Count Your Blessings

My son asked me how I make myself feel better when I’m feeling bad. This story, which is true like all the stories on this blog, is what came to my mind.


I felt like Cinderella, breathless, as if I’d just left the most magnificent ball I could have ever imagined. The Phantom of the Opera had far exceeded my expectations. The old playhouse in downtown San Francisco had been so very perfect. There’s nothing like a Broadway cast performance.

I’d thought my mother-in-law was outright crazy when she told us to purchase the tickets. Even as a gift, the money could have been used for so many other simple, needful things like food and clothes, and shelter. We were barely hanging on as it was with me working part time out of our home so that I could stay home with the kids, and my husband working long hours doing rounds at places like San Francisco General, earning his medical degree. But, for one brief night she gave us the gift of magic. Even as the three of us walked out of the grand theater I couldn’t believe the vehicle that awaited us was our shabby little Honda. At least my prince charming was still at my side. For a few moments we were royalty.

The icy, near constant cold of San Francisco hit us the moment we stepped outside. Rain was falling. Elegant people scrambled with their valet tickets, huddling by the door, waiting for the men with umbrellas to escort them safely to their cars. As for us, the magic moment of transformation back to our lowly lives had arrived. In a rush we walked out down the main street to the alley which led to our parking garage. There, just beyond the corner I saw something I thought I would never see.

Right in the middle of the walkway was a cardboard box which had been carefully placed over some kind of vent or drain. Steam was rising from the ground. It was obviously a limited source of heat. Then, to my dread, I saw them. Hidden within the shadows of the box were two small children, completely filthy to the bone. They certainly didn’t have enough clothes to keep them warm in such weather. Their cardboard box wasn’t going to last long in the rain.

A tiny white hand silently remained clearly exposed, extended waiting for donations.

We had nearly passed them by the time the whole thing hit me. I’d been so obliviously caught up in myself. All of a sudden I didn’t know what to do. This was horrible! How could anyone allow two children, two small children just like my own, a boy and his little sister, suffer alone out in the cold?

First I turned toward my purse, then abandoned that idea. I had nothing to give. In truth, they needed something more than money. Couldn’t we take them somewhere? Wasn’t there something we could do? Instead I felt my husband’s steady grasp on my arm. With a subtle glimpse across the alley he brought my attention to a couple of men lurking nearby in the shadows.

I felt sick. He’d told me about the beggars who had accosted him almost on a daily basis as he and his friends walked from the BART station to their school. He’d told me how there were certain parts of town where I should never go. Tears were welling in my eyes. Innocent children were being used for money? Where were the police?

Before I could protest further my husband had us at the car. Urgently he ushered his mother and me inside, constantly checking for the dangers that might lurk in the darkness around us. “There were children . . .” I began.

“In the cardboard box.” he finished for me. “I know. You saw their handlers. If we would have stopped, they were ready to jump us for sure.”

“But children?” I asked still desperately upset.

For a few minutes we drove in urgent silence, maneuvering our way out of the ever changing city. As soon as we were on the Bay Bridge he calmed a little, trying to throw out a casual comment about the wonderful show we’d just seen.

My mind was boiling. What could I do? What could anyone do? How could anyone allow such things to happen? Suddenly our car seemed like it was the lap of luxury. We were clean, decently dressed, well fed. My children were safe and warm, waiting for us in our now unexpectedly spacious apartment.

For days leading up to the event I’d been worried that my dress would be too shabby, that we would stick out like wide eyed fools gone on an adventure we did not deserve. Now, I was more than thankful for what I had. Just to know my children were safe made all the difference in the world. It was like everything had been turned upside down.

The gift my mother-in-law had given us was precious to me beyond words. I still cherish the memory of being in that theater, feeling like a queen, feeling like someone worthy of something more than basic necessities. She taught me a valuable lesson.

Out in the alley, I finally discovered something just as important. There were blessings all around me that I had failed to see. I had a wonderful husband who loved me, who protected me, who was working his heart out to be a good provider for me. Two beautiful, vibrant, healthy, children were ours. We had what we needed. Food, shelter, clothing, had seemed like such simple things.

Even today, as I sit in my roomy four bedroom home, with flat screen TVs, furniture that was all bought new, a kitchen pantry full of food, two cars, a garage, a yard with - miracle of miracles - a swimming pool - my gratitude overflows. Others labor just as much for far less. We have been blessed. It is a lesson which lends me peace and happiness when I might feel otherwise.



That is my answer to you, son.