“I whined about not having shoes until I came across someone without feet.”
This saying resonates, especially since I live with a bilateral amputee. My partner has no feet.
However, throughout our years together, there were countless occasions where I grumbled about my own foot pain. I’ve hobbled around, caught up in my discomfort, while she stands nearby, prosthetic legs resting against the nightstand.
You’d think that such a constant reminder would keep my complaints in check. And it often does. It’s more about finding gratitude that seems elusive.
We dwell in a society where comparisons become routine. Social media churns it out: there’s always someone with more, and then someone else with less. The algorithms feed on our envy, our sense of injustice, or worst of all, our pride. Yet, it doesn’t equip us with real gratitude.
Observing someone facing bigger hurdles can shift our viewpoint. It might even curtail our complaints momentarily—strengthening superficial expressions like, “I’ve got nothing to whine about.” But let’s be honest; we usually find something to complain about. We just shove it aside for the time being, at least in public.
That shift in perspective might silence us briefly, but that silence isn’t true gratitude. After all, does gratitude really hinge on the misfortune of others? Saying, “I felt miserable until I compared myself to you,” doesn’t really sound genuine, does it?
Gratitude isn’t about looking around and concluding, “At least I’m not experiencing what you’re going through.” It’s about recognizing kindness and uttering, “You noticed me.”
I came to realize this during one of Gracie’s hospital stays.
On one particular afternoon, I dashed home from the hospital to grab some necessities. A couple of friends reached out and suggested a visit. They welcomed me into their kitchen, where they had set up a meal just for me.
There, waiting for me, was a bowl of hearty vegetable beef soup, a thick piece of cornbread, and a tall glass of sweet tea. As someone from the South, it felt like the best possible meal.
They simply said, “Your boys are safe with their grandparents for spring break. Gracie is being taken care of at the hospital. You’re safe here too. Please, sit down, eat, and rest. We’re here for you.”
In that moment, they recognized what I hadn’t—I had spent much time caring for others that I hadn’t realized I needed someone to care for me.
I’ve had more extravagant meals that faded from memory, yet I vividly recall their kitchen, the table where I sat, and that comforting meal.
What sparked such gratitude in that instance? It certainly wasn’t an absence of perspective; I had learned to appreciate perspective after countless hours spent in hospital settings. It was simply my friends noticing the weight I had been carrying.
C. S. Lewis wrote about being “Surprised by Joy.” My experience that day was more about being surprised by mercy. They created a safe space for me before I even asked for help.
That exemplified the essence of the gospel.
God didn’t save us by highlighting those with worse shortcomings. He noticed us struggling under the weight of burdens we didn’t fully comprehend. He didn’t wait for us to get it together, choose the right words, or clearly articulate our trouble. He simply saw us and moved toward us.
As Paul states, “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
Luke recounts the story of ten lepers healed by Jesus. All ten received healing, yet only one came back to express gratitude. Simply receiving—no matter how miraculous—doesn’t guarantee gratitude. It takes a connection to the source of that mercy.
Jesus asked, “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine?” That question feels unsettling; I reflect on the times I have been one of the nine.
I realize I’ve often rushed past mercy to tackle the next issue. I’ve prayed for help yet grumbled about the form it came in. I’ve asked God to present opportunities and complained about their challenges.
The issue wasn’t lacking perspective—it’s more about forgetting the core of the gospel.
David wrote, “Bless the Lord, O my soul,” and urges us not to overlook His benefits. Gratitude demands remembrance.
Self-centeredness tells us, “I deserve more.” Perspective brings in the thought, “Someone else has less.” But true gratitude acknowledges, “I have received mercy.”
That day, my friends didn’t solve the ongoing struggles I faced. Life outside their warmth remained difficult, and it still is. But for a fleeting moment, I found solace knowing someone was watching out for me.
Who knew grace could come wrapped in the scent of vegetable beef soup and warm cornbread?
That day, I gratefully accepted a second helping.
