I had a few moments of self-pity this morning as I contemplated the daunting task in front of me: helping to empty a house to move into while trying to empty out and clean my own. At 5am, pre-coffee, it seemed a lot to think about.
Then I read this post about developed world tantrums...go ahead...I'll wait.
It's humbling to realize most of the things that irritate me are life conveniences that most of the people in the world cannot even fathom. There I sat, in my bed, where I was not rained on and have never once worried about being washed away, in my carefully climate controlled room where OH MY STARS it was so slightly too warm that I had to kick back the covers, can you even imagine the horror? And I was daunted by the thought of so much excess material that it would take me days to sort it (and that's with help).
I kind of want to vomit when I read what I just wrote.
I've been thinking a lot lately about attitude and gratitude, about what constitutes a real problem and what's simply me needing to take my get-the-asch-ee-double-hocky-sticks-over-myself pill, about the words I speak and the motivation behind them. But this only served to glaringly point out that my sickness is more than skin deep, more than bone deep, ingratitude is soul deep, and the cure is a lengthy life long refocus on the Great Giver.
Incidentally, I spent a fabulous day with two of my favorite people in all the land (I truly mean that, not just because they are reading this). I scrubbed shower grout and cleaned hair out of old drawers and instead of being grossed out, I remembered a video of of a blogger who waded hip deep in dump water to visit a family in their home in the Philippines. My own Compassion child, Konkobo, wrote to me two weeks ago of the death of his father, of how his mother left long ago, and now he lives with his step mother, a widow with four other children and Konkobo in a one room home, while we have been all but adopted into a family here in our home town giving us more family than we even know what to do with, let alone deserve.
That I live this life at all, this beautiful, privilege filled, convenience laden, materialistic (even when I think I'm living simply), miraculous life, defies explanation.
That I fail to recognize the blessing in it...it's sin. I do not ever wish to shame the Hand of my King with my ingratitude.
Perspective check, received, Abba. I thank you.