Carol Jane Remsburg
It's rare that we feel ourselves blessed. More often we'll whine and complain over how unfair the world is. Nothing works as it should—or could for that matter. Nope, it surely doesn't. When was the last time you counted your blessings? Thanksgiving? Christmas? Did you make a New Year's resolution? Was that just a token nod before rushing out to plop before the tube to watch the game, the race, or to shuffle back into the kitchen to face the mess of the aftermath of the meal? Either way, everyone under your roof that day was blessed.
Normally, I'm first on the list and fast in line to be one of the complainers in this life. Nothing is nice, all is horrible, and work isn't a drudge—it's a horror though nothing else in town is paying this wage. Hmm. So what's the blessing here?
When I push aside all my childish wants/needs/desires—what's left? Okay, this year I'll have been married for nearly 20 years. That's a milestone in this day and age. Moreover I still love and admire the man I married. We have a 10 year old daughter who is healthy, intelligent, beautiful, strong—and daunting. Both adults are gainfully employed. We have a home—a sturdy "little" home, but a home that's stable. If I want I can splurge and buy things "I want."
I have relatives and pets that rely upon my endeavors so that they too can thrive. I work at the job and come home and work some more. I'm a wife. I'm a mother. I'm a sister. I'm a daughter-in-law. I'm a friend. I'm a "something" for nearly anyone who asks. Why is that?
Could it be that I do understand my blessings already?
I'm the first one in line to whine over cleaning up the mess in my house. I'll moan over the scads of laundry I'll wash, dry, and fold—but I'll also take pride in that small job. I'll write my friends and keep in touch with far-flung family and friends—while I hope that the written word will suffice because when I come home after the day's work I just want to hide.
I hide, often here. Yes, I hide. I will read, pick up the house, scrub things, wash laundry, try to teach my child about life, clean, hide, read, converse with my husband, hide, read some more, and eventually reach farther. I'm always eager yet always tired.
I've an idea that's how many of us spend our days. Yea, we spend those days and feel weary and aggravated all at the same time. You can work the job and come home to prepare the dinner, wash the laundry, feed the animals, straighten the house, and clean it to a fare-thee-well—and how you do feel after all that? You feel tired and unappreciated. We spend not months or years at this toil—we spend decades doing the same things over and over again. A plow horse knows no better but we do—yet we cannot stop ourselves and hope we've offered our best. We also feel that we'll never reach the summit of our hopes. We know in the depths of our hearts that we haven't toiled hard enough or reached far enough. We know failure on a daily basis.
How is it that our ordinary lives are uplifted to the point that we must recognize that life really is good. That we have enough to eat, we have shelter, we have enough to clothe ourselves from the elements, and that we have enough income to ensure that we keep all of the above. Many don't have that. Moreover, most don't. We may whine over the connection of our cable or satellite TV, but we don't frown and clench as our stomachs have no food, no clothes, no shelter from the storm. We tend to whine over paltry things—and hope for snowstorms.
Life isn't easy for any of us, yet it's time for those of us that are blessed to realize it. Tomorrow may not be a piece of cake—but we've a home to go to and loved ones that will open the door welcome us with open arms.
Take stock of your blessings. Our level of whining may diminish and our appreciation of life may increase. I bid you the blessing of that wonder.