Counting Blessings

One day I found myself with time to think as I drove home from Los Angeles. This no phone/no interruptions/no pressing chores day was a delightful rarity, and I savored it like a bowl of tin roof ice cream. Yum.

My mind went wherever it would, and it was quite a journey. I started out grousing about traffic, gas prices, and those various irritations that plague our lives. I had a good cry over my trials and tragedies, and finally ended up counting my blessings. I mean that literally; I spent hours thinking about them and mentioning them to the Lord in gratitude. (I’m sure I looked insane, driving along, talking out loud!) It was an illuminating, humbling, and productive experience.

I remember hearing a talk by President Gordon B. Hinckley in which he asked how many of us had ever thanked the Lord for the simple blessing of our hands. His words stopped me cold; I was one who had never explored that form of gratitude. I stopped and looked at my hands—stubby and small, like a ten-year-old child’s, now encased in crepe-y flesh that reveals my age. I saw my thin nails and a network of tiny scars whose origins are long forgotten. They are not graceful, beautiful hands, but they are a blessing.

Despite the quirks and flaws in my hands, I was in awe of the miraculous wonder of miniscule muscles all working in concert with each other and with my brain, performing countless tasks each day without my even taking notice. I flexed and fisted them, turning them palm-up and palm-down, and wondered why I had always taken them for granted. I was ashamed, and I’ve tried since to notice and appreciate the small gifts I enjoy. I realize that the loss of these gifts would not be so small, and I am grateful.

As I contemplate that remarkable day of gratitude in my car, and the endlessly long list of things for which I am grateful, I realize that the majority of my blessings are the people in my life. By American standards I don’t have worldly wealth, but I am rich because of the “treasures in heaven” that surround me in the form of amazing human beings. So many of my blessings stem from my great fortune in knowing such fine people, and by benefiting from their examples.

People are not, as a rule, particularly comfortable with direct expressions of gratitude. I sometimes have the urge to walk up to people and say, “Let me tell you why I like you so much,” or “Have I ever told you what you mean in my life?” I’ve often wondered if people would be put off, suspicious, or annoyed if I were to express to them my gratitude for the blessing that they are in my life. Since salesmen and con men and politicians have adopted a faux version of those expressions, we’ve become a bit leery: “OK, what do you want?”

So I hesitate to gush, although my appreciation is deep enough that it can’t help but gush! One day I resolved to take the chance, and speak gratitude anyway. I remembered how good it feels to hear the words, “thank you”. They are healing words that lift and edify and give us the strength to keep moving along. They remind us that we do have something to give. They assure us that we can make a difference. They remind us that we matter.

If I could wish something for the special people who have blessed my life, I would wish that their generous and charitable Father would shower them with blessings so richly that they could spend hours counting them out loud, and still not list them all. That would begin to compensate them for all they have done for me.

Three-year-old Anna looked up dreamily from a movie she was watching and gushed, “That guy on TV is just bein’ a hero!” She obviously understands the concept. It amazes me that even at her tender age, she can recognize a hero. It’s too bad that so many adults have lost that insight. Too many of us look in the wrong places to find someone to emulate.

Far too often, the world chooses its heroes from among those in possession of ethereal mammon: fame, phenomenal income, or merely the audacity to do something that puts them on the evening news. We’ve confused celebrity with courage, and we’ve lost something in the process. I’d rather take my cues from Anna. I prefer to embrace the examples of those quiet heroes who, with unassuming dignity, brought peace and ease to those around them.

Within a year, my circle of friends buried two of its heroes. Both of them were taken suddenly, the victims of violent, self-serving disdain for the sanctity of life. As we reel in shock, we also stand in awe of the legacy each of them left behind. Both of them lived (as Mark Twain recommended) so that when they died, even the undertaker was sorry. That’s the true hallmark of a hero.

Sometimes we tend to glorify a person in death, remembering them as far finer people than they really were; not so with these two extraordinary people. They didn’t become great only after their deaths. They lived great—quietly, humbly, and unceasingly. We didn’t have to stretch to find things to praise about them; just the mention of either one sparked tender memories—vignettes in time of moments when we’d “caught” them in acts of kindness and caring.

In my mind’s dictionary, next to the word “generosity” there is a picture of Norma Barto. How many crises did she avert by offering her help and her prayers? How many tears were wiped away by her kind and giving hands? We’ll never know for certain. When I think of the Fourth of July, I will always see a sand-covered Scott Snider at the beach, hair mussed by the wind, smilingly beckoning passers-by to get something (more) to eat. His enthusiasm was contagious, as was his laughter and his joy. How many children cherish holidays and reading and pansies and playing because Scott made all those things special?

That’s my kind of hero: the kind that nobody outside our circle knew about until we lost the privilege of such good company. When the community spoke posthumously of their goodness and grace, we wanted to say, “Oh, if you only knew the true magnitude of their goodness!’’ As we contemplated their quiet acts of heroism, we all changed a little. We wanted to be more like them; we resolved to carry on the work they did so freely while they walked among us.

As hard as it is to lose special “someones”, how wonderful it was that we were able to know them at all! That’s the aspect that makes it possible to absorb the shock of their loss. The world is peppered with that kind of hero; and thank goodness there are enough of them around that most of us get to know at least one hero during our lifetimes. Losing them is awful. The grief can be overwhelming; but oh, how they enriched lives!

I hope that as our anguish eases, we’ll retain that firm desire to choose as our own heroes did: to lose ourselves in attitudes of service; to find ourselves in acts of love. And when a hero leaves behind a young family accustomed to his particularly tender care, I hope that we will each remember to honor that lost hero by stepping in-- not trying to fill his shoes, because we never can—but by cherishing his children.

As for you, Norma and Scott, I am certain that as you settle in beyond the veil, you will soon get down to the business of doing what you’ve always done best: just bein’ a hero.