Kind Promise: I will appreciate blessings. 

Electronic illustrationMaybe it’s my age: I’ve been thinking about my ancestors. They lived on farms in West Virginia.  I remember a photo of five or six men leaning on shovels…or maybe they were hoes…standing in front of a wooden rail fence which stood in front of a farm house. They stared into the camera seriously, three or 4 feet between each man. The child who was me gazed at their skinny bodies and sepia-toned faces and knew something about work and family and survival. My great-great-grandmother, the story goes, took the clothes to the river, made a fire and boiled, rinsed and hung the laundry before she came back home and gave birth to her seventh child. It was a hardscrabble life.

They practiced gratitude. I know that because they were churchgoers. My grandfather became an ordained minister. Songs and prayers of gratitude stretch back probably as far as there are humans. We find that life is better when we notice what brings us comfort and joy and recognize the grace of it..

I imagine my ancestors bewildered astonishment if they could see me, sitting in my motorized wheelchair at my computer, getting ready to put these words where they can be seen by many people on earth. The blessings that surround me would make them shake their heads, mouths open in wonderment.

My husband did laundry yesterday, using machines for washing and drying. Nearly everything was clean, so I had a closet full to choose from this morning. My breakfast came from the well-stocked refrigerator and pantry. (Before that, there was a delivery guy and truck, and hosts of pickers and packers and manufacturers and growers.) Before writing this I read and answered messages from people all over the country.

With every move, with every breath, I am in a sea of blessings.