’s mystical power is greatest when She holds us together even as we’re falling apart—when a global pandemic forces you to the unemployment line, makes you afraid to go to work, or take a loved one to the ICU.

Because ironically, Gratitude’s most profound mysteries are revealed when we are struggling; during personal turmoil and overcome with doubt. Gratitude fills in the gaps. When we stumble in the darkness, rage in anger at the unfairness and throw faith across the room.  When we abandon all hope and cry ourselves to sleep, Gratitude waits patiently to console and reassure us that we will get through whatever it is that we think we can’t or won’t get over, and if we can’t get over it,  we will, eventually get through it.

The Bible instructs us “to give thanks in all circumstances,” but it doesn’t tell us we have to be smiling while we say it. In Catholic and Eastern Orthodox faiths, tears have always been considered one of the special gifts of the Holy Spirit. The Talmud teaches that “Even when the gates of Heaven are closed to prayers, they are open to tears” and in the Hebrew Old Testament, an entire book of the Bible is devoted to crying—the Book of Lamentations.  And the Psalmist (56:8) recalls that “You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”  What book might that be?

Could it be a Divine Gratitude Journal? 

Our most profound lessons about the meaning of life, love, goodness and courage are revealed when physicians and nurses put plastic garbage bags around themselves to nurse us. When paramedics, ambulance drivers, fire fighters and police rush in to carry us to safety. When the military sets up field hospitals in our parks. When industry pivots to make protective and life sustaining medical supplies before profits. When the woman who owns the shuttered boutique you so love begins to sew masks. When public health physicians tell us to shelter in place and we stay home so that our blessed health care comforters can save our lives without losing their own.

We’re all scared. Being scared is a sacred warning signal triggered to keep you and yours out of harm’s way.  Just change the position of the letters “a” and “c” and scared becomes sacred.  Being scared is a primordial instinct meant to keep you alive in dangerous situations until you can get the hell out of them.  The more scared I am about any situation or circumstance, the more imperative it is for me to acknowledge it, face it, and learn how to push through to overcome it—and today I must do that by staying at home and writing to you.

There is a story of a woman who lost her only child and was left shattered, inconsolable, and alone. She went to the Buddha to ask his help in healing her wounded spirit. If he couldn’t help her, she would follow her only child to the grave and forgo her destiny. She would not, could not, continue to live this way. The Buddha agreed to help but told the mother she must first bring him back a mustard seed from a house that had never known sorrow. And so the woman set out to find one. Her search took her a long time. She went from house to house all over the world but there was not one that had never entertained grief as a guest. However, because every house knew what her pain felt like, they wanted to give her a gift to help ease her anguish. It could not make it go away, but it might help.

When the woman returned home she opened her heart and showed the Buddha what she had been given: acceptance, forbearance, understanding, gratitude, courage, compassion, hope, truth, empathy, remembrance, strength, tenderness, wisdom and love. “The gifts were given to help me,” she told him.

“Ah, they were? And how do you feel now?” he asked the woman.

“Different. Heavier. Each gift comforts me in its own way, but there were so many I had to enlarge my heart to carry them all and they make me feel sated. What is this strange full feeling?”

“Sorrow.”

“You mean I’m like the others now?”

“Yes,” said the Buddha softly. “You are no longer alone.”

And neither are you. In the realm of the unspeakable, we are becoming fluent.  Gracias. Grazie. Merci. Danke. Mesi. Tapadh leat. Go raibh maith agat. Tack. Tak skal du have. Hvala vam. Adank.

Tell me please, how to say thank you in your dialect, so you can hear me.

Dearest love and blessings on their courage and our own.

And a heartfelt Thank you.

XO SBB