Being thankful when everything is not going your way

His car slammed into mine on my driver’s side.

I didn’t see it coming.

After that initial shock that comes when we’ve been in an accident, my first thought was, “Did I do something wrong?” After all, some of my family members tease me whenever I get behind the wheel: “Mr. Magoo’s driving again. Say a prayer.”

But no, I had the right of way. It wasn’t my fault. And the police report would verify that.

Which made me all the more aggravated; all this trouble because someone else wasn’t paying attention.

Negative rhetoric dominated my thoughts: “Why wasn’t that guy looking? If only I hadn’t turned in here. Now my car will never be the same. Ugh, all the trouble dealing with insurance.”

I called my wife, and her first question was, “Are you hurt?”

That question caused to me pause and think of something I read years ago.

It was a story about Matthew Henry, the 17^th century Bible scholar. Once he was robbed, and after the incident, he wrote this in his diary: “Let me be thankful first, because I was never robbed before: second, because, although they took my purse, they did not take my life; third, because, although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth, because it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed.”

Standing there in the parking lot, waiting for the police to arrive, I decided to find something for which I could be thankful.

Included in the picture of my car I sent from my phone to my Mr. Magoo Fan Club, I texted:

“Thankfully, I wasn’t injured.”

“I was in our older car instead of our newer one.”

“Thank the Lord we have two cars.”

“It happened on the side of the car that already had a noticeable dent from a previous incident.” (No, that one wasn’t my fault either.)

“Although it was an accident, at least I wasn’t at fault.”

“The other driver has insurance.”

Admittedly, this was an “incident” and not a major disaster. Giving thanks in serious circumstances is more difficult.

As a pastor, I’ve prayed with people who have faced financial ruin, divorce, miscarriages, mental health issues, and cancer. I’ve stood by people as they’ve buried loved ones, and I’ve watched people die way too young.

And the answer for why some of these things happen is unexplainable.

Yet, finding something to be grateful in the midst of trying circumstances is key to overcoming the bad that inevitably comes our way. Otherwise, the things we don’t like will take over our thoughts and rule our life.

But how do can we be grateful when things don’t go our way?

Take a step back and look at the larger picture.

Paul the Apostle was convinced that God somehow works good out of even the worst situations for them that love him and are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28) Knowing that God is still in control seems crucial to rising above our circumstances. We may not see it now, maybe not even this side of eternity, but we trust that God will somehow bring something good from the bad and that love will ultimately win. That conviction can keep us from suffocating in the current miasma and look for good in the midst of it.

We don’t have to wait for something tragic to happen to practice gratitude. It begins with being grateful for the little things: your spouse making up the bed, a friend giving you a special spice she likes, a beautiful sunrise, hearing a grandchild say, “I love you,” or having a child say, “You were always there.”

Bad things happen. We can’t change that. The only thing we can change is our attitude toward those things.

The preacher, Dr. Alexander Whyte, was known for his pulpit prayers. He always seemed to find something to thank God for, even in trying times.

One miserably wet, cold Sunday morning a member of his congregation thought to himself, “The preacher will have nothing to thank God for on a wretched morning like this.”

But Dr. Whyte began his prayer, “We thank Thee, O God, that it is not always like this.”

Sometimes that’s all we can do. And sometimes, that’s all that’s necessary to move on and hope for a better tomorrow, even in the midst of today’s pain.

The ongoing struggle with Alzheimer’s

As I hung up the phone, I regretted having not called sooner. Several times in the past few months I’d almost called Ed, but there always seemed something more pressing to do.

When I did call, I fully expected to hear Ed’s upbeat, energetic voice. “David Whitlock,” Ed would repeat my name when I told him who was calling. “I was just thinking of you,” he would often say, as if it were a magical moment that just as he was thinking of me, I called. You might suspect it to be some sort of Dale Carnegie tactic utilized to make me feel good, but I believed him.

Ed had been a constant source of encouragement to me in a church I pastored back in the mid- 1990s. Pastors need a few people on whom they can depend regardless of what happens. Ed was one of those who would be in my corner, no matter what.

Sometimes, usually just before I preached, Ed would slip me a note: “I believe in you, and I’m with you.”

I’ve kept several of his notes, and every now and then, on a really rough day, I pull one out and read it.

But when I called Ed the other day, he wasn’t thinking of me or likely anyone else. “I’m Ed’s caregiver,” a friendly female voice told me when I asked to speak to Ed. “Ed has dementia, quite severe now.”

Learning that Ed has had dementia “for some time,” somewhat eased my conscience from the guilt of procrastination, but the pain of losing another friend to dementia cut deeply just the same.

November is Alzheimer’s Disease Awareness Month, and although dementia and Alzheimer’s are not the same, they are related, and since Alzheimer’s is the cause for about 50-70% of dementia cases, Ed’s situation, and thousands like his, provides a good opportunity to draw attention to the incurable condition that is Alzheimer’s, a disease that robs people of life as they knew it and affects their families as well.

Think of the difference between Alzheimer’s and dementia like that of someone who has a sore throat. It could be caused by allergies, strep, or a cold. They may know yet. Likewise, when someone has dementia, they have the symptoms---including impaired thinking and memory--- but may not know what’s causing them.

My father-in-law, Lori’s dad, was first diagnosed with dementia, and it wasn’t until months later that tests revealed what was causing his impaired thinking and memory problems: Alzheimer’s. One thing about Alzheimer’s: It’s not reversible. There is no known cure, and the cause remains a mystery.

When President Ronald Reagan designated November as National Alzheimer’s Disease Awareness Month in 1983, fewer than 2 million Americans had Alzheimer’s. That number has soared to nearly 5.4 million.

With Alzheimer’s, there can be brief moments of clarity.

On one of the occasions when Lori went back to Oklahoma to visit her father, the two of them were standing in the kitchen when he focused his attention directly on her, his eyes suddenly sparkling like they use to, and with that so familiar daddy-look-of-love that recognized her as his darlin’ daughter, he distinctly articulated the words with a deep sense of appreciation, “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit.”

Before Lori could grasp that moment and engage him in some conversation, the disease once again descended on him like a fog, engulfing the dad she once knew in a cloud of unknowing.

The blank stare had returned.

But the love remained.

Somehow.

In the movie, Still Alice, Julianne Moore depicts a highly successful college professor and family focused woman who is diagnosed with early-onset dementia. Having lost almost everything, the last word she can remember to say, as she struggles to express herself to her daughter, is the word, “love.”

“When Ed wakes up, would you give him a message for me?” I asked the caregiver.

“Tell Ed his friend, David Whitlock, called. If he doesn’t remember who I am, tell him not to worry about it, that I’m an old friend and I just called to say I believe in him and that I’m with him.”

“But most of all, tell him I love him.”

The Devil’s in my coffee

Some people think God is in the details.

I’ve come to believe the Devil is in there too.

At least he got in my coffee.

I love the aroma of fresh brewed coffee first thing in the morning. Breathing deeply over the cup, the coffee smell becomes like incense to me, truly an “ahh” moment, practically a daily ritual, a part of my morning wake-up call for prayer.

But on occasion, not every morning, but when I have too much coffee left over from the previous day---and not being one to waste precious java---I drink a cup, maybe even two, of the day old coffee before brewing the fresh.

My wife will have nothing of the stale stuff and looks down upon what she thinks is an overly zealous coffee conservation habit.

“Day old coffee,” she mumbles, turning up her nose.

But I’ve persisted in my occasional indulgence in coffee leftovers.

Since I arise before daylight for my morning prayers and prefer only a dim light at that time, I don’t notice much about the details of the coffee’s texture as I pour it into my cup.

I was all the way to the last sip from my first cup of day old coffee when it happened.

Something chewy was in that last drop.

I turned it around on my tongue, pressing it to the roof of my mouth, hoping it was a coffee ground.

It wasn’t.

I gently removed the specimen from the tip of my tongue.

Yep, a dead fly.

For a germaphobe like me, this was totally unnerving. It would have been bad enough had the fly floated into my mouth from the top of the cup, upon my first sip, but no, that churlish creature hid himself down there at the bottom, concealing himself until he could carry Lord knows what disease deep into my circulatory system. That fly had, unbeknownst to me, cozied up to me, both of us sharing the same cup, his germs swirling around in my saliva.

The invasion had gone undetected for an at least ten minutes.

Holding that dead fly between my thumb and index finger, squinting to make sure it was what it was, I felt like crying out as the lepers of Old Testament days were required to do: “Unclean, unclean, unclean.”

Somewhere during the night, that fly had nosedived into my coffee, backstroked across the coffee pot, spread his foul DNA through my day old brew before succumbing to a heroic fly’s death. “At least I’ve messed up one human’s morning cup,” he probably uttered before drowning in the dark drink.

Yes, the Devil is in the details---right there at the bottom of my coffee cup.

Wise King Solomon of old had it right: “Dead flies can make even perfume stink.”

They can ruin a decent cup of day old coffee, too.

Flies were, in the history of the Christianity, often interpreted as spiritual dangers, and Satan was known as “lord of the flies.”

Solomon drew the application in the second half of his statement about flies in perfume: “In the same way, a little foolishness can spoil wisdom.”

Satan is a tricky one. He doesn’t announce himself, “I’m over here, in your coffee, and I’m going to spread harmful germs all the way down your esophagus, so you better throw out out this cup of coffee.”

No, he’s much too sneaky for that. He waits until we have drunk our fill, then he announces, “Ha-ha, gotcha, fool.”

He hides in the details at the bottom of the cup so that it’s too late once we have recognized him for who he is.  By then, he’s done the deed; we’ve been taken in because we’ve taken him in.

A good person’s long honored reputation can be ruined because of one tragic mistake, one fly in the ointment.

It’s at the bottom of the cup that you discover that you’ve hurt someone you deeply love, your ethics have been compromised, your moral compass has been broken.

I could get a magnifying glass and flashlight and peer into my day old coffee for flies, maybe even get a strainer and pour the cold stuff through it---just to make sure before heating it in the microwave.

Instead I’ll just start fresh.

Casting out the old.

Making preparations for the coming of Another.

In the dawn of a new day.