Grandma Cooper’s Lessons on Gratitude, Contentment, and Making Your Own Sunshine
Grandma Cooper had a way of bringing up certain Bible stories when she thought we needed to hear them. One of her favorites was the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, found in Luke 16:19–31.
I remember her sharing that story more than once. As a youngster, I never gave much thought to why she chose that particular parable. Looking back, I realize those conversations often happened as Christmas approached or when one of our birthdays was just around the corner.
Coincidence? I rather doubt it.
Grandma knew what was coming. We were thinking about presents, wondering what might be wrapped beneath the Christmas tree or waiting for us on our birthdays. There was nothing wrong with looking forward to those special occasions, but Grandma wanted us to understand something that would matter long after the wrapping paper had been thrown away.
“Joy is not in things; it is in us.”
She would say it as though it were the simplest truth in the world.
Perhaps it was.
A Little Wisdom That Took Years to Understand
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I discovered Grandma’s familiar saying was also a well-known quotation.
“Joy is not in things; it is in us” is frequently attributed to the German composer Richard Wagner, although it is also associated with the French pastor and author Charles Wagner, whose book The Simple Life explored the importance of living with purpose rather than chasing possessions and social standing.
I doubt Grandma was particularly concerned about which Wagner deserved the credit.
She was more interested in whether we understood what those words meant.
A new bicycle, a favorite toy, or something special we had been hoping to receive could certainly make us happy. Grandma wasn’t suggesting otherwise. She enjoyed watching us open presents as much as anyone.
But she understood that the excitement of receiving something new was not the same as the lasting joy that comes from appreciating the life we already have.
That distinction took me a few years to appreciate.
Actually, more than a few.
When Did Waiting Become Such a Terrible Thing?
It seems we have become a society that has very little patience for waiting.
We want the latest gadget, the newest vehicle, the upgraded television, and whatever else happens to catch our attention. If we cannot have it today, tomorrow seems an unreasonable inconvenience.
I am certainly not suggesting that I have been immune to that temptation.
Grandma Cooper lived through a time when waiting wasn’t necessarily a choice. Sometimes there simply wasn’t enough money for the things you wanted. You saved, you made do, or you discovered that what you thought you needed wasn’t quite as important as you imagined.
She remembered the hard years of the Great Depression and watched the changes that followed World War II.
New appliances began appearing in American kitchens. Automobiles grew longer, shinier, and sprouted those magnificent tail fins. Television sets found their way into living rooms, and families discovered an entirely new way to spend an evening together.
Grandma appreciated the conveniences of modern life.
But she knew a shiny new refrigerator couldn’t make a family love one another, and the fanciest automobile on the street couldn’t guarantee a peaceful heart.
Those were things you had to work on yourself.
Six Weeks After Christmas
Have you ever noticed how quickly the excitement of a new possession wears off?
Think about Christmas morning.
The children are surrounded by presents. There is wrapping paper everywhere, someone is looking for batteries, and another child is already asking for help putting something together.
For a little while, every new toy is the greatest thing in the world.
Six weeks later?
Well, you might find yourself wondering where half those toys disappeared to.
I remember my sisters and their dolls.
Oh yes, those dolls seemed to have everlasting life!
My sisters could spend hours caring for them, dressing them, feeding them imaginary meals, and carrying on conversations that apparently required no participation from the dolls themselves.
I suspect all that imaginary food and affection provided everything those dolls needed to enjoy a remarkably long and healthy life.
I had my model cars, the ones that required patience, glue, and a little imagination to assemble. Then there were my Hot Wheels cars, which traveled considerably farther than any automobile their size had a right to travel.
I don’t remember Mike and Tom playing with toys very much. They were older, and I suppose the difference in our ages had something to do with it.
But Tom?
Tom was the best alligator we ever encountered.
The Alligator in Grandma’s Living Room
Surely, some of you remember the Alligator Game.
The rules were simple enough. The living room floor was dangerous territory, and the furniture represented the only safe places available.
Your mission was to travel from one piece of furniture to another without touching the floor or being captured by the alligator waiting below.
Tom was our alligator.
And he was exceptionally good at it.
You could jump from the couch to a chair, scramble across whatever furniture was available, and convince yourself that you had finally outsmarted him.
Then, just when you thought you were safe, there was Tom.
I believe Tarzan himself would have had difficulty escaping that alligator.
Looking back, I cannot remember what any of us received for Christmas that particular year, or whether the game happened around Christmas at all.
But I remember Tom being the alligator.
Isn’t that something?
The toys eventually broke, disappeared, or were handed down to someone else.
The memory stayed.
I believe Grandma understood that long before the rest of us did.
Grandma’s Way of Counting Blessings
Grandma Cooper believed gratitude was something you practiced, not something you reserved for Thanksgiving dinner or Sunday morning church.
She wanted us to recognize the blessings hiding in the ordinary parts of our day.
There is nothing wrong with saying, “I am grateful for my family.”
But Grandma might encourage you to think about that a little more.
Perhaps you were grateful for the opportunity to sit around the dinner table together, passing the potatoes, sharing something funny that happened during the day, and enjoying a meal prepared by someone who loved you.
There was a difference.
One was a general statement of appreciation. The other recognized a moment that might never happen quite the same way again.
Grandma knew life wouldn’t always be simple.
Children grow up. Families move away. Chairs around the dinner table eventually become empty.
That is why she wanted us to appreciate the moments we were living rather than waiting for something extraordinary to happen.
Even making your bed, washing the dishes, or helping someone finish a chore could become an opportunity to be thankful.
I admit that I probably wasn’t feeling particularly grateful while washing dishes as a youngster.
I suspect Grandma knew that, too.
She had a way of making sure the dishes got washed anyway.
You Have to Learn to Make Your Own Sunshine
Grandma’s understanding of happiness had been shaped by circumstances many of us have never experienced.
She knew what it meant to live through hard economic times. She knew that having enough money to pay the bills was not always a certainty, and she understood that a person’s circumstances could change without much warning.
But she refused to believe that happiness had to disappear whenever life became difficult.
I can almost hear her saying:
“We didn’t have two pennies to rub together during the hard years, but we had music, we had stories, and we had each other. You have to learn to make your own sunshine, no matter what you have in your pockets.”
Now, I wouldn’t suggest that having a cheerful disposition makes every problem disappear. Grandma certainly wasn’t naive about hardship.
She understood that there were times when people needed help, encouragement, and someone willing to sit beside them.
But she also believed we had some responsibility for the attitude we carried into each day.
If you allowed every disappointment to determine whether you could enjoy life, you were going to spend a great deal of time being disappointed.
There would always be someone with a bigger house, a newer automobile, or something you wished you could afford.
Grandma would rather you appreciate the roof over your head, the automobile that got you where you needed to go, and the people who were happy to see you come home.
Come Now, Shake Off Those Cobwebs!
Grandma Cooper wasn’t one to let us spend an entire afternoon moping around the house.
If she noticed one of us sitting alone, feeling sorry for ourselves, she might offer a little encouragement.
“Come now, shake off those cobwebs. Sitting alone in a dark room will only breed blue devils.”
If that didn’t work, she had other ideas.
“Go run along outside and get some fresh air and sunshine. It will do your spirit good.”
I imagine some of us were quite content to remain exactly where we were.
That was usually when Grandma found something for us to do.
“Come help me snap these green beans for dinner.”
Or perhaps:
“Let’s go work in the garden for a bit. There is nothing like the smell of fresh earth to clear a clouded mind.”
And if the garden wasn’t calling, the kitchen probably was.
“Tie on an apron. We are going to bake a loaf of bread, and I need you to help me knead the dough.”
Before you knew it, you were sitting beside Grandma with a bowl of green beans, working in the garden, or standing at the kitchen counter with flour on your hands.
Somewhere along the way, whatever had been bothering you became a little less important.
Grandma hadn’t necessarily solved your problem.
She had reminded you that life was still happening around you and that there were people who enjoyed having you be part of it.
I have come to appreciate that lesson more with every passing year.
Count Your Blessings
Grandma’s final bit of encouragement might come with a gentle reminder.
“Count your blessings, keep a cheerful heart, and share that warmth with the people under this roof. Grumbling over what you lack only sours the milk for everyone else.”
And then she would begin to sing.
I remember the familiar hymn, Count Your Blessings, written by Johnson Oatman Jr. in 1897.
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your blessings, see what God hath done;
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your many blessings, see what God hath done.
I wonder how many of you can still hear someone from your childhood singing those words.
Perhaps it was your mother, grandmother, or someone sitting beside you in church.
Funny how a song can bring someone back into the room, if only for a moment.
Grandma Cooper didn’t need a special occasion to count her blessings.
She believed every day provided an opportunity.
And she wasn’t particularly interested in waiting until tomorrow to appreciate what God had given her today.
Final Thoughts: The Gifts That Never Wear Out
I began this story remembering Grandma’s conversations about the Rich Man and Lazarus.
I understand now why that parable seemed to find its way into our lives whenever Christmas or a birthday approached.
Grandma wasn’t trying to take the excitement out of receiving presents. She simply wanted us to recognize that having more possessions didn’t necessarily mean having a richer life.
The Rich Man had enjoyed abundance while Lazarus suffered outside his gate. The story was a reminder that what we possess and what we choose to do with it are two very different things.
Grandma wanted us to recognize the people around us, share what we could, and appreciate the blessings that didn’t come wrapped in colorful paper.
I think about the toys we received, the meals we shared, and the afternoons spent playing games in the living room.
I remember my sisters caring for their dolls, my model cars, and Tom waiting on the floor for someone foolish enough to believe they could escape the alligator.
And I remember Grandma.
Not because of anything expensive she gave me, but because of the time she spent teaching us how to enjoy the life we had.
Yesterday, my brother, my sisters, and I gathered together once again. As it so often does, the conversation eventually found its way back to Grandma Cooper. We laughed at some of the stories. A few brought tears. Others caused someone to remember a detail the rest of us had nearly forgotten.
Sitting there together, something occurred to me that perhaps I have always known but never quite put into words:
A child cannot pick their parents, nor can they pick their siblings. Our family has been blessed with both in countless ways.
We didn’t choose one another. We were simply given to one another.
Eight children, different personalities, different paths through life, different memories of the same moments—and yet, after all these years, we can still gather around a table and find our way back to the people and stories that made us a family.
That may be one of Grandma’s greatest legacies.
The older I become, the more I realize that the things she taught us were never really about green beans, gardens, washing dishes, baking bread, dolls, model cars, or even avoiding Tom the alligator.
They were about us.
They were about learning to be grateful for the people sitting beside you while you still have the privilege of sitting beside them.
These days, when Vicky and I are traveling, I occasionally find myself thinking about Grandma’s lessons.
We have enjoyed some wonderful places and have been blessed with opportunities I couldn’t have imagined as a youngster.
But some of my favorite memories have very little to do with where we happened to be.
A quiet morning together. A good meal. A conversation with someone we haven’t seen in years. Watching Cash enjoy himself without the slightest concern for what tomorrow might bring.
Perhaps Grandma would smile at that last one.
I suspect she would also remind me that I don’t need another shiny new toy to enjoy the day God has given me.
Although, knowing Grandma, she might have a few questions about that Polaris sitting in our garage!
“Joy is not in things; it is in us.”
Maybe that is why those words mean more to me today than they ever could have when I was a child.
The things came and went.
The dolls disappeared. The model cars were put away. The television sets were replaced. Those wonderful high-finned automobiles became memories themselves.
But somehow, through all those years, we still have the important things.
We have the stories.
We have each other.
And we still have Grandma.
It took me a long time to appreciate those words, Grandma.
But I believe I’m beginning to understand.
And for that—and for all of them—I am grateful.
The Cooper Shortcut Camping Journey Trio 😊 PlusOne!
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