Giving Thanks: The Mosaic

by Jen Jackson

Blog Last Updated; 11/30/2009

With the passing of another Thanksgiving, I feel like I have more to be grateful for this year than ever before. Though most of the holiday itself was spent focusing on ingestion rather than introspection, now that the food coma has worn off, I've had the chance to ruminate on the heaping helping of blessings Life has piled upon my plate. Makes my Thanksgiving meal portions look paltry . . . and I ate a lot.

One thing that I've found to be true in my life is that, even amidst the disappointments, heartaches and sorrows that sometimes come down the pike during our short stays on this planet, the blessings and joys continue to accumulate. It's like Grandma insisting upon adorning your holiday plate with peas (and I must admit, I actually like the peas, so this metaphor doesn't apply to me), but it's an occurrence that doesn't alter the fact that Grandpa will slip you an extra serving of pie, two dollops of whipped cream, and a supersized handful of marshmallows in your hot cocoa. Peas or no peas, there's still a sugar-high to be had. Peas or no peas, you're still loved.

I also see the helpings of sorrow as the gooey, messy caulking that fills in the interstices between blessings, holding down those tiles so they can be accounted for, observed, appreciated, celebrated. It is a mosaic of heartache and hope that covers our lives. Without the heartache or without the hope, it wouldn't be a mosaic. Without the colorful ceramic gems, it would be a sticky mess; without the interstitial goop, we would be left holding nothing but a bag of rocks. Together, they create something magic that we simply refer to as "life" in less creative moments.

It is also my contention that all of us accumulate sorrows, but it is not the accumulation that defines us; it is how we hold them. It is how we choose heal them. All of us have been hurt. All of our hearts hold scars as roadmaps to our lives. There is no avoiding it. But how we choose to read the roadmap and cradle the scars ? in that is the substance of our being.

In working on this dang trailer that I keep talking about, I've learned that caulking needs warmth to set up. If it's too cold inside, the mucky matrix for the tiles remains soft and messy. If we knew that our heartache was the substance holding together all the beauty of this sometimes broken world, would we carry it with more warmth?

This past year-and-a-half has been one of sometimes-achey transition for me. I've had to make a million internal discoveries in order to learn how to stand on my own two feet. But I'm doing it. I've had to shed some tears in order to remember how to smile in a meaningful and true way. But I'm doing it. I've had to work on heart-hinges made recalcitrant by scars in order to remain open. But I'm doing it. And now? And now . . . blessings. Innumerable blessings.

I am blessed with all the elements of a beautiful mosaic:

I am loved, and I am loved well. I feel supported, honored, wanted and respected. I am held inside an enormous heart. I am sharing a life. Deeply. Ecstatically.

I am also held inside an enormous landscape that forever calls me home. I have found home. I am home. I have found a way to be amongst the redrock and sage that makes my heart swell and all cells of my being tingle in resonance and in recognition.

I am doing the work I want to be doing. I am pursuing my passion. I am proving that this isn't a hobby; it is my profession, and it is my purpose.

I am embraced by a big-hearted community of family and friends ? near and far ? that hold me in connection to a greater world of knowing, being and belonging.

I am living simply, but I am living a life that is of my making ? now of our making ? in this quirky little Streamline trailer that becomes more home every day. In this 27-foot space, I experience so much abundance. In this 27-foot space, I have all I need. That ? and the recognition of that ? is one of the greatest blessings of all.

. . . oh, and one more piece of the mosaic . . . I've gotten really good at starting the fire in the mornings. Thank goodness.

Saturday, December 12, 2009
at 7:22:11 PM

Suggest removal

Tyler says:

Footnotes.
1) For those of you who are wondering why Jen is using caulking to hold down tiles in the trailer instead of thinset, it's because her inexperienced boyfriend promised her it would work. So far the tiles haven't floated up toward the bathroom ceiling so I guess you could say he was right (kind of). There aren't any cracks in the grout either because the grout is simply made up of what Jen and I carry in on the bottom of our shoes. It gets pushed neatly between the tiles and looks really good.