Counting my blessings

It is one thing to see families lined up against a wall, waiting for food, in Depression-era photos in your history book.

It's another thing to see them on a weekday morning on your way to work.

It's tough to see a mom, in not the warmest of jackets and jeans, huddling to keep her little girl warm as they wait. Especially when she's not much bigger than your baby.

It's tough to give people dignity that they have every right to be there, while respecting your privacy.

And it's tough to not walk away crying.

Yes, yesterday morning rocked my day. I'd found a place that collected clothing for families in need, and wanted to make the most of any outgrown kids clothing and coats we had collected. And as I dropped the bags off that morning, I couldn't help but pray for them. And count my blessings.

For every frustration I have about stretching my funds to pay my bills, my heat is on this chilly morning.

For every frustration I have about my kids not wearing their hoods, they have hoods to wear on their coats.

For every frustration I have over lost mittens, my kids have mittens to lose - and I can, in a moment of desperation, buy another cheap pair at the Dollar Spot.

For every frustration I have over my kids refusing to eat, at least they have something to refuse.

For every frustration I have about my job (and Lord knows, I have my share), I've got one.

For every frustration I have about my messy house, at least I have a roof on my head.

For every frustration I have with friends or family, I know they're behind me.

And for that, I'm grateful.