Last time I told you gratitude wasn’t my default setting.
I suppose one could look at that two ways. After all, I was the victim of a random accident that put me in a wheelchair for the last 38 years. Not much to be grateful for there.
On the other hand, I’ve been blessed in more ways than I can count since my injury. I know God’s been at work, using all the circumstances of my injury for good. Even when I can’t see it.
I wish I could say that knowledge helps me let go of the ongoing anguish, but I can’t. I wish my first response was gratitude. It isn’t.
I’m not proud of admitting my struggle with gratitude. But apparently, it’s part of my journey with Jesus. I’m glad to know he won’t give up on me.
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Gratitude takes me to the stories I’ve heard from kids at the Home of Hope. If anyone has a right to feel bitter about their lot in life, it’s kids born into sexual slavery. Kids who have seen and experienced some of the worst evils life can offer.
But inevitably, their stories overflow with gratitude. For the Project Rescue staff who rescued and care for them. For the new life they experience. For hope and freedom.
And mostly for God. Instead of blaming God for their former circumstances, they seem to have this abundant gratitude for the opportunities in front of them.
I’m certain they still struggle. Trauma doesn’t magically disappear. It’s not going to be all rainbows and sunshine for the rest of their lives.
But right now, they’re wonderful models of the sort of trust in God I wish I always experienced.
I long for their innocent sense of gratitude.