I read a story at work today. This is my job. It was about a mom in Colombia. She goes to the farmers market to get food for her children...to scavenge for food. I looked at pictures of her digging through piles of rotten papayas and picking her family's dinner of chicken innards out of a garbage pail.
Then I went home. To my new home, and unpacked my kitchen. I unpacked my beautiful, shiny mandolin. I love that thing. Then my pistachio Kitchenaid. Then my cheese slicer. Fondue pot. Toaster oven. Cuisinart. Griddler. I could go on.
Wow, am I blessed. I mean, stunningly so. A woman no less deserving than me digs through buckets of rotten chicken innards for dinner. I unpack dozens of shiny kitchen doo-dads into my spacious, clean kitchen. Sometimes, the discrepancy is staggering.
I told Yuri, my coworker who lives in Tegucigalpa, about my new home today. I showed him a picture of it. He said, "Wow, you're really blessed." Yuri spends his days visiting cardboard shacks stacked on the sides of Tegucigalpa, so he would know.
Everyone, forgive me for preaching, but I have to shout it: We are so blessed! We are so blessed. We are so blessed. I can't say it enough. I received a story not long ago from Indonesia. A mother who struggled to keep her family fed. She had a little son. My coworker went to visit the family, and took a picture of them together. The mom had vacant eyes, staring down and to the left. The baby laid on a mat, with arms and legs like twigs, drowning in his blue baby clothes. He died several days later. These are real people. They are like us.
Even in our hard times, we are blessed beyond what we could know. Say it! I am blessed. I am blessed. I am blessed.