On Thanksgiving, be grateful for those who sacrifice
Every Thanksgiving I try be mindful of specific things for which I’m grateful. Since that list is large and growing, it’s not hard. For whatever reason, this year I’m aware of how many people in my life quietly sacrifice. They make deliberate choices to give things up so others benefit. I can’t honestly say I feel like I’ve ever substantially sacrificed a day in my life. It’s not that I haven’t tried, but for whatever reason I always feel like I end up getting more out of it than I put in. Does that qualify? Or do those who sacrifice by choice know something the rest of us don’t?
I recently caught a program on TV about the life of renowned Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir. I paid attention because years ago Brooks and I went to Paris and it was there I discovered not just Impressionist art, but Renoir in particular. I’ll say up front that growing up, my family was too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash. So believe me when I tell you I know nothing about art. But for whatever reason, Renoir’s work makes me happy.
Apparently he suffered from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis for the last three decades or so of his life. His hands were deformed and he was wheelchair-bound for most of those years. Astonishingly, the works he produced from 1892 until his death in 1919 are some of his most treasured. This is despite the fact he had to adapt his painting techniques to cope. His children or other assistants held his palettes, placed paintbrushes in his curled fingers, and even moved his canvases underneath his paintbrush so he could hold his arm still to reduce the pain. I doubt he could have imagined then how his painful determination and sacrifice would yield work that would capture the world’s attention forever.
Today I’m grateful for modern day role models of determination and sacrifice. I’m grateful for social workers who work with vulnerable populations, elderly and our children. They work for scandalous pay and yet none of us can imagine where the ripples of their work will lead. I’m grateful for those who serve in our nation’s armed forces, Foreign Service and as first responders. They are shields against a chaotic, stubborn wind. I’m grateful for Public Defenders, who work countless hours in our justice system to make sure the poor get a fair shot. I’m grateful for North Carolina teachers, who go to college and train for the most important job of all, one that’s often thankless and virtually assures they will live economically stressed lives. I’m grateful for truth-tellers. This is a hell of a tough time to be one of those, so I’ll just leave it there. I’m grateful for volunteers. They show up every day for a reason, not a paycheck. I’m grateful for clergy, who passionately toil in a broken world on behalf of the “substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” I’m grateful for good parents, particularly my parents. The sacrifices they made for my sister and me are hard to explain, but then I suspect for many of you I don’t have to. If you’re fortunate to have had parents who gave it all for you, or you’re giving it all for your children now, you already get it.
What is it those who sacrifice seem to know about legacy and the immortality of influence? Perhaps Renoir himself revealed it to a young protégé named Henri Matisse. Saddened by the painful struggle of his mentor, Matisse asked Renoir why he still painted when it was obvious how much he suffered. Renoir quietly answered, “The pain passes but the beauty remains.”