When I’m alone in the woods, my prayers sound like one of two things: (1) the client side of a therapy session or (2) a five year old’s dinner prayer. On a recent dawn hike, I found myself thanking Jesus for very simple things in my life. After meandering through a list of things like audiobooks and headphones, I blurted, “You’ve been good to me!” Half a dozen steps later, I added, “I’m sure that goodness extends beyond what I see and know and recognize. Thanks for wasting blessings on me.”
I didn’t mean that as some platitude from a Hobby Lobby shelf. I just know I easily take for granted wonders like eating raspberries in January, paying for my groceries with a magical tap of a slice of plastic, or video chatting with my brother in Colorado. I can get so focused on what’s broken in culture, the church, and my relationships that I take for granted what should be wonders in my daily life. My car is 17 years old, but I can unlock it from 17 feet away. I can make dark chocolate hot cocoa in 90 seconds, and I can watch live footage from the International Space Station while using the bathroom.
One of the things that helps my gratitude is putting things in historical context.
Pharaohs built massive pyramids on the backs of enslaved labor but couldn’t turn a dial and stand under a luxuriously-hot shower. The ancient Hebrew king, Solomon, might have dispensed more wisdom than anyone in human history, but he couldn’t ask Siri for any additional knowledge. The Queen of Sheba couldn’t give all of her wealth away for a single dab of Neosporin, a set of nail clippers, or a roll of toilet paper. Marco Polo may have earned fame and fortune from his travels, but he could never wake up on one continent and go to bed on another—an ocean away. Only in our current sliver of human history did anyone travel fast enough to need time zones.
Octavian ruled legions of soldiers but couldn’t listen to his favorite music, curate a playlist, and pause or rewind a song to go back to the hook. Genghis Kahn may have reigned over the largest empire in human history; but he never saw a photograph, watched a video, or laughed at a meme in a text message. The prophet Muhammad couldn’t check a clock in the middle of the night or set an alarm to make sure he got to watch a sunrise.
Copernicus couldn’t look at a device in his pocket to see that rain would start in 17 minutes and move out of the area 42 minutes later. William Shakespeare could prove the might of the pen but could never backspace, copy & paste, or email a draft to a trusted reviewer. The Vikings could project fear like thunder but couldn’t track lightning strike density like I do throughout most summer storms. In the 1700’s, it was fiction for Ali Baba to say, “Open sesame!” to open a cave entrance; but I can open and close my garage door from anywhere in the world I have cell data or WiFi.
Benjamin Franklin could protect a building from lightning but never entered a house made more comfortable with air conditioning. Alexander Graham Bell could send his voice over a wire, but he couldn’t signal for rescue in a remote location via a tiny satellite device clipped to his backpack. Ansel Adams could capture remote corners of America on film, but he couldn’t post them somewhere the entire world could see. Neil Armstrong could walk on the moon but never had a phone in a cup holder giving him live traffic updates with GPS directions while he drove anywhere.
The greatest rulers and conquerors throughout most of humanity’s past could never feel what we feel every day.
History’s richest men couldn’t pay for experiences we can have for pennies or a handful of dollars. Most of recorded history’s significant figures could never be diagnosed by X-ray, let alone an MRI. The vast majority of humans that have lived on this planet never tasted a donut, a chocolate chip cookie, or M&Ms.
I can’t imagine my life without tortilla chips, without carbonated beverages, or without a flushing toilet. Heck, I’d struggle to go back to life before Amazon Prime, 4G cell service, or text messaging.
I am blessed. So are you. And so much of that blessing is wasted on me. On us. And that doesn’t count the times Jesus’ sovereignty and omnipotence paired together to stave off an unfortunate event we never knew almost happened. For most of my life—maybe even now—God has showered grace and patience and forgiveness on me without my recognition. He has saved me from myself. He has preemptively cut me off at the pass. He has protected me while I learned the hard way in my stubbornness instead of the easier way through receptive humility.
God knows we won’t recognize most of what he’s doing around us, and he still lavishes those blessings on us. He hides wonders around the world for us to eventually find. I imagine he waits in anticipation as we bumble around the Easter eggs of his character that he’s stashed in the nooks and crannies of our lives. Gracious, he “hides” his blessings right out in the open, where we’re blindfolded by our myopia.
I’d like less of all of that to go to waste.
That’s why I thank him for things like peanut butter and disc golf, memory foam mattresses and whitewater rivers. The more I express my gratitude, the more I feel his love for me. The more I feel his acceptance and proximity, the more I want to share it. The more I ponder the time in the world history where he dropped me, the more I want to experience it, write about it, and share all of the above with you.
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Stock image purchased from iStockPhoto.com
