Gratitude for the Rose AND the Thorn

Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns; I am thankful that thorns have roses – Alphonse Karr, French novelist.

A few days ago I had lunch with a couple of friends. I took them each a rose in a kombucha can. The brand is called "humm." I thought it might help me, and them hold beauty and joy together along with tough times. And humm. Have gratitude for it all. Thorns too? What?

Here’s a bit of background. My mother was both a psychologist and a strong Christian, a chaplain to the police and the hospitals in her area. One of her favorite hymns was Count Your Blessings. Its author, Johnson Oatman Jr. (1856–1922), wrote more than 5,000 hymns, though this was considered his masterpiece. He urged the weary and discouraged to do something strange: count your blessings, name them one by one.

The results, he promised, would surprise you—doubts would fly away, songs would return, treasures beyond money would come into view, and comfort would accompany you to the end of your journey.

My mother sang it often particularly toward the latter part of her life. She also carried Bible verses in her heart: “All things work together for good…” and “Give thanks always and for everything….”

You’d think I would have soaked it all in from childhood. But truthfully, it wasn’t until I saw the mountain of research on gratitude—how it strengthens health, lifts depression, and makes life more satisfying—that I began to take it seriously.

Still, something nagged at me. Shouldn’t we admit that some things just plain stink? It's reality. Shouldn’t we give ourselves authentic compassion before forcing our attention to silver linings and gratitude?

One client taught me to give this idea serious consideration. When I asked her about her highs and hopes and opportunities (which she clearly had), she shook her head.

“Could we first talk about what really sucked for me this week? My kids drove me crazy. My dental practice is falling apart. My staff argues all the time. I can’t sleep. I just want to crawl in a hole.”

That’s when it clicked. We don’t need to choose between the grating and the gift. We can hold them together. We can say:

• “My knees ache (it's real, it sucks; I hope for some relief), and I am grateful they still carry me to the garden.” (Also true; also very good.)

  
  

  

• “I feel lonely, and I’m thankful for the neighbor who waves each morning.”

• “The bills overwhelm me, and I am grateful for a friend who listens.”

  
  

Researchers explain why this works. Linguists tell us that but cancels what comes before it, while and holds both truths side by side. Life coaches note that “and” language fosters a paradox mindset—the ability to embrace competing realities—which leads to more creativity and resilience.

Improv actors use “Yes, and” to keep energy flowing, and studies confirm it sparks originality. Therapists teach “and” as a way of loosening the grip of hard thoughts: “I feel anxious, and I can still act.”

Yesterday, John and I were talking about a young man in our lives. John said, "He's a little devil." He offered his evidence. I added, "AND he's a little angel." I offered my evidence. We shook our heads in agreement. Both seemed true. (Our country sucks AND it's wonderful. I think we could make a realistic case for both.)

Another place I noticed the power of and was from communication experts Douglas Stone, Bruce Patton, and Sheila Heen (of the Harvard Negotiation Project), they have a tool for working with conflict called The And Stance. In their classic book Difficult Conversations, they note that it allows you to assert your own truth and recognize the truth in others—without diminishing either one.

Isn’t that what gratitude for the grating really is? It’s not either/or. It’s not pretending the hard isn’t hard. It’s stepping into the And Stance—naming both the thorn and the rose:

“When we replace ‘but’ with ‘and,’ we stop canceling one truth and start making room for more than one reality to stand side by side.” —paraphrase of Stone, Patton & Heen, Difficult Conversations

So this is where I am today, holding the hard and the holy. The pain and the joy, the grating and the gift, the thorn and the rose.

One of my friends, after getting the rose at our lunch together, told me one of her daughters never wanted to plant roses because of the nasty thorns. I understand that. I have gotten some nasty pricks. AND I am choosing to hold on to both the rose and its thorns. I think they are worth it. We are worth it.

May we be able to count our blessings—one by one—and may we also honor what grates. May you find that the deepest gratitude isn’t about pretending life is one big joy-ride. It’s about opening your heart wide enough to hold it all, the hassle, the hurt and the heavenly - the beast and the beauty not only out there, but within ourselves.

How might we journey together to The Good Life by noticing and holding both the thorn AND the rose?

Sidebar: Though Oatman never held a pulpit, people said he preached the gospel through his songs. Count Your Blessings became his masterpiece. In South London, it was said, “the men sing it, the boys whistle it, and the women rock their babies to sleep to the tune.” Listeners claimed the hymn was like a beam of sunlight brightening the dark places of earth.

and the ole is a duck or is it a rabbit or is it both a duck AND a rabbit?

We all die. We see the rotted flesh of everything in front of our eyes. Dead, done. AND maybe that's a new beginning consider this