The Theory of Relativity

Now, this will come as a surprise to no one, but I used to be a very sensitive and emotional child.

I had some reasons. I still do have have reasons -- everyone does.

But I really did struggle to come to grips with the enormity of my feelings, which were often melancholy and detached from the general happy-go-lucky demeanor you might expect from a kid. 

As a result, I struggled to make friends. I was either too intense with people, or I was too reserved. I never was able to strike that social balance that seemed so important. I would languish in the deep puddles of my own reflections, which made me great at understanding poetry and writing papers, but not so great at inviting other kids to my birthday party. 

My parents might have been concerned with my generally morose and weepy self. I remember for Christmas one year when I was in Junior High, I received a book called Happiness: Finders, Keepers, by Mary Ellen Edmunds. 

The book is lovely, and the author gives a lot of examples of how you can be happy on a day-to-day basis, even when you might be facing extreme adversity. 

One of the things she wrote was her own personal Theory of Relativity.

There was a man who lived in a small village in Indonesia. He walked daily to the local spring to fetch water in a metal bucket. His hut had a dirt floor. His annual income probably never exceeded 500 dollars a year. 

Yet, when this man heard that people in California were being asked to restrict their water usage due to drought, he was concerned. Each household was asked not to exceed 120 gallons per day. 

The Indonesian man would have to make 120 round trips (more than mile) to use that much water. He would have to boil that water when he reached his hut. And even if he miraculously could accomplish both tasks in 24 hours, he would have no safe place to store that much water for his use. 

But, when he prayed in church that Sunday, he said, "Father in Heaven, we know our fellow men in California are suffering because they do not have enough water. We have plenty, so would you please take some of our water and give it them?"

This is the theory of relativity in action. How many things are there to complain about? You could probably come up with a hefty list. But how many more things in life are wonderful, beautiful, perfectly satisfactory, and even enough. Enough for our happiness, enough for ourselves, and even enough to share, despite how much we might seem to lack. 

There are a lot of things in the world right now that can get us down.

The election might not have gone your way. Can you rise above it? Can you make enough for yourself, and be content? Can you be grateful to be in a place where you have a voice, where people can facilitate change, where you can express your discontent without being beaten or shot? 

Gratitude makes you look up. 

The coronavirus has everything in upheaval. People are dying, people are depressed, people are alone. There's a lot of things to be angry or sad or anxious about. Can you see that you're still surrounded by good things? Can I be grateful even though coronavirus is terrible? 

Summer is ending, and winter is hard for people. It's hard for me. It gets dark early -- I have lights at the flick of a switch. It's cold -- I have sweaters, I have heat, I have a car that drives me warmly from place to place. It's long -- I have every possible form of time-passing activities at my fingertips -- my piano, my sewing machine, an oven that works, books to read or listen to, old and new movies, and trips to see nearby friends. Can I be grateful for winter?

I might be fatter than I want to be. My legs work. I can think, speak, hear, see, smell. Can you see your body as enough? Can I rise above it? Can I be grateful for my body?

Apply the theory of relativity to your own life. 

And remember this story: 

Two little children were put to bed early on a winter's night, for the fire had gone out, and the cold was pouring in at the many cracks of the frail shanty. The mother strove to eke out the scantiness of the bedding by placing clean boards over the children for warmth. A pair of bright eyes shone out from under a board, and just before it was hushed in slumber, a sweet voice said, "Mother, how nice this is! How I pity the poor people who don't have any boards to cover their children with on this cold night."

Can you be as grateful for your own life, your own self, your own things, as this little girl is with her boards? 

The reality is that a dirt floor can be more precious than marble, a bucket of water more valuable than a swimming pool, and a single loaf of bread more filling than a feast, when seen through the eyes of a grateful soul.