Grateful

Grateful

During this time, before the first of the famine years, two sons were born to Joseph and his wife, Asenath, the daughter of Potiphera, the priest of On. Joseph named his older son Manasseh, for he said, “God has made me forget all my troubles and everyone in my father’s family.” Joseph named his second son Ephraim, for he said, “God has made me fruitful in this land of my grief.” (Genesis 41:50-52)

Some things just don’t go together, like long-tailed cats and rocking chairs, or bulls in a china shop. And when you combine blessings and bitterness? Well, that mixture doesn't go over very well with God, either. Because when you combine heavenly kindness with earthly ingratitude, you can expect a curdled mess, kind of like adding lemon and milk to your hot tea. Maybe you've sampled it.

Granted, gratitude doesn't come naturally. Self-pity does, instead, along with bellyaches, grumbling, mumbling and complaining. No one has to remind us to offer that kind of stuff. But they don't mix well with the kindness we’ve been given. A spoonful of gratitude is all we need, and Joseph took more than a spoonful, despite the fact that he had every reason to be ungrateful. He’d been abandoned, enslaved, betrayed and estranged. But try as we might to find tinges of bitterness in Joseph’s life, they’re just not there. What we do discover, however, are two dramatic gestures of gratitude: “During this time, before the first of the famine years, two sons were born to Joseph and his wife, Asenath, the daughter of Potiphera, the priest of On. Joseph named his older son Manasseh, for he said, ‘God has made me forget all my troubles and everyone in my father’s family.’ Joseph named his second son Ephraim, for he said, ‘God has made me fruitful in this land of my grief.’” (Gen. 41:50-52)

Child naming is no small responsibility. The name sticks for life. Wherever the child goes, whenever the child is introduced, the parents' decision will be remembered. For instance, what was former Texas Governor, Jim Hogg, thinking when he named his daughter Ima? But most parents go to great efforts to select the perfect name for their children. And Joseph did. These were the days of abundance. God had rewarded Joseph with a place in Pharaoh's court, and a wife for his own home. The time had come to start a family.

Picture it. The young couple is reclining on the couch when Joseph reaches over and pats Asenath's round belly and says, "Honey, I've been thinking about names for our baby." "Oh, Joey, how sweet. I have too. In fact, I bought a name-your-baby book at the grocery store." "Thanks honey, but you won't need it. I’ve already picked out the name." "Okay, what is it?" Asenath asks. "God Made Me Forget." Asenath looks at Joseph, just a little bewildered, and says, "If God made you forget, how can you name him?" "No, that’s the name, Baby; God Made Me Forget." At that point, she probably gave him that look that Egyptian wives always gave their Hebrew husbands and said, "God Made Me Forget? So, every time I call my son, I’m going to say, 'God Made Me Forget'?" She shook her head and tried it out: "'It's time for dinner, God Made Me Forget. Come in and wash your hands, God Made Me Forget.' I don't know, Joseph, but I was thinking something more along the lines of Tut or Ramses.”

"No, Asenath, my mind’s made up. Each time my son's name is spoken, God's name will be praised. God made me forget all the pain and hurt I experienced at the hands of my brothers, and I want everyone to know – I want God to know – that I’m grateful." Apparently, Mrs. Joseph eventually warmed to the idea because at the birth of son number two, she and Joseph called him God Made Me Fruitful. One name honored God's mercy; the other proclaimed his favor. Do you think God noticed Joseph's gesture? A New Testament story provides the answer to that question.

Many centuries later, "Jesus . . . reached the border between Galilee and Samaria. As he entered a village there, ten lepers stood at a distance, crying out, 'Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!'" (Luke 17:11-13) Maybe the men waited for Jesus as he turned a corner. Maybe they appeared from behind a grove of trees, or a bunch of rocks. We don't know how they came, but we know what they yelled: "Unclean!" Unfortunately, their warning was completely unnecessary because their appearance drove people away. Ulcerated skin, truncated limbs, lumpy faces. People avoided lepers. But Jesus pursued them. And when he heard their cry, he told them, "Go, and show yourselves to the priests." (v. 14)

The lepers understood the significance of those particular instructions. Only the priest could reverse the stigma. To their credit, then, the lepers obeyed. And to the credit of Jesus, they were healed. And as they walked, they dropped their crutches and discarded their hoods. Their spines began to straighten, skin began to clear, and smiles began to return. The mass of misery became a leaping, jumping, celebrating chorus of health as Jesus watched them dance their way over the horizon. And then he waited for their return. And he waited.

And he waited. The disciples stretched out on the ground. Others went to look for food. Jesus just stood there. He wanted to hear the reunion stories like, “What did your wife say? How did the kids respond? How does it feel to be healed?” Jesus waited for the ten men to return and say, “Thank you.” But only one of them came back. “One of them, when he saw that he was healed, came back to Jesus, shouting, ‘Praise God, I'm healed!’ He fell face down on the ground at Jesus' feet, thanking him for what he had done. This man was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, ‘Didn't I heal ten men? Where are the other nine? Does only this foreigner return to give glory to God?’" (vv. 15-18) Even Jesus seemed astonished.

You'd think that neither fire nor hail could have kept these former lepers from falling at Jesus' feet. So, where were the other nine? We can speculate. Some were probably too busy to be thankful. They’d planned to come back and say, “Thank you,” but first they needed to find family members, doctors, dogs, cats, and neighbors. They were just too busy. Some were maybe too cautious to be thankful. They guarded against joy, and kept their hopes down. They waited for the other shoe to drop. They waited to read the fine print. They waited to see what Jesus wanted in return. What's too good to be true usually is. They were cautious. Others were too self-centered to be thankful. The sick life was simpler. Now they had to get a job, play a role in society. And others were just too arrogant. They never were that sick. Given enough time, they would have recovered. Besides, to be grateful is to admit to being needy. Who wants to show weakness when you have an image to protect? Too busy, too cautious, too self-centered, and too arrogant.

Too close to home?

If this story is any indication, nine out of ten people suffer from ingratitude. That’s a disease of epidemic proportions. But why? Why the appreciation depreciation? Well, it’s kind of like a flight I was on from Portland to San Diego. I had raced to the gate in hopes of catching an earlier flight, but the airline had already loaded extra passengers on the plane. With all the charm I could muster, I asked the attendant, "Are any seats left?" She looked at her computer screen. "No," she replied, "I'm afraid . . . ," and I just knew how she was going to finish the sentence: "I'm afraid you'll have to catch your original flight," which was going to be significantly delayed – possibly into the next morning. But that’s not what she said. Instead, she looked up and smiled. "I'm afraid there are no more seats in coach. We’re going to have to bump you up to first class. Do you mind if we do that?" "Do I mind?" So I boarded the plane and nestled down in the wide seat with the extra legroom. Color me thankful.

But not every passenger was as appreciative. A fellow across the aisle from me was angry because he had only one pillow. With the attendants scrambling to lock the doors and prepare for departure, he was complaining about poor customer service. "I paid extra to fly first class. I’m accustomed to better attention. I want another pillow!" On the other side of the aisle, I was smiling like a guy who’d just won the lottery without buying a ticket. One passenger grumbled; the other was grateful. The difference? The cranky guy paid his way into first class. My seat was a gift.

Which side of the aisle are you on? If you feel like the world owes you something, brace yourself for a life of sour hours, because you'll never get reimbursed. The sky will never be blue enough; the steak won't be cooked enough; the universe won't be good enough to deserve a human being like you. You'll snap and snarl your way to an early grave. Unfortunately, pride keeps us from being grateful because we think that we don’t get as much as we deserve. The grateful heart, on the other hand, sees each day as a gift. Thankful people focus less on the pillows they lack, and more on the privileges they have.

Just like those lepers, Jesus has cured our leprosy. Sin cankered our souls and numbed our senses. Yet the Man on the path told us we were healed, and, lo and behold, we were. The grateful heart is like a magnet sweeping over the day, collecting reasons for gratitude. A zillion diamonds sparkle against the velvet of your sky every night. “Thank you, God.” A miracle of muscles enables your eyes to read these words and your brain to process them. “Thank you, God.” Your lungs inhale and exhale eleven thousand liters of air every day. Your heart will beat about three billion times in your lifetime. Your brain is a veritable electric generator of power. “Thank you, God.” From the jam on our toast to the milk on our cereal; from the blanket that calms us to the joke that delights us and the warm sun that reminds us of God's love. “Thank you, God.”

Gratitude gets us through the hard stuff. To reflect on your blessings is to rehearse God's accomplishments. To rehearse God's accomplishments is to discover his heart. To discover his heart is to discover not just good gifts but the Good Giver. Gratitude always leaves us looking at God, and away from dread. It does to anxiety what the morning sun does to a valley mist – it burns it up. Join the ranks of the 10 percent who give God a standing ovation. "Give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." (Eph. 5:20)

You don't have to name a child after God, but then again, you could. Or you could draft a letter listing his blessings, or write a song in his honor. You could sponsor an orphan, buy an appliance for a needy family, or adopt a child just because God adopted you. The surest path out of a slump is marked by the road sign that says, "Thank you." But what of the disastrous days? The nights we can't sleep and the hours we can't rest? Grateful then? Well, Jesus was. "On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it." (1 Cor. 11:23-24)

Not often do you see the words “betrayed” and “thanks” in the same sentence, much less in the same heart. Jesus and the disciples were in the Upper Room. Judas, the traitor, sat in the corner. Impetuous Peter sat at the table. One would soon betray Jesus; the other would soon curse him. Jesus knew that, yet on the night he was betrayed, he gave thanks. In the middle of the darkest night of the human soul, Jesus found a way to give thanks. Anyone can thank God for the light, but Jesus teaches us to thank God for the night. He taught eight-year-old Daniel to do that.

Daniel was born with a double cleft palate, dramatically disfiguring his face. He had surgery, but the evidence of his disfigurement couldn’t be completely hidden. People constantly noticed the difference and occasionally made remarks. Daniel, however, was totally unfazed. He just tells people that God made him that way so what's the big deal? Because of his attitude, attendance and grades, he was named student of the week at school and was asked to bring something to show his classmates for show-and-tell. Daniel told his mom he wanted to take the pictures that showed his face prior to the surgery. His mom was a bit concerned. "Won't that make you feel a little funny?" she asked. But Daniel insisted. "Oh no, I want everybody to see what God did for me!"

So, try Daniel's defiant joy and see what happens. God has handed you a cup of blessings. Sweeten it with a heaping spoonful of gratitude. "Let me introduce you to my sons," Joseph would tell people. "Come here, God Made Me Forget and God Made Me Fruitful. Oh, what? Where did I get those names? Well, have a seat, and let me tell you what God did for me."

Gratitude can turn common days into thanksgivings, routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.

Grace,

Randy