Remember to Be Grateful

I’d told myself it was a drive to enjoy the fall colors, but in the privacy of my car I knew I was running away from too many people making demands. My desk was buried under half-finished assignments, my answering machine filled with unreturned calls. E-mails multiplied faster than I could respond and family members clamored for attention.

I turned the wheel automatically, not headed anywhere, just away from the pressures at home. It was in the little town of Delhi, New York, that I passed a small stone church, its bright red door invitingly ajar. Maybe inside I’d find an answer to this hectic schedule.

I did find it, before I ever reached that door. The flagstone walkway that led to it was blocked by the sagging branches of a large crabapple tree heavy with fruit. A small hand-lettered sign apologized for the inconvenience. “These apples come from the apple blossoms we enjoyed so much last spring.”

Blossoms. Beginnings.

I remembered how eagerly I’d applied for the job that led to the work now waiting on my desk. All the phone messages and e-mails: I’d originally contacted these people with such hopes and plans. The needs of children and family: This was the life my husband and I had prayed to have. What I called pressure was in fact abundance, hope fulfilled, prayer granted! I hurried to the car, impatient to get back to a life overflowing with the fruit of spring flowers.

Help me to be as quick with my thanks, Father, as with my requests!