Thank You

“Thank you,” he says in his toddler accent as I place his little hand upon my own gripping the potato peeler. I’m preparing dinner, and my two-year-old son is absolutely delighted to “help” with any task I let him. He spoons the flour, mixes with the whisk, and tosses chopped potatoes into the pot of cold water. Later he scoops up the peelings and carefully dumps them into the wastebasket. He sees that he made a mess while spooning the flour and runs to get the broom from the cleaning closet. While he holds the dustpan and I sweep, I contemplate this unique little guy who is so eager to help me. Here he was, grinning from ear to ear and thanking me for letting him help me! I returned the thanks, pleased as punch that he was helping me, and then I was reminded of a recent time when someone let me know that I’d helped them.

Someone had shared a post I’d written. The circumstance and reaction of this person brought me to my knees in gratitude that I’d been able to make a difference, even, and especially, in the midst of a deep depressive episode. I realize that usually when we help someone, as in this instance, there are larger powers at play, but it cheered my heart to be a small part of it. The person thanked me for helping them, but truly, they deserved the biggest and brightest thank you card in existence. Like my little son, I wanted to thank them for letting me help because in helping, I was learning. In helping, my sorrowful heart was lifted because I felt like I have something beneficial to give. In helping, I felt gratitude.

“More help, Mom!” little James pulled at my shirt. His insistent phrase was offering, not pleading. Several years before he was born, and ever since, I’ve needed more help than I’ve ever been comfortable receiving. Yet still you offer. And now I see why.

When help is needed and received, gratitude is the gift we grant each other.