A Thankful Heart

Work had been demanding. I needed the upcoming Thanksgiving break; I needed to sleep late; I needed to enjoy good food; I needed to be with family.

But then, what I saw in a hospital parking lot made me realize what I needed most of all: a thankful heart. I watched a family loading a small boy into a van. Imprisoned for life in a wheelchair, his legs had atrophied to little more than pants with nothing in them, his arms flailed, his head weaved from side to side, saliva dripped from his mouth, and his eyes were fixed in a hopeless, upward stare. I drove on, deeply saddened by what I had witnessed. I had an hour of drudgery ahead of me — entering data that must be submitted at the end of each week to the college where I teach. Getting started is the hardest part of any job, and as I sat in an inertial state, unwilling to begin, unable to stop thinking about the little boy, I glanced at a few of the sayings taped to my computer. One of them, by American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow read, “The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration and its hands a regular motion; and when they cease to hang upon its wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move, the clock stands still.”

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The saying, along with the sad scene in the hospital parking lot, put me in a pensive mood, and I began to ponder the real nature of thankfulness. How thankful would that little boy be if he could perform the everyday cares and duties that I consider drudgery? How happy would he be if he could control his legs and arms, as I control mine? How thrilled would he be if he could enjoy a Thanksgiving meal with his family? How sad is he when he sees other children playing, knowing he will never play? How happy would he be if he could sit in one of my college classrooms, take notes, ask questions, and be excited to study and learn — tasks many of my students consider drudgery? How thankful would he be if the weights and counterpoises of the clock of life gave his existence a regular motion? I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and made a confession to myself and to the God who made that little boy and me: I take too much for granted; I am not thankful enough. If I were, I would view the drudgery of life as necessary — nay, vital — to the true vibration and regular motion that measures life. In a sadder, wiser frame of mind, I vowed to banish from my life the weakness of taking for granted the countless blessings a loving, heavenly Father bestows upon me every day. I vowed to express my love for Him with what matters most: a thankful heart.