"Better than I deserve." I say this many times, when I am asked, "how are you doing?" Better than I deserve is something I really don't believe, deep down inside. In my hidden deep sad self, which does not surface often? I manly keep my feel-sorry-for-myself feeling to myself. It is hard at times to not wonder how others prosper even though they don't seem thankful at all for what they have. I know; I have stolen a line from the song we sang at the little Bethlehem Methodist Church, when I was a little girl. Farther Along was the name of the song. In the song there is a line that says, "Tempted and tried, we are all made to wonder, why other's prosper, living so wicked year after year. Farther along we'll understand it all by and by. Forgive me for the punctuation. A song is not punctuated I don't think? Anyway no matter what the deep feelings of wondering how really mean people seem many times to make it better than really good people. This is what I try to remember often, to be thankful for all the good that has been sent to me. Really every time I have been to a point that I was positive that I could not fix a current problem, something would come from out of no-where to help me. That is why each night before I go to sleep I thank God for getting me through another day. When I am driving is another time that I choose give God the thanks he deserves for helping me. I notice the horizon more as I am driving than at other times. That to me is where I perceive that God is. I for some reason feel beyond the clouds he is visible in my imagination. Giving thanks at times seems to be something we really don't do often enough. Then we forget the small things we should be happy for. Being happy when you have known how depression can take hold of you is something to for sure to be thankful for. If I could have anything happiness is truly a gift I would want more than anything. Living each day with all the thanks for all I have gathered along the way. Thanksgiving a time to remember all the simple things I am thankful for.
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