BitterSweetLife

The sensation of gratefulness raises some fascinating existential problems. Consider this major dilemma: How should one respond when something good happens to you—for no good reason? Who do you thank for inexplicable blessing? On a more penetrating level, why the impulse to thank someone? Or be thankful at all?

Try and put yourself in the shoes of one of those annoying lucky people who are always winning radio prizes or being handed free tickets to major sporting events by people they’ve never seen before. In a small way, the problem in such cases would be of gratitude looking for an owner. Or, to up the ante, suppose you won the lottery. Who do you thank? It’s like receiving a gift in the mail with no return address. The cynical or blasé person might write off such windfall as happenstance, but the sane person feels gratitude and sees the wisdom (and necessity) of it.

I had my own experience with unclaimed gratefulness last week. I was mowing a lawn on a humid, mid-90-degree day when out of nowhere a cloud of deliciously cool air enveloped me. The inexplicable AC lasted for about five seconds, until either the draft withdrew or I mowed my way out of it. On my return stripe, the arctic current was gone.

For awhile I tried to puzzle out the source of my rejuvenation. It wasn’t like wind—it was like sudden immersion, entering a walk-in freezer. Cross out the cool breeze option. I’d been passing under a tree, and trees produce shade, but I’ve never known them to generate waves of supra-cooled air. I’d been near a small ditch, but since when do two-foot ditches serve as wind-makers… It was a strange event indeed. But the effect was instantaneous and undeniable: I was sweating less and the world seemed a better place.

And, for some reason, I was grateful. But why?

Ravi Zacharias tells a story about an airline pilot who refused to leave his downed and burning plane until he’d assisted every passenger to escape. The tearful parents of a child thanked him for his selflessness, and well they should have. Next, Ravi gives an account of a second airliner which was en route when, one by one, all four of its engines gave out. Horrified, the pilot announced that ditching was unavoidable. As the plane plummeted, one of the engines coughed, sputtered and came back to life. Then another did the same. And a third. Incredibly, the airliner was able to limp to a runway, where it landed intact. At this point, Ravi queries: Who do you thank then?

Touché. People everywhere feel the pangs of existential angst and wonder who they are and why they’re alive. But equally urgent is the question of existential thanks. Who am I and why do I feel a baffling impulse toward gratitude?