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.