The Glass is Always Half Full
I have a new favorite song: Good Life by One Republic. It comes at a time when I should probably have it pumped into my ears 24/7, reminding myself that indeed, this is a good life, and it is.
Ask my children, “Is your mom an optimist or a pessimist?” and they will tell you, hands down, “Oh, she sees the best in everything.” The silver lining; the glass half full; the promise of a new tomorrow; the hope that things will get better. I need not go on with any more clichés. They chuckle a bit at this, perhaps, because they also know my “story.” The “family of origin” story. The legacy of my family is not a rated-G Brady Bunch (if you watched television in the 70’s) story. It’s more of a “Cape Fear” mixed with “Mommy Dearest” with a twist of “Fantasy Island” thrown in for good looks 🙂 Hundreds of dollars of therapy and a counseling degree to my name and “Tadah!” here I am, living to tell about it, relatively unjaded and a true optimist! Huh! Go figure?
This optimism and hope or redemption is the message of my book, Out of Breath. Really, each one of us has a situation in life like that of the prodigal son in which we’ve walked away from that which is good and right, all hope is lost, we don’t deserve redemption, but the father waits with open arms and receives back the son that was lost. Redemption. That father was an optimist. He saw the glass half full. He never gave up when critics said, “Come on man…he’s a loser!”
There have been some dark days in my life lately as I’ve endured a great deal of physical pain. It has been beyond painful. It would be a lie to say that I’ve been upbeat and positive all the time. I’ve thrown my hands in the air and said, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stand it any longer.” Not once have my friends or family seen me as weak, or undeserved of help. They have not judged, or told me to “buck-up.”
Instead they came along side me and said, “It’s okay…we’ll stand for you.” And cook for you. And drive for you. And watch television with you. And give up time with my teenage friends for you. And rub your shoulders. And pray with you. And hold your hand. And tell you all about my day. And take a nature walk with you even though I’m 16. And…and… and… I’m experiencing this wonderful care and grace. Of course, I didn’t bring this sickness upon myself, but to be showered with this much love and care is…well…sort of amazing and sometimes uncomfortable for me, but I’m learning to say, “Thank you,” and bask and in the presence of God working through others.
My reflection: the glass isn’t half full; it’s overflowing.