Thankful
Thankful
© 2004, Stephen R. Poole
Martha: [looking toward heaven] Do you see what I have to do just to get a little thank you around here from my family? I worked my hands to the bones. I have been cooking desserts for days. I got up at the crack of dawn to prepare everything for the meal. Why do I bother? Why should I spend so much time and effort when all I get is a quick, “Thanks, Martha,” as everyone gets up to watch the football game?
God: Martha.
Martha: Do they think that pumpkin pie just baked itself? Or the pecan one? Or the chocolate one? How often do they get fresh, home-made bread or made-from-scratch biscuits? They just do not appreciate me at all.
God: Martha.
Martha: Well not next year. There is no reason I should do all this work next year. They will not have me to just walk all over. They can just…well they can just go eat at that Lenny’s restaurant and just see if they get anything fresh or homemade there.
God: Martha, calm yourself. When was the last time you thanked me?
Martha: [thinking] Well, God…it was just this morning.
God: Saying, “Thank God” when your pecan pie didn’t burn doesn’t count. When was the last time you really thanked me?
Martha: Well, um, it was. I’m not sure.
God: Exactly. And did you thank anybody in your family today.
Martha: [indignant] Thank anyone? Why should I thank any of them? Not one of them called to offer any help. Well, except my eldest son’s wife, Cheryl, but she is a lousy cook.
God: Are you not thankful that they took the time to spend their holiday with you? Just look out there, Martha. You have all of your children and grandchildren here. You have more to be thankful for than you can possibly imagine.
Martha: I guess your right, God. I never thought about it that way before. Thank you.
Sandy: [frustrated] “Mom, I can’t wear these socks.” “Mom, I don’t like my brown shoes.” “Why can’t I just stay home and eat a sandwich? I don’t want to be seen in public with my parents!” I have had it up to here. I quit. I resign. I am changing my name. From now on I am no longer Mom.
God: Sandy.
Sandy: I am just plain, Sandy. I will no longer do anything for these thankless people. I won’t clean, I won’t drive them anywhere, I won’t cook…
God: Sandy.
Sandy: Well…actually I don’t really cook now. But if I did, I sure wouldn’t do it anymore. Not for a bunch of ungrateful, whining, little…ingrates.
God: Sandy. Are you finished complaining yet?
Sandy: Well…yes, I guess.
God: Now think about the last few times you have talked to me. What did you say?
Sandy: I don’t recall, God.
God: That’s not true, Sandy. You know exactly what you said.
Sandy: Oh, you mean my gripe sessions? But, God, you just don’t understand what I go through every day. Nobody appreciates all that I do for them. All I ever get are complaints. What, do they think that they can make-up for it all with one day set aside each year just to honor mothers?
God: I understand more than you think, Sandy. Try to think of the last time you talked to me without complaining about something in your life.
Sandy: [embarrassed] I see what you mean.
God: And I hear from millions of my children. Do you think you can make-up for it with one day set aside each year just to thank me?
Sandy: Well, of course not.
God: Even on Sundays I get more of “Dear God, please let the sermon be short,” Than anything else. Although, “Why does the music have to be so loud,” is at a close second.
Sandy: You’re right, God. I’m sorry for being an ungrateful, whining, little ingrate. Forgive me. Oh, and, thank you.
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