The Biblio File December 2017 Essay: “Thank You”

THANK YOU

I don’t remember exactly why Ed and I met with a marriage counselor thirty years ago. We were probably upsetting each other in the same ways we still can, but hadn’t yet learned to repair. I do remember that the therapist gave us an assignment—a “nurturing exercise”, he called it, with clear directions on how to carry it out.

“You,” he said to Ed, “will prepare a meal for Carol. You’ll sit across from her and you’ll feed her the food, bite by bite.”

“Carol,” he continued, “you can’t speak. Just eat. Just receive what Ed is giving you. When you’re finished, you may only say “Thank you.”

Ed served me at our dining room table. He sat at the end and I sat on his right. I don’t remember what we wore or what the sky was like through our window or what Ed’s face looked like as he fed me.

What I do remember is Ed’s hand, holding the fork, his wedding band gleaming against his fisherman’s tan, and the two perfect eggs, sunny side up on the grey Fiesta plate, next to two perfectly grilled trout he’d caught that morning and cleaned of every tiny bone.

Is this all for me? All this? Really? Gratitude then, a flood of it, sweet and warm. It was more than I could fathom, that the feast laid out in front of me was purely mine—freely given, with no expectation of reciprocity.

Ed says tears rolled down my face. He says I ate every bite and then said “Thank you.” He says it was powerful for him—that he was touched at how touched I was. We both know it was a sweet occasion.

The world has fed me with a generous hand since then. Today, I slept till eight and then sat and drank coffee with my princely, right-hand man, in our comfortable family room filled with pictures of our children and grandchildren. I chose what to wear from way too many clothes, and I wrote a chapter summary of my novel and ordered yet another book on my Kindle. I wrapped Christmas gifts and made an appointment to get my hair cut and ate cream of carrot soup and chocolate bark with pumpkin seeds. I looked out my back window at our river, running high from the rain and at our brightly colored prayer flags strung between two cedars. Gratitude spread through me. All this? For me? Really?

And though reciprocity may not be expected, my gratitude insists I give time and effort and money back to a Universe that has graced and blessed me beyond measure. Ten percent of my money this year—the tithe amount—goes to our church and Habitat for Humanity and Southern Poverty Law Center and Mary’s Place for Homeless Women and the Sun Magazine and Undies for Everyone. Ten percent of my time goes to phone calls to congress and marching for civil rights and writing pieces I hope offer some comfort and facilitating workshops and inviting fellow spiritual travelers into our home for thought-provoking films and discussion.

It seems a paltry amount. A small voice in the great roar of things. But a clear one.

Thank you.

#