I’ve known at least one person who complained when her husband took her out that they never stayed home, and if they stayed home, complained that they never went out. The man was wrong, no matter what he did.
Condemned if you do, condemned if you don’t. This is the song of the chronically unthankful, and I sing it far too often. I know that my problem isn’t about externals, but what is going on in the heart, and it is far more serious than being “a bit grouchy today, are we?”
Romans 1:18ff describes how God can be clearly seen in His creation, but ungodly people will reject Him anyway. Verse 21 says, “Although they knew God (in the sense that He exists), they did not glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened.”
I worry about myself when I stop being thankful because this verse tells me that is one of the first things to go when a person rejects God. When I stop glorifying Him and become a complainer, I’m saying NO in some part of me.
Thankfulness and contentment surely go together. Both are the result of knowing that God is in control and deciding to be happy about what He is controlling. Yet contentment takes time to learn. By nature, human beings seem to continually want something other than what we have. We vote a government into power, and how long is it before we are complaining? We marry the person of our dreams and how long is it before we think we married the wrong one? We make a sandwich for lunch and wish we’d cooked soup.
Before Jesus came, John the Baptist announced that He was coming. John lived an austere life that included rigid abstinence, but the religious establishment who admired a Spartan lifestyle, rejected him. Then Jesus “came eating and drinking,” and they said, “Look, a glutton and a winebibber, and friend of tax collectors and sinners.”
The Pharisees didn’t like John, but when Jesus lived a normal life among them, they didn’t like Him either. Did they even know what they wanted?
When I’m in a grumpy, discontented frame of mind, and am not happy with anything, I don’t know what I want either, but my problem isn’t about externals; it is about me. My heart is not right. Being thankful might be difficult for someone who lives in poverty, has extremely poor health, has lost all their family and friends, and has no positive signs for their future, yet I’ve met people like that who can still be thankful. Thankfulness and contentment aren’t about externals; it is about the heart.
I started a list this morning and want to finish it, an alphabet of some of the things that I am thankful for and content with:
Ankles. Mine are still slender and I’m old enough to have fat ankles!
Bath tubs. What would the world be like without a hot bath now and then?
Chocolate, and a good place to hide my stash of the dark, good-for-you, chunks.
Dish soap. Imagine trying to wash them without it, especially after turkey?
Eternal stuff that keeps my heart from becoming too content living here.
Fat-free ice cream, which is far more delicious than it sounds.
Green lettuce. Without it, where would my waistline be? No doubt out where I can see it.
Habits, or otherwise I may not get up some mornings, even this morning.
Instinct, which is a lot like faith. I just “know” some things are true and some are not.
Jack, my older brother, and a 90-year-old cousin with the same name. Both are great guys. And Janet, my sister and good friend.
Kisses — don’t need explaining.
Lovely . . . anything that can be put after that word, like lemons, laughter, and leftovers (so I don’t need to cook tonight).
Miniatures, for those times the regular size is just too much.
Note cards and the delight that comes when someone takes the time to send one to me!
Onomatopoeia: words that make sounds that go with whatever the words are about, like cuckoo and buzz saw and whiz, and awww! and bleat, clunk, grrr, hum, zip and crunch.
Pranks, like my dad used to play and the memories of laughing at ourselves when we fell for it.
Quilts. Making them, the colors and comfort and feel of them.
Rope, and the memory of my dad teaching me how to make my own lasso.
Sand, white on the beach at our timeshare, each grain a tiny jewel.
Tom, my younger brother, whose brand of religion is awful, but he is still a neat person.
Umbrellas with flowers and riotous colors and the feel of being in the rain but not getting wet.
Vigor, which I wish I had more of, but am glad for the bits God gives me!
Wind, and I can’t believe I just wrote that.
Xi and Xu, two words that have helped me win Scrabble games.
Yellow, my new favorite color (even though I love them all).
Zebra. I’ve pictures of them above my PC desk, in my family room. Black and white me loves black and white them.
It should be Thanksgiving every day.
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