A Thankful Heart

By John Constantine

November, 1970 (The picture was taken days before leaving for college in the U.S.)	April, 2007 (This picture was taken on April 22 at the monthly church fellowship.)

After 37 years, I just want to say: “Thanks!”

In 1970, my parents were forty-four years of age.  We lived in a small town in Lebanon where they were serving whole-heartedly at a church, sharing with anyone who came along the blessings God has bestowed upon them.  Our home life was full, yet simple.  Our daily life was busy with school and stuff.  Our staples were love and thankfulness, service and caring, and always an expectant heart.  Life’s winds blew; sometimes they raged.  Yet, through it all, we never felt alone or in despair.  It was expected to pray, to say: “Thank you”, to help, to share, to give, to hurt, to rejoice in simple things.

There were seven of us kids, sharing one bathroom, one towel, one dish whatever Mom made that day. Complaining and failure were not options.  Living was required.  We took care of how much we sharpened our pencils so it would last longer, and whether our shoes got scraped at the end of the day.  And, oh boy! Did my brother (who remains nameless) redefine the word “belt-line” !

We were taught to love people just because God taught us to love, and because the alternative was not better.  That was a hard pill to swallow sometimes because for some reason people didn’t know at times how to take the way we treated them.  Yet, we were also reminded that people hurt deep down sometimes and we have to show them how God loved us… just because! 

Somehow we made our way through the maze of life for the first half-century; I can’t say unscathed, but fairly content that we learned a few things in our early days.  So, to my Mom and Dad I say: Thanks for what they taught us.  And to God I bow the knee in gratitude for Mom and Dad.

Our first brother was born with Downs, but with amazing determination was never down, like we were at times.  He left us first in 2002 on a journey that took him home – yes, to heaven; maybe to help in preparing a place for us and for those he touched.  He never seemed to have a problem sharing his love.  We always lagged miserably behind.  His sensitivity was uncanny, and we could never trick him to love one of us more than another.  Perhaps he went ahead of us to deliver in person our heart-felt sense of eternal gratitude for the hand that guided us and the heart that loved us from above and for the grace in which we lived for so many years, not because we deserved, but … just because! 

I discovered that we kids are still stuck on this business of … Just because!  When we talked, we could never figure out how my Mom managed between the budgets of a “window’s mite” and the five loaves and two fish for so many years.  My Dad brought home in those days what would make the poverty line today seem like the skyline of the rich and famous.  Yet they never complained.  They said because it was better to live sensing the loving eye that guided them and the gentle hand that touched them, sensing the Presence and content in life under His wings.  To Him I say, Thanks!  To them I say for the seven, “We love you!”

During 37 years, among a myriad of events, we changed the place of residence, went to school and studied hard (some of us did, anyway), assumed responsibilities too big for our breeches at an early age, kicked the tires a few times, counted the stars of the midnight shift, and ate enough hamburgers to have our own franchise; got married early enough and had our kids, and our kids are beginning to have theirs.  Somehow, we remained suspended between His loving arms, not sure whether to thank Him for His goodness more or for His mercy more.  Yet, I have a sneaking suspicion from observing what’s happening now that God is about to repeat the story again and go around the block of life one more time.

At 44, they had already been at the same place of service 17 years; their kids were 20, 19, 16, 13, 12, 10, 9 (give or take a few months); moved us about 10 times; let us join the boy scouts; had our bruises and broken limbs; saw how dark the night can be, and how the mountain winter survived in suspended animation. 

Oh, I was about to miss the second picture.  It was taken at their 58^th wedding anniversary.  But to be honest, all that happened in between and during the 37 years is basically the same kind of stuff, yet magnified a thousand times.  Sometimes, when I begin to think about it too much, I find myself unable to contain myself from the joy and my gaze into the wonder of His love to them, to us, to me.

For whatever days or years that remain, all I want to do is give thanks!

                                                                                          - John