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We were
a group of friends in the midst of an after-dinner
conversation. Because Thanksgiving was just around the corner and
prosperity wasn't, we fell to talking about what we had to be thankful for.
One of us said, "Well I, for
one, am grateful to Mrs. Wendt, an old schoolteacher who, 30 years ago in a
little West Virginia town, went out of her way to introduce me to the works
of the poet, Tennyson."
Then he launched into a colorful
description of Mrs. Wendt, a lovely little old lady who had been his high
school teacher and who evidently had made a deep impression on his life.
She had gone out of her way to awaken his literary interest and develop his
gifts of expression.
"And does this Mrs. Wendt know
that she made that contribution to your life?" someone put in.
"I'm afraid she doesn't. I
have been careless and have never, in all these years, told her either
face-to-face or by letter."
"Then why don't you write
her? It would make her happy if she is still living, and it might make
you happier, too. The thing that most of us ought to do is to learn to
develop the attitude of gratitude.
Now, all this is very poignant to
me, because Mrs. Wendt was my teacher, and I was the fellow who hadn't
written. That friend's challenge made me see that I had accepted
something very precious and hadn't bothered to say thanks.
That very evening, I tried to
atone. On the chance that Mrs. Wendt might still be living, I sat down
and wrote her what I call a Thanksgiving letter. I reminded her that
it was she who had introduced my young mind to the works of Tennyson and
Browning and others. It took a couple of weeks for the post office to
search for Mrs. Wendt with my letter. It was forwarded from town to
town. Finally it reached her, and this is the handwritten note I had
in return. it began:
"My dear
Willie," The
introduction itself was quite enough to warm my heart. here I was, a
man of 50, fat and bald, addressed as "Willie." I had to
smile over that, and then I read on:
"I remember well your enthusiasm for Tennyson and the
Idylls of the Kings when I read them to you, for you were so beautifully
responsive. My reward for telling you about Tennyson did not have to
wait until your belated note of thanks came to me in my old age. I
received my best reward in your eager response to the lyrical beauty and
the idealism of Tennyson.
But, in spite of the fact that I got much of my reward at
that time, I want you to know what your note meant to me. I am now an
old lady in my 80's, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals,
lonely and seemingly like the last leaf of fall left behind.
You will be interested to know Willie, that I taught school
for 50 years and, in all that time, yours is the first note of appreciation
I ever received. It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered my
lonely old heart as nothing has cheered me in many years."
I wept over that simple, sincere
note from my teacher of long ago. I read it to a dozen friends.
One of them said, "I believe
I'm going to write Miss Mary Scott a letter. She did something similar
to that during my boyhood."
That first thanksgiving letter was
so successful and satisfying that I made a list of people who had
contributed something definite and lasting to my life and planned to write
at least one thanksgiving letter every day in November. For 10 years,
I have kept up this exciting game of writing thanksgiving month
letters. I have a special file for answers, and now I have more than
500 of the most beautiful letters anyone has ever received.
One of the most beautiful and
touching letters came from William F. McDowell, in whose Washington home I
had found some needed rest before a speaking engagement. Seeing that I
was tired, Mrs. McDowell put me to bed to rest and I was so grateful for that
motherly thoughtfulness that I never forgot. And yet, I had never
written her a letter of thanks. When I started in on my Thanksgiving
letters, I remembered her and, knowing that she was gone, I wrote my
thank-you letter to the bishop, going over the memory and telling him all
about it. I received this:
My dear Will, Your Thanksgiving
letter, as you called it, was so beautiful, so real, that as I sat reading
it in my study the tears fell from eyes, tears of gratitude. Then,
before I realized what I was doing, I rose from my chair, called her name
and started to show it to her - for a moment forgetting she was
gone. You will never know how much your letter has warmed my
spirit. I have been walking about in the glow of it all day
long."
A
Thanksgiving letter isn't much. Only a few lines are necessary, and a
stamp to mail it. But the rewards are so great that eternity alone can
estimate them. Thanks to the rebuke of a friend, I have learned a
little, at least, about gratitude.
~
William L. Stidger
Plant your roots in
Christ and let him be the foundation of your life. Be strong in your faith,
just as you were taught.
And be grateful.
~ Colossians 2:7 (CEV) | 
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