Matt at 40: Seven Days of Gratitude

In February, I turned 40. This landmark birthday crept up on me quicker than I’d ever thought it would. As the day drew near, I found myself reflecting on the broad swaths of my life so far and, in so doing, felt an immense sense of gratitude. “I’ve got to write some of this stuff down,” I thought. I’m not sure how that passing thought came into full clarity, but it did—and at the perfect time: exactly one week before my 40th birthday on February 18.

I posted this series of mini- gratitude essays on Facebook and on Threads each day leading up to my 40th. I’d meant to compile them into a post here soon thereafter, but life took hold as we entered Lent and the busy work period before Easter. My mind returned to all these moments of gratitude in this last week after receiving my acceptance into the full Master of Divinity program at my seminary, where I’ve spent the past nearly two years taking courses for a couple of graduate certificates. As I look forward to the next academic and ministry chapter of my life, I’m simultaneously looking back—grateful for all the many people, places, and experiences who have helped to shape who I’ve become over the past 40 years and who I am becoming in the many years ahead.

Admittedly, this is a long read, but I don’t post here much; so, I hope my less-than-ideal posting frequency grants me the liberty to demand more of your screen time than I honestly deserve. May the words I shared in February, as seen below and only lightly edited, express in some small way the gratitude I feel in my heart…

I’m turning 40 next Wednesday! For the next seven days, I want to reflect on small bits of my life for which I’m grateful. Come along with me!

Today, I’m grateful for my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and older cousins. They’re not perfect—no human is—but each of them in their own unique way taught me something important about family, about life and the world around me, about God, and about who I am as a person. “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” For better or worse, it was family who first taught me what it meant to be a significant and meaningful part of something bigger with even more significance and meaning far beyond my own existence. The man I am at 40 was shaped by their positive influence and, as in many families, sometimes sharpened by the painful lessons learned through people’s inevitable shortcomings. Family is a tricky thing, a lovely thing, a blessing and gift from God, and I’m entirely grateful for the adults who have always loved me, guided me, supported me, and been my biggest cheerleaders.

Day 2 of 7 days of gratitude ahead of my 40th birthday next Wednesday:

Today, I’m grateful for my childhood and of the many memories from it I still cherish:

Growing up on the same street as my cousins and right next door to my mom’s parents. Grandma Carolyn keeping a stock of Gerber baby food jars—all glass back then—for all her grandkids; long after I’d grown out of baby food, she kept a special stock of Gerber’s plum just for me.

Riding up in Grandpa Bill’s beat-up truck to his mountain property in Lambsburg, Virginia. He bought me, my brother, and my cousin some cloth, child-sized tool belts and little kid-sized hammers; in our pretend play, we thought we were helping him build his cabin. He’d pop open little cans of beanie-weenies or Vienna sausages for our lunch and we’d sometimes get a soda and a moonpie on our way up or back.

Somewhere along the way, some kid in the family stopped calling Grandpa’s mom “Great Grandma” and reversed it; “Grandma Great” became “Grandma Grape” to my young ears, and that’s just what we called her. Stepping into her house up in Tobaccoville, wind chimes dangling across the entirety of its big front porch, was like stepping back into time.

Dad’s dad was an itinerant, country Baptist preacher and a cabbie. My first ever “sermon” was delivered at a little radio station out in the country where Grandpa Willie and his preacher friend had a show; he says they paid $40/hour for it. Grandma Joyce’s hand-quilted baby blanket made especially for me has followed me to every house where I’ve ever lived. Grandpa’s parents house was always hot and stuffy, but Pappy and Nanny had a small organ that fascinated me.

Aunt Vivian and Uncle Wayne owned a simple diner, Viv’s Grill, that served breakfast and lunch, it’s walls adorned with NASCAR photos and memorabilia. It seemed like the whole family worked there at some point, including a preschool me assigned to help wash pots and pans. The grill would close for a family-wide break between Christmas and New Year’s, and they’d host a big Christmas party—complete with Santa and presents for the kids—for the family and all their other employees, friends, and regular customers before shutting down for the week.

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When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle owned a little country diner in Winston-Salem. Viv’s Grill, it was called. Their passion for the sport transformed that space into a little miniature, informal version of a NASCAR Hall of Fame, long before the real thing would be built in Charlotte.

Aunt Susan nicknamed me “M&M,” after my initials. The namesake candies became our shared sweet treat.

The early ‘90s were full of trips: to the beach and to the mountains. Carolina Beach’s boardwalk. Myrtle Beach’s Grand Stand. Tweetsie Railroad. Linville Caverns. Ghost Town in the Sky. Dollywood. I didn’t know it then, I was too young, but it was all planned for a purpose: several last big moments for family memory making before Grandma Carolyn’s passing in 1994.

Day 3 of 7 days of gratitude ahead of my 40th birthday on Wednesday:

Today (well, everyday), I’m grateful for my mom. In the most literal of all senses, of course, I would not exist without her. But she’s more than a life giver… she has been and continues to be a life saver—a teacher, a mentor, and a guide.

My mom was the first to teach me unconditional love and the first to teach me responsibility. I’ll always be grateful for the ways she helped shape me into my role as her first child and the eldest of my siblings.

She used her own deeply intelligent mind and the resources at her disposal to equip me with an early childhood education that set me up for success. When we couldn’t afford preschool, Mom set up her own teaching center in the kitchen. ABCs and 123s were affixed to the back of the kitchen door, creating a makeshift classroom in which she personally hosted my earliest lessons in reading, writing, and math.

I loved listening to Mom play piano. She knew lots of songs, but, for whatever silly reason, I loved it when she played “Nadia’s Theme,” the theme song for the soap “The Young and the Restless.” She tried, in vain, to teach us kids piano. I never seemed to get it and eventually just wasn’t interested; it’s been the source of much regret in my life. Still, those early piano lessons and her own passion for music and singing (she does love herself some karaoke!) gave me a musical ear I carried into chorus classes in middle and high school.

Mom also instilled in me a profound and enduring faith in God. She patiently answered my tough questions, encouraging me to use the brain God had given me to explore and suss out the answers I sought.

Mom’s own eclectic styles and interests taught me to be an ever-inquisitive explorer of life and the world. My curiosity was never stifled, no question was ever a stupid question, and my creativity was encouraged.

In the earliest parts of my childhood, we never truly seemed to want. Even when money was tight—and Lord knows it quite often was—I never felt it. We seemed to have what we needed, and I was happy.

Later childhood, teenage, and young adulthood years brought challenges and trials to our family. Parents are people, too, and no person is perfect, but love does not see imperfection.

I’ve shared my greatest triumphs and successes with my mom. I’ve shared my greatest burdens and shortcomings. I’ve shared the emotional highs and lows of childhood, adolescence, and my journey into adulthood. And, even now, she’s my go-to when I have questions or just need to vent.

I think people can sometimes be tempted to think our birthdays are just about us. That the world, for just a day, truly does center on our own wants and experiences. But that’s not true. Wednesday is a special day for Mom, too, and I hope she truly knows just how special she is. Mom, I love you!

Day 4 of 7 days of gratitude ahead of my 40th birthday on Wednesday:

After serving at church this morning and participating in worship, I found myself thinking about all of the different communities of people beyond my immediate family who have helped shape who I am today. Church families. Chosen Families. Cherished circles of close friends and colleagues. Some people and some places lasted only a season, but others have had a lasting longevity of presence or impact in my life. Each has uniquely taught me important lessons about myself, helped shape my worldview, provided support or challenged me.

All of these places contained people who became like family, some like siblings, some among the closest and best friends I’ve ever had. Some of these places introduced much-needed adult guides and mentors during my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood. Some of these places introduced people into my life I later learned weren’t great fits; that’s okay, because in the process I also had opportunities to make mistakes, get mad, seek forgiveness or to forgive—some of the most important parts of learning to live in relationship and in community with other people.

I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had to meet so many brilliant and beautiful people, and I cherish so many memories from so many meaningful once-in-a-lifetime moments with some of the people I’ve held and loved most dearly in this world. As unnamed as you all are in this post, hear me when I say: Thank you.

Day 5 of 7 days of gratitude ahead of my 40th birthday on Wednesday:

Today I’m grateful to be gay. My sexual orientation is not all of who I am, but I would not be the man I am today if not for my experience as a gay and queer person, and for that I am thankful.

The church and world of my childhood tried their hardest to convince me I was walking into a cursed life of abomination and sin. They filled my head with doubt and shame during the slow process of my own self-discovery and continued to do so after I came out. But they were wrong—they were always wrong. Living my life as a queer person has not been a curse, it has been a blessing and a gift from God.

I think back to my childhood, the church in which I was raised, and the larger culture in which I found myself. I have considered a possible, alternate non-gay history of me and what my life might have looked like. Would I have been a fundamentalist Bible thumper? More than likely. Would my worldview have conformed to some of the worst racist and misogynistic parts of (white) American and southern culture? Also more than likely.

Coming out at 14 years old set me on a different path in an age when the world’s culture wars seemed fixated on gay teens. Time defined the era as “The Battle Over Gay Teens.” (Cover, Article) I thrust myself into gay advocacy and activism—starting a gay-straight alliance at my high school in my freshman year, lobbying the school board for enhanced anti-bullying policies, protesting my ejection from Boy Scouts. My passion for justice—to see wrongs righted—and my involvement in a newfound, like-minded community of fellow justice seekers opened my life to a wide variety of people I likely would have never otherwise met. Their experiences and their opinions helped broaden my own views on the world and what it means to live in a diverse and pluralistic society.

Being gay has meant learning to navigate a life wholly unlike my straight peers. This was much truer 25 years ago than it is today, just as it was truer for those queer people who came out in the many decades before me. Dating was different. Love was different. Friendships were different. Navigating organizations, institutions, and public spaces was different. Family members sometimes revealed themselves to be very unlike family at all.

I remember a conversation with several friends in my late teens. Would, we asked ourselves, choose to be straight if we could? Some of us answered yes; life would be easier. I’m pretty certain I said yes at the time, too. I know an 11-year-old me had once fervently prayed for that to be the case.

But today, in hindsight, I am grateful for the ways being gay has expanded my view of the world and given me unique life experiences and memories I will forever cherish. I’m grateful for the expansive ways in which I have experienced queer community, queer friendship, queer love, and queer joy. I am grateful for my chosen circles of queer friends, family, and mentors. I am grateful for the ways my queer-justice-oriented community work helped land me in a career of community service.

Perhaps most of all, I am grateful for two fundamental realities of my life as a gay and queer man:

First, for the absolute honor and privilege it is to be loved by my best friend, my husband. I am grateful I get to live and do life with Weston. He has taught me more about myself than any other person I’ve ever known, and I will be eternally grateful for the ways he allows the best parts of me to shine. He is my most ardent cheerleader, and I his.

And, second, for how living differently in a world that demands conformity has made my relationship with God richer, fuller, bolder, and more relevant. The grand narrative arc of the Bible tells us a story of an oppressed people struggling to find their own place in the world while simultaneously struggling to understand their relationship with themselves, with their neighbors, and with God. It shows us a people in constant tension as they consider whether to draw the circle of community smaller or wider. It reveals, in the nature and person of Jesus, a Spirit-guided movement of welcome and plenty. It is a story I might have very well missed if that alternate non-gay version of me had ever come to be.

So, would I choose to be straight if I could? My answer today is a bold and unapologetic, “NO!” I have been so richly blessed by the too-many-to-count once-in-a-lifetime experiences resulting from my life as a gay and queer man. I am grateful for this gift of an authentic, enthusiastic, queer, and joy filled life!

Day 6 of 7 days of gratitude ahead of my 40th birthday on Wednesday (tomorrow!):

Today, I am grateful I sometimes, a lot of times, got it wrong. “It” could be any number of things: when I let my anger overcome the best of me, when anger or pain led me to use angry and hurtful words, when I let jealousy cloud my judgment, when I ghosted a friend, when I failed to listen to sound advice and let my ignorance and inexperience rule the day, broken promises, broken friendships, broken trust, and so, so much more. I have made many mistakes in my 40 years of life, and I’m sure I will make more. I have many regrets, and I’m sure I will have more.

Nonetheless I am grateful, certainly not for any real pain or harm I caused but rather for how these mistakes, shortcomings, and, quite frankly, outright failures, forced upon me important even if sometimes painful lessons that have, in turn, made me a better person.

Learning to forgive and to ask forgiveness has been among those important life lessons. As I have done wrong to others, I, too, have been wronged. As I have sought forgiveness from others, I have also learned to forgive. For a long, long time, I found it difficult if not impossible to do either, but I have found more peace and a better life on the other side of it. Holding onto grudges and the pain of past hurts rarely results in anything other than continued and compounded hurt—that old “eye for an eye” way of living that best serves no one.

I was recently reminded of some of this past pain—a very specific circumstance whose details really don’t matter. Old feelings of betrayal and anger began bubbling to the surface. I paused, reminding myself that I, too, was not blameless, that those on the “other side” probably feel a little or maybe a lot like I do. I reflected on the virtues of forgiveness—seeking it, offering it—and chose to let it go.

There will remain circumstances I cannot change, decisions made I cannot take back, and people I have hurt in some way who will find it difficult to forgive me. There will continue to be people I, too, find hard to forgive. There remain circumstances for which I still need to seek and offer forgiveness. But I will try—to seek it, to offer it, to live into the value of making wrongs right, as I enter my 40th birthday and look forward to what I hope are many more years of life in later adulthood. In whatever years I have remaining, I want to spend that time free from the burden of grudges that steal joy and waste time. Life is far too short for it.

Day 7 of 7 days of gratitude for my 40th birthday today:

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.
Serve the Lord with gladness;
come into his presence with singing.
Know that the Lord is God.
It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people and the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him; bless his name.
For the Lord is good;
his steadfast love endures forever
and his faithfulness to all generations.
— Psalm 100 (NRSV Updated Edition)