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“Count your blessings, name them one by one; count your many blessings, see what God hath done.”
— 1897 church hymn
I am blessed. The Oxford English Dictionary defines blessings as “God’s favor and protection.” A good friend and mentor once defined blessings as family, friends, shelter, never going to bed hungry, health and happiness. That same person, who knew wealth, said, “Money and material things are not blessings; just yardsticks for those who foolishly think they are.”
My loving mother led me to learn about blessings. While attending services with her at Southside Church of Christ in Mount Pleasant, I read about being thankful to the giver of all blessings. I was blessed and exposed to God’s inspired word with Mom’s oversight.
Over the years I’ve come to believe, however, that I’m still comprehending more every day about how truly blessed most of us really are. And how I need to be increasingly more grateful.
The concepts of blessings in my youth were simple. Like when I just knew I had bombed a test, only to discover that I squeaked by, just above the bare minimum for passing. Or when blessings overshadowed my bad decisions such as when I amazingly dodged jail time or serious damage to my health.
I have no doubt I forced more than one guardian angel to give up on me.
Thankfully, however, not the one riding with me the long-ago night a failed motorcycle tire at 70 mph caused my bike to abandon all natural forces and gravity. I catapulted over the handlebars, sailed through the cold night air and slammed the right side of my head and shoulder into U.S. 67. The impact sent me sliding, grinding away the right side of a perfectly good safety-certified helmet.
Blessings allowed me to get up and walk a quarter mile to find a ride to the hospital. Those blessings also allowed me to go home that night with only scratches, bruises and a separated shoulder.
Some years after that, another poor guardian angel was assigned to bless my ride flying a Piper Cherokee 180 from Center to an Oklahoma destination I’ve since forgotten. The comfort found in the reassuring sound of a Lycoming aircraft engine at full power vanished when the motor faltered, missed and began losing power.
Emergency-procedure training raced through my head, along with an episode of Art Linkletter’s old TV show, “Kids Say the Darndest Things.” When Linkletter asked one youngster who wanted to be a pilot what he would tell his passengers if the engine quit, the little guy thought for a moment and replied, “Now I lay me down to sleep …” That’s when straight ahead, I saw the runway at Carthage. Altitude and airspeed were perfect for a straight-in gliding approach. The airplane’s tires squeaked smoothly on the pavement, as good as any planned landing.
I was also counting blessings not too long ago in a big-city health care facility waiting room, filled to capacity. It was a place where too many of the occupants required canes, walkers and wheelchairs for mobility.
“I knew this day was coming … if I was lucky,” I thought. “Sure got here in a hurry, though.”
Then, when I saw the cardiologist, I added, “Always tried to take care of my health with exercise. Eating properly, sometimes. My doctor said I should come see you. Used that ‘at your age’ thing that isn’t really funny.”
I was still counting blessings while walking on the treadmill.
“Chest pains? Shortness of breath?” the doctor asked.
“Nope,” I responded. I counted a few more blessings as I watched my heartbeat on a monitor as skilled hands and eyes searched for the good, the bad and the ugly.
“Ever y thing looks good,” the physician reported. “Great ... for someone your age.”
Christmas is coming. Decorations are in place. I have family and friends who love and care for me, and whom I love and care for in return. My bed is warm at night. I have more food than I have any business eating. Maybe we’ll sing hymn number 118 Sunday at church.
I am truly blessed. And I’m working harder every day at being more grateful for … “what God hath done.”
