|Handle with care. Photo by NASA ICE/Flickr/CC BY 2.0|
In the course of moving last week from my residence of 8.5 years, amid the heightened piles of my accumulated possessions and the growing weight of my Catholic guilt, I remembered how good I have it.
Ok, so the A/C crapped out for a night at the new place. Big deal. It was back the next day. So we didn't have Internet. Who cares. We talked instead. So the entire place smelled like thick wood varnish and the backyard resembled a jungle. THE POINT IS WE HAVE NOT ONLY FLOORS, BUT ALSO A YARD.
Here's the lesson in it all for me: No matter how much I donate or how often I volunteer, there are few educational substitutes for the direct experience of discomfort and uncertainty. Moreover, the discomfort and uncertainty my move created weren't even permanent; we were settled in by the end of the long weekend, and at no point in the process were we hungry, exhausted, or afraid.
So if you hear any short-sighted complaints from me in the weeks ahead, please feel free to ask me these questions:
- Do you have clean water at hand? (Yes.)
- Do you have healthy food at arm's reach? (Yes.)
- Do you have a safe and comfortable place to sleep? (Yes.)
- Do you have a secure, non-leaking roof? (Yes.)
- Do you have clean clothes to wear? (Yes.)
- Do you have warmth when you're cold and coolness when you're hot? (Yes.)
- Are you able to afford the essentials, and can you pay for them without anxiety? (Yes.)
It took upending my well-worn routine to drive home how much I take for granted. Consider me grateful -- and chastened.
Prayer #301: Gratitude Unpacked
God of efficient moves and hardcore shifts --
When you remove the bubble wrap that cushions my reality, do not fear for my fragility. Knock me, bang me, shake my most delicate, pointy bits with verve. It's the only way to kick my complacency to the curb, where it will sit in the rain awaiting the garbage truck, and the only way to cart me to my new surroundings, when my perspective will become like the old, inherited couch I just hauled in -- a worn relic made fresh by new context.