I am a chronic complainer. I grumble. I gripe. I have grievances. Sometimes my whining gets on my wife's nerves. She says, “You should quit whining, Phil.” But I tell her, “I don't like your tone of voice, Sweetie, it's beginning to bother me.” These are the things I have found myself complaining about lately:
- The water from our tap. It leaves smudges on our cups.
- Why I have to follow my teenagers around the house shutting off lights. It's a full-time job.
- Long waits in doctor's offices with mediocre reading material.
- The weather, which includes snow in mid-September.
- Why the garbage truck never comes on time.
- Why all four wheels on my shopping cart go in opposite directions.
- Having to make the bed when I'm the last one out of it.
In the midst of my whining, something happened. Our family took a trip to a Third World country. We went with Compassion, a truly Christian child development agency whose motto is “Releasing children from poverty in Jesus' name.” While we were there, God hit me with the shallowness of my outlook on life.
The vast majority of these kids don't stand at the fridge wondering what's for supper. There is no fridge. There is no supper.
We stood in a village that a hurricane had completely levelled. Except for a church and the Compassion building. They told me the miraculous story with faces beaming. Yes, they'd lost everything. Yes, their homes had blown away. But the church was still standing.
On the day we visited our sponsored child Carlos, the temperature was almost unbearable and we ran out of bottled water. Never in my short life had I experienced such raging thirst. Suddenly Carlos' stepmother pulled from a small icebox the greatest gift imaginable: an ice-cold bottle of fizzy pop. I ran my fingers over that bottle and giggled like a fourth grader who had just heard the funniest joke imaginable. I held that bottle up to the light then sipped it slowly, relishing every single drop as they crawled one by one down my eager throat. This drink was nectar straight from heaven. This drink was a companion and a friend and a teacher. It taught me a glorious secret to the joyful Christian life: give thanks for each and every blessing while we hold it in our hand.
On the long flight home, I wrote a list of things I'm thankful for now that we've been to the developing world:
- Water that comes out of a tap. Clean cups to drink it with.
- Lights in the house. Even if they're on too much.
- Waiting for the doctor in a waiting room complete with leather sofas, an aquarium, and hope.
- Snow in September. I'd golf all year in a warm climate and my wife just might consider murder.
- Garbage dumps outside our cities. The truck may not be on time, but at least we don't share sidewalk space with the garbage year-round.
- Shopping carts and grocery stores crammed with food. In my entire life, I don't think I've ever had to literally go to bed hungry.
- Not having to plug my nose. The assault on my nasal passages as we travelled through some of these communities was unbearable.
- A place to sleep tonight.
Things still happen throughout my day that push my “whine” button. But more and more I'm learning to stop myself in midwhine and let that whining give way to thanksgiving. This morning as I looked into the mirror, I found myself giving thanks for a comb and a toothbrush. Even if I only need one of them.
