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Flashbacks of Gratitude
Sometimes you have more reasons to give thanks than you think you do. When everything is going downhill, your mind is not exactly attuned to the positive. The hard times, however, lend fresh perspective to normal living.
I was grateful, of course, when the community of Rose Hill volunteered to build a new house for my kids and me. This was an awesome gift, as we were trying to get back on our feet in those early months.
As word spread through USA Today, Guideposts, and other media, people around the country began chipping in to help. One day a man from Oak Express showed up at the house we were using temporarily. He left his card and said his company wanted to furnish our entire place!
I thought, He obviously doesn’t know how big this new house is going to be. But when I called to get more information, the offer proved to be genuine. One day the kids and I drove to Wichita and walked through the store, picking out what we wanted. Today our home is a showcase of lovely light oak furniture. For my bedroom, which is small, I chose a unique all-in-one bed with a nice headboard and drawers underneath for storage, three on each side. That way I made the most of the space.
But even small things can trigger a spurt of gratitude. One night as I was sleeping in that handsome bed, I sort of came half-awake . . . the house was silent . . . the clock said 2:30 . . . and I realized something odd: I’m sleeping on my stomach!
What is so strange about that, you ask? Well, when I shared a single hammock with my husband for nearly nine months under the open sky in the jungle, turning onto my stomach was clearly impossible. If I tried it, I’d promptly flip myself or Martin out onto the hard ground. The only way I could manage was to lie carefully on my back or my side, with my head tucked into his ankles, while his head was at the other end of the hammock near my feet. And once the two of us got into place, that was it—we stayed put for the night, because there was no room to fidget or adjust.
Now lying in a spacious bed with freedom to take any posture I pleased, I was caught up in a moment of worship. Oh, Lord, I said, thank you that I can lie on my stomach! An eccentric praise, I admit, but it was entirely justified in my case. I had come to appreciate certain things most Americans don’t notice.
Don’t get me wrong: I would still rather be shivering in a hammock getting poked by Martin’s kneecaps than to have this nice warm bed all to myself. But since that is no longer available to me, I gladly accept the spacious provision—and give thanks.
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On another day I was driving and thought about how nice it is to have left-turn lanes. What a concept—a whole space designated for people turning left so that everyone else can get on their way faster. And the drivers (at least most of them) respect that designation and don’t clog up the left-turn lane unless they’re really turning left!
In a country such as the Philippines, that wouldn’t work. Drivers are too accustomed to flowing like amoeba in a stream, filling up every open space the instant it appears in an effort to get ahead. That’s why emergency vehicles have such a hard time getting to accidents. The idea of pulling over to the side and letting the ambulance through is considered peculiar.
“Isn’t it great to have these lanes for turning left?” I exclaimed one day when the kids and I were driving somewhere. They looked at me, totally mystified. Oh, well, moms are allowed to say ridiculous things, aren’t they?
Since coming back to America, I have walked down a sidewalk and marveled at its smoothness. There’s no need to keep an eye out for stones, roots, and other hazards because straight, level concrete supports my steps.
I’m not saying that we in this country should feel superior because of our various advancements in efficiency or convenience. Lots of things in life are more important than traffic management. I’m just saying that when you have lived without these things for sixteen years, you notice them afresh, and you appreciate them more.
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A few years after returning to the States, I am no longer awestruck by conveniences such as oak beds and left-turn lanes. Still, I can’t predict when something will trigger a memory.
One day I was waiting at the middle school for Mindy to come out of the locker room after her basketball game. Presently she appeared with her assortment of stuff: a backpack full of books, her gym bag with shoes and other gear, her water bottle.
“Mom, can you help me get all this to the car?” she asked.
I picked up the backpack and slung it over one shoulder as we headed out the door, down the sidewalk, and toward the parking lot maybe a hundred yards away. The weight of the books bore down upon me . . . and suddenly, I had a vivid flashback. I was no longer crossing a school yard in Kansas; I was on Basilan Island getting ready to haul a backpack through the jungle for the next eight or ten hours. The physical sensation of that load on my shoulder brought it all back.
I calmed myself and took a deep breath. I said nothing to Mindy. Inside, however, I thought, You know, I don’t have to carry this thing up and down mountains all day. I only have to carry it as far as that van over there. Thank you, Lord. We made our way to the parking lot and I began to drive us home.
On the road, however, I had a second thought.
A long time ago a Man carried my heavy load up a steep hill. It was far more than a backpack. It was the weight of my sin.
I will be forever grateful for what Jesus did for me that day at Calvary, and for us all. “He personally carried away our sins in his own body on the cross so we can be dead to sin and live for what is right” (1 Peter 2:24).
In fact, only sinners qualify for this wonderful gift. The prophet Isaiah explained that “The LORD is not too weak to save you, and he is not becoming deaf. He can hear you when you call. But there is a problem—your sins have cut you off from God” (59:1-2). The good news from Jesus is that he resolved this problem for us.
I am told that in Chinese script, the pictograph for righteousness is formed by placing the character of a lamb above the pronoun I. What an appropriate symbol. Jesus was “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). Christ is our answer. We make the ultimate trade-off when we accept him as our Savior. We trade our sin for his righteousness.
What a special privilege to become God’s child. How amazing it is to have our sins forgiven and begin walking with God each day. I can think of no higher reason to be grateful.