Gratitude and 8 Buckets of Blessings

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever." -Psalm 107:1

I remember a sermon several years ago that talked about being grateful, even when it seems like nothing could be worse. For the pastor, his wife had just given birth, and the baby was premature and in critical condition. As they prayed in desperation, and even some anger, they sensed that they really should be thanking God for everything that was going well. So they began with the basics...food, shelter, love from friends, a good God, an older healthy daughter. And once thanksgiving began, it became easier to think of more reasons to be thankful. As praise fell from their lips, the Spirit renewed them with hope, with faith, with gratitude. From a more secular perspective, they started looking at the glass half-full rather than empty, and it literally began filling up and overflowing.

Increasingly so, I am aware of my material wealth. I recall the moment in Cambodia, walking through a slum of shacks, garbage, and malnourished villagers, when I realized that no matter how poor I was in America - if I was scraping by on a teacher's salary, or living on welfare, or somehow lost everything - I would still be incomparably wealthy. And right now, I'm not scraping by. I have so many provisions, countless people who love and care about me, and bright opportunities ahead.

Today, on this fine lowcountry Thanksgiving, my heart is full, and my cup - or rather, my many buckets - overfloweth. In my education class a few weeks ago, we studied the eight "buckets" of wealth and poverty. Wealth is not just material. Even if I lost everything, I have a lot of other buckets that would sustain me.

A Thanksgiving Exercise

Go ahead, do this with me. Pull out a sheet of paper, and draw eight empty buckets on it.

Label your buckets with each of the following:

• Financial - Having money to purchase goods and services
  
• Emotional - Being able to choose and control emotions
  
• Mental - Abilities and skills to deal with daily life
  
• Spiritual - Believing in divine purpose and guidance
  
• Physical - Having physical health and mobility
  
• Support Systems - Having friends, family, and backup resources available
  
• Relationships/Role Models - Having access to nurturing, appropriate adults who do not engage in self-destructive behavior.
  
• Knowledge of Hidden Rules - Knowing the unknown cues and habits of a group

Now, enjoy some coloring time. For each of these buckets, be honest with yourself, and draw the line where you think your bucket is filled to. In America, many people may have buckets full of mental or financial wealth, but may be in a life-long spiritual drought. A woman in Belize may not have hardly any money, but she has the support of her community and a good God. I already knew I had a lot, but this exercise makes me wet, quite drenched, really, in wealth and blessings. 

Beyond money, I am thankful that I am not struggling with depression or anxiety, that I am about to graduate from college and go to graduate school debt-free, that I trust in and serve a God who has redeemed me. Physically, I am both healthy and fit, and I am surrounded by people who care for me. I have two parents who have set a good example for me, and I have been taught how to behave in different social scenarios. How very grateful I am! My prayer is that I do not use these blessings selfishly, but that I really am a blessing to others. I want to not only be aware of the poor, but to actively and intentionally step outside of a comfortable lifestyle to fill up others' buckets.

This day will never come again. No matter what your buckets are like, take a deep breath and remember that you are alive; that, my friends, is one heck of a gift itself. Where ever you are, whoever you are (or are not) with, whatever you are (or are not) feasting on today, I hope you have at least one bucket that is half-full. May we rest and be grateful in our buckets, and may we feel the urgent call to fill others up where we have the means to do so.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Drunken Soberness

You know those wildly off-the-wall extroverted adolescents? The ones you joke should never drink when they’re older, because they already live in an elevated craziness?  I used to joke that that was my sister. Apparently, it’s me too, because twice this past week my peers thought I was drunk when I was actually 100% sober. I find myself a bit offended, but mainly entertained by their suspicions.

Encounter 1: 

Last Saturday was R-Glow, which the advertisement posters around campus described as a “tribal rave experience.” I didn’t see any cheetah print or African masks, but we were not lacking in sensory overload. Around 11:30 pm, when I’d really prefer to start heading to bed, I ignored my internal clock and kept my promise to my friends to go with them. Just aiming to be comfortable and colorful, I pulled on my neon purple sports bra, white cami, and orange and blue Nike shorts. Just in case I wanted a drink at the cash bar, I stuffed my ID and a $10 bill into the secret key holder on the inside of my shorts.

The gym was dark, illuminated only by roving colored spotlights, flashing strobe lights, and glow sticks. An aerial dancer loomed above the crowd, spinning, bending, and splitting in mid-air, anchored only by the hanging silk fabric she wrapped around herself. 

It does not take me long to get down on the dance floor, so, amidst the rhythmic base of the deafening dub-step, fog machines, and exploding confetti, we pulled out our best and weirdest moves, very much Napoleon Dynamite style. It was way more exhausting (and fun) than an aerobics class. I went wild from the start, and, pushing past that initial wave of sleepiness, I didn’t stop the whole night.

After an RA meeting a few days later, Chris, a fellow RA said, “I saw you getting down at R Glow, Jess. Dang, you were crazy – I’ve never seen that side of you!”

“Haha, yeah, it only comes out every once in a while when I don't let school stifle me. But you know that was just me, right? Like, I hadn’t had anything to drink?”

I enjoy the occasional glass of wine or pint of craft beer. True to its depressant properties, alcohol does loosen people up, and it can add an extra fun factor. But once I got moving at R-Glow, the idea of a beer sloshing in my stomach did not sound that appealing. So I passed.

“There is no way,” shaking his head adamantly. “I don’t believe you.”

Really?! This guy knows me well enough. 

“Wellll you should, because I was stone-cold sober.”

We’ve all heard the “You-can-have-an-awesome-time-without-alcohol” lecture, but it really is true. I might be legal, but I still don’t drink that often, and when I do, I tend to be a one (or two) and done kind of gal. Part of not drinking in excess is about honoring both God and my body, but it is also just about being smart and aware. 

Encounter 2: 

Wednesday was the celebration of our founder’s birthday, famously known as Bittle Bash. The tradition includes a bonfire, a parade of students walking to Bittle’s grave, a “real-life” appearance of Roanoke’s first president himself, ending with a borderline raucous night of karaoke and drunken history professors. Since it was my last year to participate, I decided to take some time for myself and my sanity to enjoy this mid-week celebration. Loosened from the unceasing bonds of required reading, I felt free, alive, and very much like my real self (as opposed to the semester-long student). As we all marched through the biting air to the cemetery together, I skipped, sang camp songs, and ran between groups, fueled by a stream of academic absent energy. 

Two days later, my education class and I were presenting our service-learning projects in the library, and I asked the freshman next to me if he enjoyed Bittle Bash. As we talked, it didn’t take too long for him to ask, “Were you…a little drunk?”

Unlike Chris, this guy really didn’t know me, so I just smirked, happily responding, “Nah, man, I just get a little high on life sometimes.”

And I like it that way. Particularly in the wake of the shocking Rolling Stones article on the frat party environment and gang raping at the University of Virginia, I like that I don’t need a drink, and in fact, often don’t want one. When I had to take the alcohol.edu course before my freshman year at Roanoke, I remember learning that most college students think other college students drink more than they actually do. Sometimes I feel like a loser watching a movie in my room on a Friday night, envisioning the rest of the world getting ready to go out. But then I go on a duty round, and I find six other pods filled with perfectly content people watching movies in their PJs just like me.

 In the party culture so prevalent in high school and college, too many people presume alcohol is a necessary component to having a good time. But it’s just not, and I hope I testify to that truth. I like that I can enjoy a drink when I want to, but that I can have just as much fun without one. I like that I can dance confidently for hours, that I sing karaoke poorly but without hesitation, that I can be so outgoing people that don’t know me well assume I am in an intoxicated stupor. 

It turns out a drunken soberness is a pretty good state to be in.

Dan in Real Life

“So, how much time have you actually spent with this guy?”

Halfway through fall break, I am back in Roanoke with my friend Griffin. We are both crashing at a friend’s apartment for the night, and he is getting the scoop on Dan, who would be arriving in a few hours.

“Ummmmm, maybe like, nine hours?”

“And you’re about to go backpacking alone with him for three days?!”

“Yeah… I know it sounds crazy. It is crazy. And I am a little nervous. But it feels right, and I’ve gotta see him again sometime. He’s worth the risk.”

***

When I returned home from studying abroad last December, reconnecting with my recently-engaged friends Maddy and Thomas was near the top of my homecoming list, and it took less than a day for me to wind up back in Thomas’ living room. Ranting about my struggles to find someone to thru-hike part of the Appalachian Trail with me, Thomas offhandedly says Dan is the type of person that would do that. Apparently Dan was one of Thomas’ roommates from college, and, as it so happened, he was driving into Charleston that evening. Thomas’ head bops up. Eyebrows raised, he turns to Maddy. “Dan and Jessica. That has a lot of potential.” I don’t blush often, but that comment took me off guard, and I could feel the rosy heat rushing to my face.

A few minutes later, wearing a grey Clemson sweatshirt, khaki pants, and tennis shoes, Dan walks in. He looks tired from driving and doesn’t say too much. His short haircut accentuates the way his ears stick out a little bit, but he is tall and handsome; he has a nice way about him. I learn that he has a job set up after graduation in May, but he asked for seven months off first to go travel the world, and his bosses agreed. Thomas’ matchmaking inevitably encouraged me take some interest anyway, but I’m a sucker for a traveler. Still, I did not say too much to him that weekend. I never mastered the art of flirting.

Dating Dan could have been a fleeting consideration, the possibility coming and going with his own very brief entry to and exit from Charleston – and my life – that weekend. But we got connected on Facebook and Instagram, and the power of social media should not be discredited. For the next seven months, Dan was an enigma, a stranger I hardly knew at all, but I couldn’t totally forget about him, either. He liked almost all of my pictures, and when he headed off to Hawaii in May, his Instagram ascended to one of the coolest accounts ever. Every few days, he would post another ridiculous picture of camping next to a volcano or alpine mountaineering on Mount Hood. 

Who IS this guy?! I often found myself wondering.

iPhone in hand, I would approach my sister. “Hey RoRie, wanna see something cool?”

Rolling her eyes, she would ask, “Jess, is this another one of Dan’s pictures? You don’t even KNOW him!”

True, I did not know him, but I started crushing pretty hard on this mystery man. Midway through his trip, I knew he would be making his way back to Charleston to be a groomsman in Maddy and Thomas’ summer wedding. By the time July rolled around, I was just ready to pull my thoughts out of the clouds and get to know the real Dan. I knew we shared the same faith and love of adventure, but that was all I knew. What about his personality and passions? His quirks and flaws? 51% of me needed to find out if there was any mutual interest, or if I should get over him. Simultaneously, the other 49% felt like a fifteen year-old girl who wanted to run far, far away.

Though Maddy and I never talked about Dan, she had been scheming since December to set us up. We were both a little shy, and we only had a few short conversations over the course of the pre-wedding festivities, but low and behold, our seat placements were not-so-coincidentally next to each other at the rehearsal dinner, and the conversation flowed pretty naturally.

He shared his story of being a fake Christian through high school and the start of freshman year. God transformed him that year, and he has been passionate about sharing the real Jesus with people ever since then. He genuinely cares about other people, and he has a gentle trustworthiness about him that makes people want to open up. His post-graduation travels started selfishly, but he began blessing others by genuinely getting to know them, asking about their spiritual journeys and listening to their struggles. There are not enough normal-yet-bold Christians in the world, but Dan is one of them. His faith spurs me on to grow closer to the Lord myself.

After one heck of a wedding, I was rockin’ it out on the reception floor by myself like I always do. Eventually Dan made his way over to dance with me. He’s got rhythm y’all. A few dances later, he worked up the courage to ask me on a date the following day.

Between the time on the back porch sipping on mojitos with my family, brunch, and swimming in the pond at Sugah Cain, it was pretty much seven hours of the most Perfect Day Ever.

And then he flew to China.

When he wasn’t off the Wi-Fi grid, we caught up over FaceTime. The thought of spending more than thirty minutes on the phone with anyone used to sound like a massive feat to me. Talking to Dan in two-hour chunks every week or two as he made his way through Hong Kong, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, Oktoberfest, London, and Iceland brought me some of the greatest joy in my whole week.

In the months following that date, I no longer solely followed Dan through Instagram; he had already shared the wild stories associated with each picture he posted with me. Dan the enigmatic stranger became Dan in Real Life. It is funny because that is also the title to my favorite movie, but that actually became his official name in my family.

“Dan slept underneath a bus seat last –“

“Who?”

“Dan, Hoffa, Dan Telsey.”

“You mean, Dan in Real Life?”

Exasperated, I concede, “Yes, Hoff, Dan in Real Life.”

Mid-October, Dan finally returned home, and I powered through to fall break. We decided to go backpacking together, followed by a visit to his home in the suburbs of Philadelphia.

Hoffa gave Dan the stamp of approval back in July, but you wanna guess what my protective father had to say about visiting his parents?

“That’s ridiculous! Why would you do that? You don’t need to do that!”

No, I think, but he did get to meet you already. It’s only fair, really.

Nerves aside, our reunion made me the happiest I have been in a while (and I consider myself a pretty joyful person). I mean, I could have done without the handlebar moustache, but Dan knows how to have fun with his facial hair. We headed down to Grayson Highlands, known for “wild” ponies and Mount Rogers, the tallest, yet rather anticlimactic, mountain in Virginia. As burnt-orange leaves crunched under our steps, we managed to complete a three-day hike in a day and a few hours, and over the course of the 25-mile loop, the conversation never stopped.

With our extra time, we headed up to Roanoke to break up the drive a bit and camped near the base of McAfee Knob. At the last minute, we decided to wake before dawn, night hike to the summit, and watch the sun’s majestic morning rays penetrate the darkness.

When we made it to Philly, I really enjoyed Dan's family, too. They are loud and boisterous in a different way from the Compton Clan, but the same kind of love is there, which is what matters most. By the end of the weekend, I was officially dating Dan in Real Life. I’m not really sure how I landed such a catch. After so many months of wondering who Dan even was, it is often still hard for me to believe. It also feels right, though. Really right. Despite the challenge of long distance, we’re having a blast.

I must close with a final comment from my father. Freshman year, as Hoffa, ever the Southern gentlemen, moved his eldest daughter onto a campus with a large New England student body, he looked at me soberly and acquiesced, “Well Jessica…I guess…if he’s a good one… you can date a Yankee.” At the time I internally scoffed and sarcastically thought to myself, Well thank you so much, dear father.

But Dan is a good one, one of the best, I think, and I could not be happier to call him my boyfriend.